by Anna Burke
“And a little mischief isn’t always bad, Jessica.” That was Kim putting in her two cents’ worth.
“That’s a good point, Kim. How about we put the loot into our cars and let’s go make a little mischief at a happy hour somewhere nearby?”
“On one condition,” Amy said. “It’s my turn to pick up the tab.”
“Deal,” Jessica replied.
“Okay, Amy, since my capacity for mischief far exceeds my cash reserves,” Kim offered, as close to jovial as Jessica had seen her. “I like the sister thing, too,” she added shyly. “I don't have a sister, either. With my luck I would have ended up with one like Libby Van Der Woert. This is much better, Jessica.” Jessica had to agree. Happy families sure seemed scarce. She thought about her mother and father, her own failed marriage, and Bernadette’s story about love lost to a family rift.
“Libby's parents have tried to make their family a happy one. What does it take?” Jessica now asked aloud as she scrawled a few new notes in Libby's file. She still couldn't see how the things that passed between them that day could account for Libby's subsequent change of heart as Carr claimed before shoving them off the mountain. Could Kim's sincerity have touched Libby somehow? How had her shrink settled on murder as the solution to whatever problem Libby posed? He wasn't the only one with Libby's murder on his mind, given that nightmare in the ICU. What is going on? A quiet knock on the door was enough to cause Jessica to jump.
“Jessica, are you decent?” Bernadette asked.
“Sure, Bernadette, come on in.” The door opened and Bernadette stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.
“Jessica, Detective Hernandez is here. He wants to talk to you. You want him to go away?”
“Yes, I want him to go away. I’m sure all he wants to do is rant at me, but I’ll talk to him.”
“He wanted me to tell you that there’s stuff you need to know about the guy that tried to get to Libby at the hospital. And, Jessica, they found a body.”
15 Biscochito Interrogation
“Okay, Bernadette, tell him yes. But can you help me dress so I don’t have to meet with the guy in my bathrobe? I could do it on my own but that would take me half an hour.” Jessica felt her body rev up and prepared for that moment when her heart would leap from her chest. Panic Disorder had been the diagnosis after a series of tests had ruled out other reasons for her symptoms. Not just heart palpitations, but sweaty palms, trouble breathing, and difficulty swallowing. Today, her body must be low on adrenaline. She regained control before Bernadette exited the room. Jessica needed information from the detective more than she dreaded his scolding or what she might hear.
“I thought you’d need a hand—give me a second. I'll put him in the great room with a cold drink. If we all sit in there we can prop you up on a couch. With your feet up it’ll be a lot more comfortable. I’ll be right back.” Bernadette scooted out of the room, hollering as she went.
“Detective...” Jessica didn’t even try to hear what followed as Bernadette shut the bedroom door behind her. Jessica climbed out of bed, stood and removed the sling. As she did that the chilled pad she had been using on her bruised ribcage dropped to the floor. She shuffled into her enormous walk-in closet, where everything was laid out in perfect order. Gleaming wood drawers with brushed nickel pulls occupied the center of the room. Clothes hung from rods that lined both sides of the room. Shelves held items, like sweaters, that didn't hang well. At the opposite end of the room was a door leading into her bathroom, and a wall of shelves. Those shelves contained shoes and handbags in a sea of neutrals with occasional splashes of color.
Her inner neat-freak basked in the order displayed in that room as her eyes roamed the rows of clothing. As she stepped into her own private cathedral to couture, the cut and color, warp and weave of the fabrics called to her senses. All the polished surfaces and glittery doodads in the room exuded comfort and promise—the world is a silky, satiny, glorious place to be. There were also all the memories that clung to items hanging in that room, like the gorgeous dress worn to that celebration in her father’s honor.
Jessica had tried to explain her feelings to Father Martin in yet another of their “to shop or not to shop” discussions. Shopping was an activity she did for fun, alone or with her mother and her friends. It had become an engrained way to enjoy the world and cope with life.
