A Dead Daughter (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery Book 3)

by Anna Burke

  “I love you, Mom. Please do what they tell you to do so we can be a family. I’ll try not to expect perfect. Even if it’s a little screwed up, that’s okay. I’ll take what I can get—you, me, Dad and Bernadette. But, please Mom, you’ve got to keep fighting to stay alive. Get clean enough to have that surgery, soon. Okay?”

  Alexis nodded her head yes, “I’ll try, Baby Girl. Promise!” Jessica did not object to the “Baby Girl” name that often chafed when her mother used it. She would answer to any name her mother called her if it meant they could have a future together. Jessica covered her mother’s face with smooches before releasing her.

  Hank put his arm around Alexis’ shoulders, picked up the bag she had with her, and escorted her to a car waiting for them. The car would take them to Jackie Cochran airport, a few miles away, where Hank had made arrangements for a helicopter service to pick them up. They were taking her straight to the facility in Malibu and admitting her that night, leaving no chance for Alexis to change her mind.

  It would be a couple of days, at least, before Alexis would be allowed to have contact with family. Then Jessica planned to make her way to Malibu to see her mother. Check on her, or maybe, check up on her. She would not be remiss again. Jessica would wield her powers of hypervigilance, at least until her mother got that surgery. They’d have to run more tests at that point to figure out if Alexis would need chemo. Jessica would stand watch then, too.

  By the time she and Bernadette said good night, a little while later, Jessica felt exhausted. She wanted to indulge in a bout of anxiety-driven- information-gathering and read everything she could find on the web about early stage cervical cancer. Instead, she fell asleep.

  As she slouched her way down the hall, the next morning, the house felt way too big. Empty, now that both her mother and father had left. She could hear noises coming from the kitchen and as she got closer, and delightful aromas too.

  “Coffee, I smell coffee. It’s making me dizzy, Bernadette.”

  “Sit down and I’ll bring you... Jessica, you’re still in your clothes from last night!” Bernadette stopped, dead in her tracks, with a large mug of coffee in her hand. Jessica’s mouth watered at the sight.

  “I know. I meant to change. I climbed into my bed with my laptop and passed out. Trust me, Bernadette, it wasn’t because of any drugs either. I took one of the co-Tylenol they prescribed, but I am spooked about taking anything more than a couple of aspirin, today. A little pain seems a small price to pay for keeping your wits about you. I don’t care what Dad says, drug and alcohol problems run in families. And speaking of drugs, once I get caffeine into my system, I’ll go clean myself up and put on different clothes.” She winced as she sat down at the table in the morning room off the kitchen. Even ordinary movements jarred her ribs.

  “Not taking drugs is a good idea, but I heard them tell you not to let the pain get so bad you breathe funny and get your lungs in a mess. You made a face when you sat down. I saw that.”

  “I am sore, but so far I can take it. The aspirin should help, soon.” Bernadette set the mug of coffee down in front of Jessica. The bandage on her hand was smaller than the first one put on in the ER, but Jessica still found it awkward. One-handed, she had to be careful with hot coffee, despite her eagerness to scarf it down.

  “You ask the doctor about it when you go for your checkup this afternoon, okay?”

  “Sure, Bernadette, if you think I should. I’ll take an ice pack and use it when I go back in my room. That helps, too. Oh my God, this coffee is wonderful, Bernadette. I love you.”

  “Aw, I’m glad you’re not still mad at me about not telling you more about what was going on with your parents. Gracias a Dios, this is all out now, though.” Bernadette crossed herself as she spoke those last words.

  “I was more shocked than angry. If I’m angry at anyone, it’s at Mom! Not just because she's been hiding a drug problem from me for years, but she’s chosen her drugs over getting treatment for cancer. I’m sure she's telling us the truth that her prognosis is good, but not if she keeps putting off surgery. I'm going to read about it today, but I’m pretty sure if she can get through detox she can go ahead with surgery. Now there’s a sentence coming out of my mouth I never expected to utter. You never know what’s coming next do you?”

