The Big Keep: A Lena Dane Mystery (Lena Dane Mysteries)

by Melissa F. Olson

  I was at my desk, wrapping up some notes on a recent background check. My door was closed because I’d brought Toka into the office with me, something that used to be a rare treat but was happening quite a lot these days, with Toby’s encouragement. He claimed that he just wanted Toka to get extra quality time before the baby arrived, but I knew that he was still a little bit worried that Jason Anderson’s killer would come after me again. I might have bristled at the implication that I couldn’t take care of myself, but Toka was so thrilled to come to work with me that I didn’t have the heart. Or the energy.

  When Bryce ushered Starla into my office, Toka woofed quietly and ran up to sniff her out, wiggling his whole back half in greeting. As she bent down to pet him, my mouth gaped open at the sight of her. Her blonde hair was professionally straightened, she’d applied subtle but excellent makeup, and she wearing tailored brown slacks and a sweater that even I could recognize as expensive – maybe not Prada, but definitely far above my own clothing budget. Starla looked calmer, too, and just more...grownup.

  “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind big dogs,” I said belatedly, trying to recover from the shock. What the hell was she doing in Chicago?

  “Oh, that’s okay. My brother and I had a pit when we were growing up. I think they’re so cute,” she cooed down at Toka, letting him sniff her hands. Satisfied (and maybe a little disappointed) that Starla wasn’t trying to kill me, Toka retreated to his sleeping place under my desk. I gestured to the green visitor’s chair and she sat down.

  “How are you, Starla?” I finally asked. I peered into the waiting room, but I didn’t see any blurs of movement or hear the sound of shattering computer equipment. “Did you bring the kids?”

  “No, they’re staying with Conrad. He didn’t want me to come, but I...well. Things have been kind of tough lately.” Her face softened, and for a moment I recognized the frazzled, scared kid I’d seen a few months earlier. Then she straightened up. “But knowing Jason’s gone is a lot easier than wondering where he is.”

  I didn’t really follow the shift in subject, but I nodded anyway. “And...what brings you to see me?”

  “Oh! Right.” She fluttered a hand, like it might help her focus. Maybe it did. “I want to retain your services.” She bent to pull a file out of her oversized Coach bag, sliding it across my desk. I opened it automatically and read through the top page. It was a police report.

  “You were robbed?”

  “Not exactly. My apartment was broken into while the kids and I were out,” she explained. “Nothing was taken, but Jason’s desk was emptied out, and all the furniture and mattresses were ripped open.”

  I looked at a couple of crime scene photos of the toddlers’ beds, each slashed almost in two. “I’m so sorry, Starla. Do the police have any suspects?”

  “No. But there’s more.” She reached across my desk and flipped past the police report to some bank papers. “A month before he died, Jason took out an insurance policy, with me as the benefactor. It was for over half a million dollars.”

  I whistled. That explained her new look, anyway. “He didn’t tell you about this at the time?”

  “No.” She looked at me levelly. “Obviously, it’s a huge relief to have the money. I’m looking for a bigger place, and I’m finally able to afford some real help with the kids.”

  “That’s great, Starla.”

  “Yeah,” she said, twisting her hair around a finger, “but why would he take out that big of a policy on himself? If it was because he was investigating something, and he was killed because of it, then why is someone searching my apartment now? Why isn’t it over?”

  I closed the file and slid it back to the middle of the desk. “I don’t know.”

  “I think maybe they were looking for this,” She unfolded a wad of paper from her bag, and I saw that it was the screenplay treatment I’d found taped to the bottom of Jason’s desk drawer. “I was keeping it with me, to remind me of him when I’m out and about. It was the last thing he did, you know. And I think maybe someone wants it. I just don’t know why.”

  My brow furrowed. I’d glanced through the screenplay summary, and been unimpressed. Maybe the full screenplay was better, but the treatment had been vague and poorly structured. There hadn’t really been anything incriminating in there, either: no names or dates or even specific methods of killing. Certainly nothing worth dying over.

  But maybe the killer didn’t know that. “I have no idea, Starla.”

