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

by Anna Burke

  Jessica took a deep breath, waiting for Libby to reply. She did not break eye contact and took her own turn sizing up the adversary in her midst. On the surface, the woman looked credible, but Jessica had learned that was not at all unusual for your garden variety sociopath. They were often good at faking it, passing as a normal person with a conscience, for short periods anyway.

  Libby had garnered a host of diagnoses over the years, having been in and out of treatment since the age of twelve: Conduct disorder, ADHD, and depression as a teen. As a young adult, borderline and bipolar disorder were added to the list along with substance abuse problems. Jessica struggled to remember if her parents had mentioned sociopath—antisocial something-or-other, maybe. Libby had been in treatment since the deadly auto accident, as mandated by a probation agreement, although she had changed shrinks several times. Treatment included an assortment of prescribed drugs, but those weren’t the only substances Libby used. Her history of drug use spelled out during the investigation into that late night, single-car crash was distressing; that she hadn’t died from an overdose, remarkable. Jessica wondered now how many of the drugs on that list her own mother used. Why hadn't she asked?

  Jessica refocused on Libby's file. The most recent communications about Libby's mental health status involved a new diagnosis: PTSD from sexual abuse, allegedly, experienced at the hands of her father and uncle. That information had been conveyed to her parents by Libby, by Dr. Carr, and in sloppy, type-written threats on letterhead from a series of schlock lawyers Libby hired. She threatened to sue her parents if they didn’t fork over her inheritance.

  “That new diagnosis must have meant new drugs, too," Jessica muttered, poring over the file, again, for information about prescribed drugs. Familiar names popped up: Adderall, Zoloft, Celexa, Prozac, Lamictal, Valium, Xanax, Seroquel, Abilify, Ambien. The list of drugs doled out over the course of twenty years was astonishing, and did not include the street drugs Libby added to the mix. Jessica suspected Libby was on something that day she had shown up at her office. Libby's behavior had not been as coherent as her attire. By all appearances Libby was an attractive, well-groomed young woman, dressed in a simple, pricey ensemble. She wore a gorgeous abstract printed silk long-sleeved wrap shirt. The wrap featured rather more cleavage than Jessica would have chosen for herself, but it fit Libby well, and didn’t gape open when she bent forward. With black tapered-leg ankle pants and a gorgeous pair of black, Manolo Blahnik point-toe pumps sporting 4-inch heels, she was appropriately dressed. Jessica did the math in her head—$1,500 for that outfit, easy. A young woman, living well, without ever having held a job for long.

  “So you know all about my accident, don’t you?” Libby had asked with her mood on the move again. “Do you know what I’ve been through with my father and uncle?” Simpering won out as the mood of the moment.

  She won't be able to buy clothes like that much longer, Jessica thought. Libby's parents had set up a trust for her as part of a probation agreement. Charges for “gross vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated,” reduced to vehicular manslaughter, resulted in a conviction for a misdemeanor rather than a felony. The court suspended Libby's license and she, or more accurately, her parents paid a substantial fine. The trust was there to support Libby while she got back on her feet. Fast-forward five years later, and Libby was on her feet all right, in a stunning pair of heels. One of many pairs she wore as she walked all over her parents. That trust ended when Libby turned thirty in 2013.

  “Reason enough for many young predators to spring into action, Jessica,” according to Paul Worthington, who had seen it all before.

  Jessica used two fingers from her bandaged hand to scratch up under the cast, recalling how her palm had itched that day to do some shopping. Both Father Martin and her new shrink had challenged Jessica to handle her stress over frustrating situations in some other way. She had tried to do that by bringing the conversation to an end. Jessica hoped Libby had come there with a specific purpose. The snarky remarks and moody shifts in tone confirmed that Libby had trouble taking responsibility for her own behavior and wore a big chip on her shoulder as an accessory to that designer outfit. There was nothing Jessica could do about that.

  “Look, Ms. Van der... Libby, I will ask you one more time, then we’re done. Why are you here?”