“People talk a lot about that ‘new car smell,’ but there’s a new clothes smell, too.” That hit her now as she luxuriated in that room. “I get a rush from shopping, Father, a pleasant sensation of well-being. I feel alive, and like I have a future, even when it's bleak. I’m in control. Have a baby or stop my husband from lusting after mega-deals and Hollywood blonds, no. Buy a gorgeous duvet, in a slinky imported Italian fabric with a divine cinnamon hue, yes! And on sale, oh my God, that’s even better!”
“Jessica you know that’s a fleeting effort to find what you’re looking for. Well-being? Control? I can’t believe an intelligent woman like you is convinced you gain any of that by swiping your black AMEX card and walking away with a shopping back full of stuff. Nor am I convinced you need physical props to feel better about your life or to recall important events.”
“Father, you of all people should understand the value of ritual. Beautiful rituals marking important occasions, are everywhere in the Church. The Mass is largely that, and from what I remember of my Catholic school experience we celebrated some saint almost every day. What about all the music, art and icons, crucifixes and rosaries? Aren’t those props?”
“Jessica, yes, all of that’s true. In your case, it’s a cart before the horse kind of problem. Or maybe it’s a cart without a horse problem. You can’t put objects ahead of the concepts they should represent. You need a horse—a force to pull you forward or you go nowhere in that cart loaded with stuff. What’s the force behind your shopping binges? What do all of those objects represent beyond illusions of well-being and control—flashes of life imagined in objects devoid of life? Even more important, you need a direction—a destination and a path to set the horse and the cart upon. As you’ve learned over and over again this year, it’s all a lie. The things you buy may give you pleasure, but they don’t give you control over your life, nor do they offer you true comfort or safety. That duvet doesn’t make you a better person, a truer friend, or bring you closer to understanding the mystery of life. You can’t allow rituals, religious or otherwise, to divert you from those larger tasks we face as humans.”
Jessica let out a huge sigh, releasing the tension and confusion she always felt after speaking with Father Martin. On some level she grasped what he was saying—his words spoke to the part of her that kept her going back to see the exasperating priest. On another level she just didn’t get it, or maybe she didn’t want to get it. It made her happy to shop—not just for herself, but for others. She had the money. What was the big deal?
As she dropped the robe she glimpsed herself in the full-length mirror. A battered wreck stared back at her, in boxer briefs and a sports bra. Her hair in disarray, there were scrapes on her left cheek and a bruise hovered above her left eye. One arm in a cast, the hand on the other arm bandaged, it was easy to believe the unbelievable—that she had fallen off a mountain and lived to tell about it.
“No shiner, at least” she said aloud, recalling a previous injury courtesy of a lowlife wearing pantyhose on his head. Her left shoulder bore bruises above the cast on her arm, front and back. The worst bruising was around her ribs; dark and ugly. “You are lucky, Chica, just to be alive,” she said pointing at that image in the mirror. Father Martin was correct about the whole control thing being illusory.
“Dios mìo, Jessica, you can say that again!” Bernadette said as she stepped into the room beside Jessica. “I’ve got Detective Hernandez all set up in the great room. Let’s get you dressed and I’ll brush your hair for you. I gave him some lemonade and one of my magazines to read. We have time to do this.”
“What to wear w
ith bandages, bruises, and a cast as your accessories? Now that’s a fashion challenge, isn’t it, Bernadette?” They settled on a loose-fitting pair of yoga pants in a soft knit that didn’t bind at the waist. Jessica pulled them on with care, hoping not to jar the ribs too much. Bernadette helped slip a sleeveless tank top over Jessica's head without getting it caught on her cast or bandages, and without having Jessica raise her arms too high. Still, Jessica winced at a surge of pain moved from her shoulders to the area around her ribs.
“Thanks, Bernadette,” Jessica said as the dear woman helped her put the sling back on without much more pain. “This outfit doesn’t hide the bruising. Maybe the detective will figure I’ve already taken my lumps and will go easy on me. I’m not up for a serious duel with him yet.”
“Jessica, I’m softening him up for you. I gave him cookies to go with his lemonade. Plus, I set a plate out for him to take home along with my recipe for the biscochitos. He ought to be mellow by now. You want me to warn him that if he’s mean to you he won’t get out of here with those cookies?” She had put her hands on her hips in a bantam rooster fighting stance.