  “Another cup of coffee is what’s next for you, Chica. I fixed it just the way you like it—in the French press for 10 minutes after grinding the beans. I like that part of it now, too. They smell so good. I get that ‘connect high’ like the drug takers talk about.”

  “Do you mean a ‘contact high’? Where on earth did you hear that?”

  “One of those true crime shows. Or maybe it was in a story about Charlie Sheen or Robert Downey Jr. They’ve been to rehab too, you know? I hope it works better for your mom than it has for Charlie.” Bernadette turned around, shaking her head as she headed back into the kitchen.

  “Well, Robert Downey Jr. seems to have pulled out of the tailspin his life was in. I thought he was a goner after they found him in a stranger’s house out here in the desert.”

  “I think he spent some time at the same place Hank took your mom. It must be a good place.”

  “Yeah, and I suppose it takes more than one try at treatment for addicts to recover.” Jessica caught her breath again, from the pain in her heart, not her ribs. Her beautiful, vivacious mother was an addict. How impossible was that to believe?

  “The world has gone mad, Bernadette. My husband, a cheating fool, marries a crazed, out of control, massively pregnant exhibitionist. Laura’s husband gets himself murdered and Kelly Fontana, too. She was pumped full of drugs but wasn’t an addict and Mom is! Go figure.”

  “It'll be okay, Jessica. You’ll see. You fell off a mountain and you’re okay. Maybe that was a shakeup your mother needed to make her face her troubles. The whole family here, together, at once was a good thing. You and your Dad speaking up at the same time was a good thing too.”

  “Yeah, that’s all true. You didn’t back down, either, even when she tried to use me and Giovanni as reasons to put off treatment. A lot of things that went on when I was a kid make so much more sense now. I hear what you’re saying—good things can come from even bad situations.”

  “Speaking of good things...” Bernadette hustled into the kitchen and came right back.

  “French toast—Bernadette, you made me French toast—my favorite! Did I already say I love you?” The luscious scent of maple and cinnamon reached Jessica even before Bernadette set the plate down in front of her. Jessica dug in, one-arm style, savoring the ambrosial, melt-in-your-mouth, blend of flavors. Bernadette sat down across from her with a plate of her own. Then she slid a card toward Jessica. Pausing for a moment, Jessica put the fork down and picked up the card.

  “Oh my God, Bernadette, it’s your recipe.” Shock must have been on her face. “You’re not sick too, are you?”

  “No, Jessica, but now you’re grown and around here all the time, you need to figure out how to fix your favorites.” Bernadette chuckled. “Close your mouth and finish your breakfast.” Bernadette shook her head, still smiling.

  “Well I can’t shut my mouth and eat, can I?” Jessica paused, torn between devouring the food on her plate and reading the secret ingredients revealed in that recipe. French toast, accompanied by thin slices of a salty Spanish ham and fresh raspberries, won out.

  They spent a blissful half hour eating and drinking coffee. She read through the ingredients, and the instructions for preparing St. Bernadette’s Divine French Toast, as Jessica named it. Bernadette provided a step-by-step commentary as Jessica read the list of ingredients. Thick slices of brioche soaked in eggs, sugar and cream, spiked with brandy and fresh squeezed orange juice, Mexican cinnamon and Mexican vanilla. No wonder Jessica's previous attempts had fallen short. The last instruction on the card was the most touching, another of Bernadette’s secrets revealed.

  “Never forget to prepare and serve with love. Ay que Bueno!” How cou
ld so much goodness be packed into that small, precious being sitting across from her at the table? Bernadette, as Jessica knew, had experienced her share of hardship and loss.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without you all these years—still don’t, Bernadette. Mom and I would not have gotten this far. I am so grateful.”

  “Aw, that’s just the French toast talkin’,” Bernadette said with a big grin on her face. Her eyes were a little misty, though. “It’s been a blessing for me too, Jessica. Families always have troubles, and taking care of each other is just what they ought to do.”

  “Most are not as lucky as I am, though, and I never want to take the good in my life for granted.”

