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

by Anna Burke

  32 What Diaries?

  “Calm down. Hysteria won't help. Tell me what’s happened.” Eric Conroy paced as he listened to the woman speaking on the other end of the phone. Hard to believe a spinster like her could have such a checkered past. You just never could tell, could you? Lucky for him, though, that she, like so many other mousy, milk-toast types had secrets to hide. He had needed eyes and ears on the ground, inside that house when Sally had become an iffy resource.

  “Two women were here, asking Dottie a bunch of questions about Sally, Eric. They know about you and Carr, too. They had a key, and they took Sally’s diaries. Who are they? What is going on?”

  “Diaries? What diaries?” Eric asked, almost shouting. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about them?”

  “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about extortion? Dead women, Eric! What have you dragged me into? You said all I was supposed to do was give you updates about what was going on here between Dottie and Sally. Then it was updates about Dottie’s condition, and any plans she had to look into Sally’s death. I didn’t bargain for getting mixed up in extortion, even though that’s what you’ve been doing to me. Missing women—maybe murdered—is just too much! I want no part of it.”

  “You weren't in a position to bargain about anything, Andrea. Remember? You still aren’t. Besides, I've paid you well. Go ahead and squawk about extortion if you want to. Once they take a look at your bank account and see money going in, not out, that'll be the end of it. You’re mixed up in plenty, though, whether you want to be or not. Now, take a deep breath, settle down, and do what you’re being paid to do: give me information.”

  For the next ten minutes, he listened. He kept silent, but broke the pencil he was fiddling with when Jessica Huntington’s name came up. That she had made a connection between him and Carr disturbed him. That she and the cops were zeroing in on the link to him and Pinnacle, was worse. Still, it didn’t sound like she had tangible evidence of any wrongdoing. The women who might had evidence weren’t talking—two dead, the third not long for this world, given reports from the ICU out in the desert. Eric cursed that idiot Carr, once more, for getting involved with the daffy skirts he was chasing. He had come in handy, though, managing Sally, Eric’s own foray into the land of daffy skirts. When he got involved with Sally Winchester he hadn’t realized how difficult she would be to manage.

  “Tell me about those diaries and the key,” he commanded.

  “What’s there to tell? Sally kept diaries—a whole box full of them. One for each year—childish stuff, for the most part. I read through them once they turned up here.”

  “Okay, so what’s in there about me and Carr?”

  “You were her one true love, Eric. She loved your eyes and the red hair; her very own Prince Harry. She was not keen on the goatee. That had to go after you two got married.” Andrea laughed when she spoke the next line. “According to Sally, you were the start of her new life—the old one ended. Boy, did she get that right, prophetic even, given she was dead a few months later.”

  “What are you laughing about, you dried up old maid?” Eric asked. He felt the need to defend Sally. She had been a lovely thing. It wasn’t her fault her mother kept her sheltered, naïve, and pent up in that gilded convent they called a home. Heck, if things had gone in a different direction, he might even have married her. She would have been a good wife for a CEO. Too bad for him the CEO option didn't happen. And too bad for her that she had a change of heart and became a liability rather than an asset. Not even the good doctor could keep her in line. What is it about uppity women? he wondered.

  “If you’re done insulting me, I’ll hang up now,” Andrea sniffed, incensed. Spoken in true schoolmarm fashion, Eric noted.

  “I don’t get it—are you telling me there was nothing in there about our break up, or seeing Carr for treatment?”

  “She was whining about Dottie’s disapproval, and how misunderstood you were, but no, nothing about a beak up. That would have been this year, though, right? The diaries ended last year.”

  “There’s no diary for this year? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, Eric, that’s what I just said.” A note of uneasiness had entered her voice. “I presumed that her last few lines about a new life starting with you ended the ‘dear diary’ era.”

  “Oh you presumed, did you? Well, what about that key Dottie was wearing?”

  “I didn’t know about that key until today, Eric. Dottie never said a word about it.”

  “Were there keys with the other diaries, Andrea?”

  “Yes,” she said, in a low voice.

  “Was one of them missing a key?”