“Nah, Bernadette, that’s okay.” Jessica leaned in and gave the woman a peck on the cheek. “Let’s go get him.” With Bernadette on her side, Jessica felt like she could handle the bull of a man waiting for her.
Great room was the right term for the room in which the detective sat. The heart of the desert modern home in Rancho Mirage, it was a spectacle to behold. Twenty foot ceilings, with a stacked stone fireplace at one end that ran floor to ceiling. The outer wall of the room made of glass pocket doors, could be slid away, opening the entire room to the outdoors. A beautiful patio area off the great room could host large parties, doubling or tripling the capacity that the room itself offered. In front of one set of windows was a well-stocked, step down wet bar, with buttery leather swivel chairs in front of the granite bar that allowed you to gaze out at the beautiful landscape and drink in comfort.
The proportions of the room made the detective look smaller than he was. He also seemed tame, munching cookies and drinking lemonade. Hernandez did a double-take when he saw Jessica.
“How are you, Detective Hernandez?” Jessica asked as she sat down on a plush sofa, bolstered by pillows. Bernadette helped her get as comfortable as she could.
“I’m fine, but I should ask you that question. Holy cow, you are a mess.”
“Words every woman longs to hear, thanks very much. I’ve been better. Then again, I could be a lot worse, so I won't complain.”
“That’s the truth. You are one lucky woman as I have pointed out on other occasions.”
Oh no, he’s winding up for I told you so mode, Jessica thought. “Hey, I’m being brave, here. Don’t I get any pity points for what I’ve been through?” Before he could say a thing Bernadette interceded.
“Jessica, I'll go get you some cookies and lemonade. Can I bring you more, Detective?” The petite woman bore down on him with a beatific smile more disarming than her offer of cookies. “We have milk, too, if you’d rather have milk. Or can I bring you fresh coffee to go with the cookies?” Bernadette seemed to float, her feet barely touching the ground, as she radiated good will.
The burly detective, who had leaned forward in his windup with Jessica, sank back into the oversized arm chair in which he sat. The rugged, angular features in the detective’s face revealed the native Cahuilla in his ancestry, despite his Spanish surname. They softened as the comfortable contours of his chair cradled him. The clever Bernadette had seated Detective Hernandez with a dazzling view of the outdoors from that wall of windows that reached for the blue sky they framed.
“Sure if you don’t mind. Coffee and more cookies would be great.”
“I’ll go with milk, Bernadette. What’s better than milk and cookies when you’ve got trouble on your plate, already? Am I right, Detective Hernandez?” Jessica asked.
“You are right. I need the coffee so I can keep moving after we’re done here. But, in principle, I agree. There’s nothing better than milk and cookies. Special cookies, too, like the ones I remember as a kid—and it’s not even biscochito season yet. This is a treat.”
“I’m glad you like them, Detective. This is my practice batch before I bake for our Cat Pack Christmas party. I have to get to work, soon, if I want to have enough on hand for them. That little group keeps getting bigger. And then there’s Brien.”
“Brien, you mean your surfer pool boy? He’s the one at the hospital that kept asking if he could go eat, right? As I recall, we were still trying to figure out if a bad guy is gunning for you, and he’s hungry.”
“That would be him, Detective. His mouth is legendary around here. Not just because of the unusual things he utters, at odd, inappropriate times, but also because of the volume of food he can put away.”
“Sì, Brien Anthony Williams es un boca grande, Detective. Just like a baby bird, ‘feed me, cheep-cheep-cheep, feed me, dude’. That surfer talk sounds plain loco, half the time. Excuse me, you two. All this talk about milk and cookies makes me want some too. I’ll be right back, but wait ‘til I get back before you get to the part about the dead body, okay?”