  “Let me know when you want to get ready so you won’t be late for your doctor appointment this afternoon. I'll drive you.”

  “Okay, Bernadette, I’m not up to driving yet, that’s for sure. Who knows what other hurdles I’ll face trying to get around in my current condition. I’m slow, but I’m getting the hang of doing some things with one arm. Keeping my cast and bandages dry with a plastic bag is a trick I learned when I sprained my wrist, so I can manage a shower. Ah, the things I’ve added to my skill set this past year! I can get the sling off, but I might need your help to put it back on.”

  “Just holler when you’re ready to do that. How about your hair? It's grown out a lot. I can at least give you a hand with the blow dryer when you get that far.”

  “I’m sure the doctor won’t care if I show up with my hair hanging in my face. Maybe I should get it cut again—even shorter this time. I appreciate your going with me, Bernadette. I could have one of Peter’s men do that, but I'd rather have you with me. We still don’t know what’s going on with that attack on Libby at the hospital. I don’t know if I’m a target, too, and I’m in no shape to find out the hard way.”

  “Have one of those guys go with us, too. I can drive, but you should have someone come along behind us to keep an eye out for maleantes.”

  “You’re right, Bernadette. That’s the first thing I’ll do when I get back to my room—give Peter a call. I should also call my office and check in with Amy. There’s plenty more to do if I can get myself organized.”

  “Don’t put too much on that ‘to do’ list of yours, Jessica. You’re a tough nut to crumble, but not Superwoman.”

  “Cookie, Bernadette—I think you mean I’m a tough cookie or a tough nut to crack, that’s the way the cookie crumbles... ” Jessica said. Correcting Bernadette’s misuse of idioms was a habit Jessica needed to break. It wasn’t necessary, nor would it work. It annoyed most people when Jessica corrected their misstatements, her perfectionism oozing out like a leaky faucet, even when she thought she had it shut off.

  “Cookie—that too, Jessica. You don’t crumble easy. You get my drift, right?”

  “Sure, I get your drift.” Bernadette was smiling. Jessica wondered if Bernadette was toying with her, playing with words to lighten things up. Jessica downed the last sip of coffee and stood up, carefully, waiting for the pain to register. “Not bad. The aspirin must have kicked in. If I get stuck trying to get ready, I’ll yell for help, promise.”

  “Okay, mi dulce princessa,” Bernadette said.

  Hopped up on caffeine and loaded on a breakfast made in heaven, by an angel here on earth, Jessica felt almost normal. Well, as normal as possible, in the current context. She basked in the glow of secrets revealed. It wasn’t just that recipe from Bernadette. As tough as it was to face her mother’s situation it was better than not knowing or knowing half-truths or believing lies. Having it all out in the open satisfied some inner longing. Truth revealed, a mystery solved, or at least on the way to being solved.

  Jessica would know more after she read up, not just on cervical cancer, but on alcohol and drug problems. She'd call Laura later, too, and drill her about both kinds of health problems. Given her nurse’s training, Laura would know how best to support her mother. Maybe she would quiz Betsy Stark about the drug issue, too, when she came by the house tomorrow. That she was meeting with Betsy reminded her that she had a huge set of issues to deal with, besides those having to do with her own family. There were all those other mysteries hanging out there for another family. Jessica felt more keenly aware of how much damage family members could do to each other, accidentally or on purpose. What was going on with Libby? Where was her friend Shannon Donnelly? With Dr. Richard Carr dead, who was after Libby? Was Jessica’s own life on the line? Why?

  14 First Contact

  When Jessica returned to her room, the first item of business was where to sit to get work done. Those ribs were still giving her grief, so she opted to get back into bed. That could be risky, given her general state of exhaustion, warring with the caffeine and sugar she had just consumed. In bed she propped herself up at the best angle to work with the least amount of pain, surrounded by things she needed: her phone, laptop, and several file folders with photos, police reports and printed copies of information Tommy and Jerry had produced for her about Libby Van Der Woert and Dr. Richard Carr.