  “No. Sally kept a whole set of keys in a jewelry box. Each one tagged with the year. One key for each diary,” Andrea replied, a wariness in her voice now.

  “Okay, so where did that key come from that Dottie wore around her neck?”

  “Apparently, it was among the personal effects Sally had with her at the time of her uh, her um, death.” Wariness had been replaced by a tone of out-and-out stress as she answered that question.

  “Here’s what you're going to do, Andrea. Go upstairs and search every inch of Sally’s room. Look through everything Dottie brought back from her condo, too. Make sure, if there’s another diary, that you get it before someone else does. Got it?”

  “Sure, Eric, I’ll do my best. I can’t be too obvious about it or Dottie and the staff will ask questions. I can go through Sally’s room while Dottie’s napping. Going through all of Sally’s things in storage will have to wait. I can do that after the staff has left and Dottie’s asleep for the night.”

  “Do not wait. Dismiss the staff. Give them the rest of the day off, whatever it takes to get rid of them. Knock that old lady out cold for a few hours, and get it done.”

  “I can't dismiss the staff, Eric. After that visit from Jessica Huntington, security put a man inside. The best I can do is try to get out to the storage in the garage once it gets dark. There's no guarantee I can do that, but I'll try.”

  “Trying won't cut it. If you don’t get back to me by morning I'll take matters into my own hands. You don’t want me to do that, do you?” He did not wait for a response. As soon as he ended the call, he entered another number. He had a new job for Kirk, dammit.

  33 A Tipster

  When Jessica returned to the hotel Sunday afternoon, she zipped through those diaries. The first thing she discovered was that the key did not go with any of the diaries she had. Second, someone had gone through those diaries before her. Otherwise, why were some unlocked while others were not? Not Dottie, since she said she couldn’t bear to read them. Too, Dottie would have realized the diary that went with the key she wore around her neck was missing. Jessica’s first choice as the culprit: Andrea Jessop. She could guess about Andrea’s interest in reading through the diaries if she was doing Conroy's bidding, but Jessica wanted to quiz her about it. What was in it for Dottie's dutiful assistant? That meant another visit to San Marino, so she could push Andrea for answers. That visit would have to take a backseat to two others, however. Visits with Carla Fergusson and Father Caverly were next on the to-be-interviewed list.

  Reading those diaries felt voyeuristic, a feeling made worse by the knowledge that their author was dead. They revealed little of value to her investigation, except to confirm that Sally Winchester had been an easy mark for a con artist like Eric Conroy. Though in her thirties, the woman had an almost childlike view of men, and a teenaged, rebellious nature toward her parents. Sally poured out her heart about how her mother so misunderstood Eric, and vowed not to let Dottie come between them. She was head over heels in love with Eric Conroy and it was easy to imagine that she would have done anything for him. A break up would have been devastating, and she would have been putty in the hands of an unscrupulous psychiatrist like Dr. Richard Carr.

  The real trouble had begun this year when, according to her mother, Sally’s life had turned upside down. Too
bad, since the last diary had ended on such an upbeat note. As 2012 came to a close, Sally was convinced her new life had just begun and the next year would be the best. Her account of what happened after that was missing. Where was the 2013 diary that went with that key? Why did she have the key with her, but no diary? If that diary had been at the hotel the night she died, it would have been among the personal effects returned to Dottie. Where had Carr been the night he called the rescue squad? Perhaps he was in her room that night, found the diary, and took it with him. If so, why? Had the rosary broken during a struggle, cutting Sally's hand and leaving that smear of blood on the crucifix? Was someone after that key? Then why was it left behind with Sally’s body?

  Detective Hernandez was looking for a match to the blood and the partial print, now they knew the remnants of that rosary belonged to yet another troubled woman in Dr. Carr's care. Were there more women? Had one of them fired that shot on Rodeo Drive? Why? How did Libby get the broken rosary months after Sally's death? So many pieces to a puzzle; her mind was reeling. The solution was tantalizingly close. But close wouldn't get justice for the lives trashed by Carr and Conroy, nor would it stop whatever carnage was yet to come.