“That part will be quick. We’ve found the body of a young woman not far from a hiking trail in Cathedral Canyon. The body has been out there for more than a week now, and the coyotes got to her, so to I.D. her we have to run a DNA check or use dental records. It could be Shannon Donnelly, but we won’t know for another day or two.” With that, Bernadette crossed herself and then bustled out of the room, muttering. Jessica thought she heard her saying Dios mìo, and something about maleantes as she fled. She had heard all she wanted to hear about dead bodies.
“So Detective, before you start the third degree, I should tell you I am not a hundred percent yet. It's been four days since I fell off a damn mountain. Not only did that scare the bejeebers out of me, it jarred my senses, so I don’t know if all my wires are connected like they should be.”
“Okay, so what does that mean?” The detective leaned forward a little, scrutinizing Jessica. They had more respect for each other after tangling during two prior murder investigations. Still, they would never be BFFs or anything like that. Jessica feared the detective would pull rank, or start chest-thumping, if he didn’t like what he heard.
“I guess it means I’d prefer, first, that we keep this low-keyed, if possible, and second, off the record for now. I’m happy to talk to you, but I’m in no shape to swear to anything.”
“That’s no problem. I’m not here to investigate you, Jessica. What I want is, first, for you to tell me what you went on with Libby Van Der Woert, and second, any new information she gave you about Shannon Donnelly. I don’t want you to be all dodgy with me—holding your cards close to your chest...”
“Oh, but Detective, she has to keep her arm in the sling,” Bernadette said as she scurried back into the room with a tray of refreshments. The air filled with the heavenly aroma of cookies, spices and fresh brewed coffee, as she set the tray down on the coffee table. Bernadette poured a mug of coffee from the press pot, handing it to the detective. Then she refilled his plate with cookies cut into small fleur-de-lis, star, Christmas tree, and angel shapes.
“What he means, Bernadette, is that he wants me to lay all my cards on the table—tell him everything I know about Libby Van Der Woert, Dr. Richard Carr, and Shannon Donnelly.”
“But you told him you don’t have a full deck, right, Jessica?” Detective Hernandez who was scarfing down cookies still warm from the oven, about did a spit take. He took a swig of coffee to wash down the cookies and then smiled.
“That didn’t come out so good, did it?” Bernadette asked as she held out a plate of cookies so Jessica could grab one. She put a little plate of cookies on a folding table next to Jessica, along with a glass of milk. Then Bernadette sat down nearby with her own cookies and milk.
“No, Bernadette, it did not. My deck is full, I’m just not sure, yet, what hand I’m h
olding. Since I’m rattled, and still can’t think straight, I don’t know how smart it is to make a play at this point. I have clients to protect, too—not Libby, but her parents. So, it’s a little tricky, Detective Hernandez.”
“Okay, Jessica. Tricky is the way most cases go. Let’s try doing this your way—low-keyed and off the record and see what that gets us.” Bernadette’s cookies and fresh coffee were working their magic. The man was almost jovial. “I’ll go first and put my cards out there, off the record, too.”
“Sounds good,” Jessica agreed, while Bernadette nodded, assuming she was along for the ride.
“As you already know, Shannon Donnelly’s car was found in a parking lot near the IMAX in Cathedral City. A security patrol called it in Sunday morning, Thanksgiving weekend. Nobody was sure how long it had been there, but those patrols are done regularly. The guard thought he had seen it the day before, in the same spot. That’s what caught his attention. When he got out and took a look, he thought he saw streaks of blood in the front seat so he called us. The officers at the scene confirmed it was blood and cordoned off the area until we could get CSIs out there. By the time I got to the scene, they had run the plates and determined that the car belonged to Shannon Donnelly. It was a late model Lexus sedan without a mark on its exterior, so no sign that anyone had tried to break into the car. The investigators did a preliminary search of the car. They bagged and tagged several items scattered about on the floor of the car on the passenger side. There was blood on the steering wheel, driver’s seat, arm rest and several other areas. Not a huge amount, but enough to suspect that something might have happened to the driver. I had the car towed back to the lab in Indio so the CSIs could work it over. The CSIs found little else at the scene except for several small drops of blood leading away from the car, and an earring, later identified as one belonging to Shannon Donnelly.” The detective paused for a moment to have another swig of coffee.