  “I just wanted to meet Attorney Huntington, that’s all. See if you were the bloodthirsty type. Will you rip me to shreds on the witness stand?” She growled and flexed long manicured fingernails painted a dark red burgundy. The usually imperturbable Kim reacted by rolling her eyes. A couple more minutes of this and Libby Van Der Woert might not have to wait until she took the witness stand to get ripped to shreds. Kim, wound up, was ready to do some predatory pouncing of her own.

  “Well then, I guess that means we’re done. It’s better for both of us if, in the future, any communication you have for me comes from your new attorney. I haven’t met him yet, but I’m open to such a meeting, Libby.” Jessica stood, signaling that the meeting was over. Kim followed her lead. Libby Van Der Woert did not.

  “I'm in a world of trouble, aren’t I? I bet you never get in too deep, do you Ms. Huntington? So deep it’s like you’re at the bottom of a dark, empty well with no way up or out?” For an instant that day, it was as if all the fragments of Libby’s flighty persona had coalesced and an adult version spoke. No whining or petulance in her tone or on her countenance, as she made eye contact. Shields down. Jessica felt moved by the rush of potential oozing from Libby in that moment. She struggled for words to speak that might offer hope. Before she could respond, Kim spoke.

  “Of course she does, Ms. Van Der Woert. I was down in that well with her so I know what you’re talking about. You need someone to throw you a rope—offer you a life line, right?” Libby stared at Kim, her eyes lingered on Kim's colorful tattoo that extended beyond the short-sleeved blouse she wore, reaching all the way to the crick in Kim’s arm at her elbow.

  “They’ve given me plenty of rope, Ms. Reed—enough to hang myself, in fact. It’s too late for me,” Libby said, giving an imaginary rope around her neck a yank. Jessica went on alert, concerned about the threat that gesture implied.

  “I’m sorry Libby, but you’re scaring me. Kim’s right that there’s always a way out. It’s never too late to turn your life around. Is there someone I should call to come get you? I don’t think you should be alone.” That moment of reflection gone, a wicked grin stole across Libby’s face.

  “Who? My friends are few—the ones I haven’t killed yet, like poor Lela. Or maybe you mean my parents or another family member? Do you think you can find one who will have anything to do with me at this point? I’m toxic to three generations of family. My parents have made sure of that. I thought they’d keep this all quiet, like they did with the trouble I’ve had in the past, but oh no, the word is out. I’m poison.”

  “How about your lawyer or your therapist—can I call one of them to come and get you?”

  “That’s unnecessary, Ms. Huntington, I’m on my way to meet with my shrink. Dr. Carr drives all the way out here for appointments with me. How’s that for service?”

  “I’d like to be sure of that before I let you go.” Libby rolled her eyes.

  “Oh my God, you have got to be kidding! Why do you care? You want to talk to him? Hang on a second.” Libby hit a speed dial button. “Hi, Di... uh, hey Doc, it’s me, Libby. Someone wants to talk to you.” With that she shoved the phone into Jessica’s hand.

  “Uh, hello, Dr. Carr?” Jessica asked. Libby was smiling at Jessica’s obvious discomfort.

  “Yes, this is he. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Jessica Huntington, Dr. Carr. As you know, I’m the lawyer handling legal matters for Libby’s parents.”

  “Okay, well what can I do for you, Ms. Huntington?”

  “Nothing, Dr. Carr. Not for me, anyway, it’s Libby. She seems upset, and I wanted to make sure she had someone to talk to before I let her walk out of here. Libby
says you're expecting her. I wanted to make sure that was true.”

  “Yes, that's true. But, I don’t understand. What is she doing with you?”

  “Well, I’m still not sure, to be honest. She stopped in here to meet me, she says. Checking me out, isn’t that right, Libby? I suppose she'll tell you all about it when she meets with you.” Libby nodded in agreement. Jessica felt ridiculous for having been so concerned about the young woman.

  “It wasn't a wise idea to meet with Libby alone, Ms. Huntington,” the psychiatrist said, sniffing with disregard as he spoke.

  Okay, this is odd, Jessica thought. The big red needle on her creep-o-meter was moving. She had imagined the conversation would start with questions about Libby and the reason for Jessica’s concern. Had she missed something?