  Hope quieted Jessica's torment. Carla Fergusson might have the answers if Jessica had read her right that night in July. Was she a defiant young woman, ready to share her story about the charming psychopath running amok at Pinnacle? Jessica intended to find out.

  Trying to unravel the dirty secrets behind Carr's manipulation of women wasn't Jessica's only line of investigation. With Bernadette posing as her client and a potential investor, Jessica would ask Carla Fergusson general questions about Pinnacle. What were their goals for the future, earnings potential, further expansion, who would be at the helm, etc., etc., etc.? She also would inquire about the climate in the boardroom, slipping in a question about Dottie Winchester’s resignation. Asked tactfully, those questions, too, might pass as nothing more than a potential investor’s due diligence. Jessica wanted to see Carla Fergusson's face as she posed questions about the process that led up to Eric Conroy's deal of a lifetime.

  That wasn't all. Jessica planned to use those questions to work around to even tougher ones. Kim had unearthed Pinnacle financial documents, without saying how she found them, that revealed discrepancies between the materials filed with the SEC and earlier company documents. Jessica had listened to her ex and his cronies’ whining and chortling about corporate misbehavior long enough to recognize several odd things. Such as a long-term account still on the books at Pinnacle, doing business with a company that had been a household name, but had not made it through the Great Recession. Not good. How many other accounts might also be tied to defunct companies?

  There was also a mysterious drop-off in debts, from one year to the next, on the books at Pinnacle. Drop-off wasn’t quite the correct term. As if by magic, corporate liabilities morphed into assets, if she was reading the materials right. Much of the hocus pocus was courtesy of their expanded international profile. Pinnacle's corporate wheeling and dealing slid from one part of the world to another.

  The sudden appearance of off-balance sheet entities is what set off alarms for Jessica. Shades of Enron, she thought. As far as she could tell, debt incurred from expanding Pinnacle’s overseas offices one year turned up bundled, securitized, and sold a year or two later, by an off book entity—a Pinnacle subsidiary that dealt in investment products. Perhaps she was missing something; after all the SEC had been all over Pinnacle’s balance sheets before the IPO. Still, the whole point of off book entities for Enron-like gambits was to remove items from the balance sheets. If you worked in corporate finance at Pinnacle, like Carla Fergusson, it might be something you'd stumble upon. Jessica would start with a few questions and see where all of this took her with the Fergusson woman.

  The other important thing on Jessica’s “to do” list was a visit with Father Caverly. She hoped he might divulge the nature, if not the specific content, of the discussions with Sally prior to her death. Did she share anything about the accusations made against her father, or about her relationships with her parents, Conroy or Carr? Did she raise any red flags about Carr, Conroy or Pinnacle and the circumstances surrounding her mother’s resignation? Was Sally drugged up and deluded or a willing party to extortion, to help the man of her dreams take his rightful place at the helm of the flagship PR firm? Did her disclosures to the priest signal remorse, a possible precursor to a series of confessions to authorities?

  Her skin crawled as she recalled the ruthless way in which Carr had reacted to Libby's change of heart. Had Sally Winchester come to a similar turning point? If so, did she overdose accidentally, or did she have a little help from Carr, Conroy, or one of Conroy’s hired hands? Jerry was checking to see if he could find any evidence that Carr or Conroy had been out there in the desert, too, when Sally Winchester died.

  The complexity of the case and the chaos of the previous week was getting to Jessica. Angst and weariness warred with her compulsion to put things right. Maybe it was an urge for justice or a need for the scales of good and bad to be put into balance—an offshoot of her inner control freak. She would be so glad to see this year end, now only a couple of weeks away. She planned to have one hell of a celebration to mark the occasion. If they could nab Eric Conroy, the slithering snake, there would be even more to celebrate. Her cell phone rang, startling Jessica, and she whooped with alarm.

  “Hi, Frank,” she said, recognizing the hunky detective’s cell phone number. She tried to calm her racing heart.

  “Is that all you have to say?” Uh-oh, make that testy, hunky detective, she thought.

  “I take it you saw that news item about Tiffany’s, right?”