  Jessica picked up the Van Der Woert’s folder. It seemed like years, instead of months, had passed since they hired her to put their estate plans in order. Retirement loomed, and they had wanted a plan in place for the long haul. That included a modest allowance for their daughter who seemed unable to provide for herself. But by the time Jessica got down to the business of figuring out how much of their assets to put into trust for Libby, the ground had shifted. They moved up their retirement date, and took Paul's advice to set up a trust to protect their assets from their daughter’s aberrant behavior, rather than simply making provisions for her.

  She picked up Libby’s file, next. The sordid details of the young woman's life, spelled out in the pages of that file, pushed Jessica toward that pit of despair she felt about wasted lives. Libby's youth seemed spent using every advantage she possessed to destroy herself and others. Jessica’s first encounter with Libby, face-to-face, had occurred when the young woman showed up one day at the law office in Palm Desert. Libby waltzed in without an appointment and demanded to see Jessica. As much from curiosity as the need to preserve decorum, Jessica agreed to meet with the rude, noisy young woman. Kim Reed had spoken up as Libby Van Der Woert followed Jessica down the hall to her office.

  “I’ll be right with you as soon as I get what I need to record the interview.” Libby stopped, as if to balk, and turned to confront Kim. Much to her surprise, Kim was close. So close, Libby almost bumped into her. The steely determination in Kim’s dark eyes, her edgy dress and no nonsense demeanor, must have convinced Libby to abort any form of protest she was considering.

  “Whatever,” Libby shrugged. She moved to the door Jessica had just walked through. Jessica's office was a roomy one with large windows that overlooked the parking lot that served their building and the nearby shops. Beyond the parking lot and busy streets was a view of the mountains, towering palm trees and those blazing blue skies that dominated the Coachella Valley. Jessica had seated them at a small conference table then took control of the conversation.

  “Okay, Ms. Van Der Woert, how may I help you?”

  “Oh my God, you are exactly what I expected. I heard my parents hired a gorgeous, young female lawyer. You'll make Dad look less like scum standing next to him, if I have to take him to court.” She smiled in a crooked way, tilting her head to one side, like a hawk sizing up its prey. Jessica had seen that look before. A tingle of recognition danced its way down her spine, remembering her encounters with the diabolical Margarit during the investigation into Roger Stone's murder.

  “My shrink says you have a soft spot for the bastard—anybody who sides with my dad must have a daddy thing going. He’s right, Ms. Huntington, you look like a daddy’s girl.”

  “You must know I can’t talk to you about your father, or my role as his lawyer, so how may I help you?”

  “Help me? You’re the last person in the world who can help me. I don’t get it. How can you al
l be representing Dad? You used to be my lawyer. Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something like that?” The predatory look on her face had vanished. In its place was a pouty ten-year-old. Her bottom lip poked out. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger as her eyes grew misty.

  “I’ve never been your lawyer, Ms. Van Der Woert. I...” Before Jessica could finish the disturbed young woman interrupted.

  “Cut the Ms. Van Der Woert routine already. It makes me feel ancient—like you're talking to my mother. It’s Libby okay?” Pouting had morphed into surliness.

  “Sure, Libby, but as I was saying I have never been your lawyer. Just because the firm in L.A. defended you in a previous case, that does not mean I’m under any obligation to represent you or to turn down your parents’ request for help. From what I hear, you have your own lawyer with another firm. You need to take up whatever concerns you have with him.”

  Paul Worthington, Jessica’s boss, had honchoed the case in which the firm defended Libby from charges related to that drunk-driving incident that killed Libby's friend, Lela. Lela Vasquez, had been as drunk and stoned as Libby that night. Libby was at the wheel at the time of the accident, in part because police had stopped them earlier that night when Lela was driving recklessly. Rather than taking them both into custody the officer had given them a warning and let them go. When the crash occurred later, Libby was at the wheel. It wasn’t her first incident involving drunk-driving, but the law firm was able to keep records of earlier incidents out of court because she was underage when they occurred.