  “It’s not every day I get legal advice from a psychiatrist, Dr. Carr. Libby and I are not alone.” There had been a hint of something unpleasant in that admonition from the doctor.

  “Oh, is her attorney there? I don’t think she mentioned that.” Libby had mentioned nothing before shoving the phone into Jessica’s hands. Jessica was getting annoyed as that red needle bounced around again. She had also tried to decide which was closer, Saks or Escada. It would be simple to get them to call AMEX and get her card number. As the image of that card flashed before her all the numbers on it stood out. The urge to shop had gone from itch to burn in that moment. Warning! Time to end this, Jessica remembered thinking.

  “No, her attorney is not here, but my assistant is, and she’s recorded the conversation. If you think it would be helpful, clinically, to hear what Libby had to say I’d be happy to send you a transcript. Libby would have to sign a release, of course. Look, I don’t think we need to go into this further. I presume that you’ll follow up if Libby doesn't show up for her scheduled appointment. I’m not sure what Libby had in mind by calling you, but ensuring her well-being was my intent.” Libby was twisting a strand of hair again and had that “cat that swallowed the canary” look of satisfaction on her face. Jessica had expected a little yellow feather to pop out of Libby’s mouth any second.

  “Of course, Ms. Huntington. It’s not every day I get clinical advice from a lawyer, but follow up is what I would do for any client who misses an appointment. I appreciate your concern for Libby and I’m sure she does too. Put her back on the phone, please.” Dr. Carr had made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice when he spat out those words. The red needle on the creep-o-meter was in the warning zone and the alarms in Jessica's head were wailing.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Uh-huh, sure. Really? Oh, okay. I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Bye.” Libby ended the call. “Dr. Carr wants me to apologize for scaring you. I didn’t mean to. Sorry.” She tried, but could not quite hide the self-satisfied smirk that tugged at her lips as she issued that apology.

  “An apology is unnecessary, Libby. But I’ll accept it in the spirit in which you made it,” Jessica said, fixing Libby with a direct gaze. Surprise swept the smirk off Libby’s face. Her little bubble of “duper’s delight” pierced, Libby went back to indifference.

  “Whatever,” she said shrugging her shoulders. Her behavior was more like a twelve-year-old than a thirty-year-old. Jessica flashed for a moment on her poor, disturbed childhood friend, Kelly. At thirty Libby had managed to outlive Kelly, but what a trail of carnage she had left in her wake.

  “Libby, I am glad you’ll be okay. Remember, it’s never too late to start over. Kim and I have both had to do that. If we can help you figure out how to do it too, we’ll try. Come on. We’ll walk you out.” Jessica was eager to conclude their meeting without further incident. Her heart had skipped a beat and then raced. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack in weeks. What was it about Libby Van Der Woert that had set off all the alarms? Or was it the alarms set off by that slick sounding creep paid to help Libby stay out of trouble?

  That afternoon, as soon as the door shut behind Libby, Jessica’s head had spun with images of silky, shimmery items for her bedroom she did not need. She yearned to be surrounded by soft, pure white sheets with sky-high thread counts, and thick, fluffy towels made of Egyptian cotton. The clean fragrance of soaps and sachets would restore hope there was more to the world than troubled women, destroying themselves and those who loved them.

  Between the Sheets, a luxury linens shop, had called to her from two blocks away. Remembering that moment, Jessica reached out with the fingertips on her bandaged hand to touch the duvet cover, plunder from that afternoon when she had caved in and yielded to the urge to shop. She did not break her promise to Father Martin. No black AMEX card. She used another card, instead.

  “Let’s go, I need to gaze upon exquisite things. What colors do you use in your boudoir, you two? Don’t be shy? It’s time for a little retail therapy, Jessica Huntington style.” That afternoon both Kim and Amy had gone along, curious about what Jessica had in mind.

  The store did not disappoint. Jessica's heart rate settled down as her eyes roamed the walls lined with colorful folded linens tucked into cubbies that reached for the ceiling. Her breathing came easier as she inhaled the mix of fragrances that filled the scented air. Dazzled by the sparkle and sheen of silks and satins, a glow enveloped her. Then she had spotted her first “find,” a sale sign hovering over the display. Cashmere throws, soft and beguiling, in an array of colors. They would be wonderful as fall slipped into winter. The plush fabric would appeal to her beloved Bernadette, and to her mother; they would make great Christmas gifts. Jessica picked out one in a tawny neutral for her mother, a deep purple for Bernadette and a copper-colored one for herself. Then she got one for Laura in a sage green.