  “Dad saw it and called me to ask me what happened. He tried to call you himself, several times today. Dad's more than a little put out about it.” Like father, like son, she thought. She was too tired to wrangle with Frank, though. Several ways to ring out the old year and ring in the new one with the man popped into her head. Maybe it was time to bring her “no men” vow to an end, along with the year.

  “I’m sorry, Frank. I had the phone off most of the day while I was talking with an old friend about Carr and Conroy. I just turned the phone back on a few minutes ago and didn’t even check for missed calls or voice mails.” She leaned back on the pillow, trying not to get irritated by Frank’s tone. She had learned that he had a hard time expressing his concern for her in a soft way. At first, anyway, since her apology flipped a switch.

  “We were both worried, that’s all. You sound tired. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Sure, Frank, it might help me to go through it all. We’re brimming over with information, but don’t have the missing links to put it all together.” She started with the events at Tiffany’s. Then she filled him in on what she had learned from Dottie Winchester and her suspicions about Andrea Jessop. The diaries, the tiny key, and plans to speak to Father Caverly all tumbled out. She ran through the issues she had uncovered about Pinnacle without mentioning the fact she intended to track down Carla Fergusson and have a chat.

  “I’ll see if I can find out what progress they’ve made about the shooting at Tiffany’s. That's not good, even with an amateur shooting, rather than a pro. You already know that, right?”

  “Yes, Frank, I get it. I’ve wracked my brain trying to figure out who else I could have pissed off enough to shoot me. Could Dr. Dick have another girl friend on the loose who blames me for shoving him off the mountain?”

  “Who knows, Jessica? It could be, or maybe the crazed fan idea is right. Does it matter? All the signs are pointing to the fact you have reached the ‘cool it’ point in all of this, Jessica. As if you weren’t already there a week ago when you came within an inch or two of losing your life,” Frank said, with exasperation growing as he spoke.

  “I understand that, Frank. It’s just that we’re so close to getting this guy. I can feel it,” Jessica said.

  “That�
�s what I’m worried about, Jessica. If you can feel it, maybe he can too.” Frank let out a sigh and took a deep breath. “I have news about Pinnacle that ought to make it easier for you to take a step back. Please, don’t repeat this. I have it on good authority that you’re not alone in raising concerns about Pinnacle’s books. Someone called in a tip that set off an investigation. It’s a matter for the FBI, so I can’t get details about how far along they are. Something’s up, Jessica. You need to keep this between us, for now.”

  “Wow, that’s great. Is there any tie-in to Carr and what’s been going on with the dead and missing women left in their wake?”

  “That’s a good question, Jessica. If they get this guy, Conroy, on some kind of financial crime, maybe the conspiracy with Carr will become evident.”

  “How about any information about where the tip came from?” That image of Carla Fergusson floated into Jessica’s head.

  “Not a clue about that, either. You’ve stepped into the middle of another mess, for sure, and this one may be above both our pay grades.”

  “Fell in to it is more like it, don’t you think, Frank? It sounds like I’m on the verge of getting chewed out by federal cops any second now, too. That would be a first.”

  “They might not be as charming as I am when they pay you a visit. I’m having a wave of regret, at the moment, about not being able to deliver my latest warning in person. On the other hand, just the thought of those lovely green eyes makes it hard for me to be as tough on you as I should be, so better to hear it from me on the phone. Ah, Jessica, what am I going to do about you?” Jessica was back to thinking about plenty he could do, but that wasn’t the point.

  “Tell your dad I'm sorry to worry you both, Frank. We have a couple loose ends to wrap up tomorrow and it’s back to the desert for all of us. I promise.” As she hung up the phone, she considered Frank's advice. Why not end her pursuit of loose ends, sleep in tomorrow morning, and hit the spa before driving back to Rancho Mirage? Shopping sounded good, too. Tommy could use some things for his trousseau—did gay men have those? Jessica looked at the time on her cell phone. Who was she kidding? No way was she going to back off so close to the finish line. Her palm itched as she held the phone, wondering what was still open on Rodeo Drive. What was she going to wear to Pinnacle for that meeting with Carla Fergusson? What would Bernadette wear?