  Amy and Kim had drifted away, roaming among the narrow aisles of the store crammed full of merchandise. Jessica moved to join them as a clerk rushed to her side.

  “Can I put these aside for you?” a well-dressed attendant asked.

  “Thanks. That would be great!” Jessica said as she let go of the stack of throws, a little reluctant to release them.

  “They’ll be at the register when you’re ready to checkout. Let me know if I can help you with anything else.”

  “Will do,” Jessica replied. Then she went to work.

  Jessica joined Kim who was eyeing a gorgeous duvet in a woven jacquard peacock design. At that point, it was Kim who almost had a heart attack when she glimpsed the price tag.

  “Oh no, are you kidding me?” Kim might have been a tad dizzy.

  “Do you like it?” Jessica asked. “In a queen-size, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right! What’s not to like? My entire bedroom set cost less than that!”

  “But do you like it? It is scrumptious. Would it look good in your room?”

  “It would look good in any room. The price is obscene and I... ” Jessica interrupted before Kim could finish.

  “Then we’ll take it. Consider it an early Christmas present,” Jessica said as the alert clerk snatched up a packaged version of the comforter. Kim objected, but gave in after Jessica persisted. Jessica argued that this was better than putting her in a position to buy a gift Kim might not like, so she was doing Jessica a favor. When the helpful sales woman returned, Jessica made sure she also included sheets and other items designed to coordinate with the duvet. Kim tried to protest again, but to no avail.

  “Please, Kim, let me do this for you. I owe you my life.”

  “But you’ve done so much for me already, Jessica... I, I...” Kim’s eyes had flashed with emotion before she turned away. Jessica reached out and touched Kim on the shoulder.

  “It’s about time someone did, Kim. That was a nice thing you did for Libby. Besides, this is for me, too. Okay?” Kim turned back around and smiled. A real smile, her eyes widening with childlike delight, as the stack of items grew. Jessica continued making her way through items on the shelves and tables in the store, finding more gifts for friends, and sumptuous pieces for herself. Each item a testament to the fact that beauty trumped all the sad squalor
she had just witnessed in the person of Libby Van Der Woert.

  “Talk about delusional thinking,” Jessica muttered to herself, recalling the logic that had motivated that shopping spree like so many others. “I'm sick, I know it.” Still, she had such good feelings about that time spent with Kim and Amy.

  Amy, hard at work on her own that day, did not know Jessica intended to pick up the tab for her items, too. The woman had paid a dear price, already, for getting pulled into Jessica’s gravitational field. They hadn’t known each other long when Amy became an unwitting victim of the calamity magnet Jessica had become. Libby’s intrusion had triggered memories of a previous office invasion that did not end well. Amy had bounced back right away, but not without a trip to the hospital. They had even laughed a little, later, about what had gone on that afternoon in July. Jessica had been waiting for an opportunity to acknowledge Amy’s pluck and resilience. Still, Amy had protested.

  “Jessica, what on earth are you thinking?”

  “Hey, we’re sisters in crime at this point. All three of us, in fact,” Jessica said. “It’s either this, or ‘I survived Mr. P’ t-shirts. Bonding over goodies seems better than having to explain that t-shirt to everyone we meet.”

  “Yeah, what would clients think?” Kim asked. They all had a good laugh at that point.

  “You are one-of-a-kind, Jessica Huntington. All I can say is thanks, sister! I didn’t have one growing up, so this could be fun.”

  “Let’s hope so, Amy. Maybe we should hang a sign on the door, ‘mischief free zone’ or something like that so we keep the Libby Van Der Woerts of the world out of there from now on. I don’t know about you two, but I’m sick and tired of mischief makers.”

  “I hear you, but we’d also lose at least some of our clients, Jessica.”

  “True, mischief or the threat of mischief keeps us in business, doesn’t it, Amy?”