  “I want to hire you to find out.”

  I was already shaking my head no. “Starla, my part in this investigation is over. I was hired by Jason’s son, and I got the answer he needed. I know you’re probably worried and scared, but there’s nothing I can’t do for you that a good PI in Los Angeles couldn’t. I can get you some names—”

  “I don’t want names, I want you.” I raised my eyebrows at her moxie, but she was already leaning over again to open the file, handing me the last two pages. It was Jason’s credit card bill, and a handful of charges had been circled with a pink pen. “Right after Jason disappeared, he came here, to Chicago, for four days. There’s the charge for his plane ticket, see? And there’s a hotel charge.” I scanned the bill. Why would he come to Chicago?

  And suddenly I was furious. Like punch-holes-in-the-wall furious. He’d been right here and hadn’t even bothered to find his own son. Everything would be different now if Jason Anderson had picked up the goddamned phone.

  Then I had another thought. “Hang on a second, Starla.” I reached into my bag and pulled out my well-worn copy of Jason’s homicide file. I flipped to the coroner’s time of death and compared it to the bill. Based on the coroner’s estimate, Jason had been killed within about twelve hours of returning from Chicago. I dropped the papers and rubbed my face.

  Starla spoke up. “So see, you’re the perfect person to hire for this case. You can figure out what had happened here, and you already know all about the case in LA.” She paused, looking me straight in the eyes. “We really need your help, Lena. Please.”

  Dammit, dammit, dammit. She’d set this up perfectly, hooking me with the police photo and securing my interest with the Chicago trip. Was it possible that Starla was an evil mastermind after all? “Starla,” I began again, “I’m sorry, but I can’t take this on right now.” I gestured to my bulging stomach. I was nearly six months along, and I’d had to break into the bag of hideous maternity clothes that Rory had rather gleefully “donated.” Today’s ensemble was a high-necked azure dress that made me look like a blueberry. “I’ve got a lot going on, myself. And the last time I worked this case, it got pretty dangerous.”

  To her credit, Starla winced. “I know, and I’m sorry about that,” she said contritely. “But I just know you’re the only one who can figure this out. And, I mean, don’t you want to know who jumped you?”

  Yes, I really fucking did. But I’d made a promise. “Starla-”

  She held up her hands. “Look, just...don’t say anything right now. Really. Sleep on it, and call me tomorrow.” She held up two fingers in the Girl Scout salute. “I promise, if you say no I won’t bother you again.”

  I sighed with exasperation. “Fine. But listen, Starla, if whoever killed Jason is still looking for something, he may go back to your place again. Or he may try to find you. Do you have somewhere you can stay for a little while?”

  “Conrad’s,” she said immediately. “He’s been really great through this whole thing.”

  “That’s good. Are you still working at the restaurant?”

  “No,” she said, a little shyly. “I quit there. The acting thing isn’t working out. I’m trying to figure out what I want to do next. Maybe school.”

  “That’s great, Starla. And I’m glad you won’t be in the same place on a regular basis.” I stood up, with some effort, and maneuvered my growing belly around the desk to walk her to the door. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow and turn you down then.”

  After Starla left, I collapsed
in the visitor’s seat, which had more padding than my desk chair, thinking over the new information. So Jason Anderson had been in Chicago just before his death, and not to see his son. The note he’d left Starla had said he was doing research, but what could he be researching in Chicago that he couldn’t learn in LA? Was this tied to his stupid screenplay? Sure, Chicago’s history was full of professional killers, but most of the well-known ones were mob-related, and Jason’s screenplay wasn’t based on the Mafia. His script was supposedly based on a true story, but why come all the way back here to find a figure to research? What did Chicago have that LA didn’t?

  Toka peered up at me from under the desk, trying to follow the progress of my spins, until I laughed at the confused look on his face. I reached into my bottom desk drawer and pulled out a shoebox-sized Milkbone, which he happily devoured in about four seconds. While I was facing the desk, I realized that Starla had covertly slipped her file on top of a stack of my paperwork. Goddammit. Definitely an evil mastermind.

  “It’s not my problem,” I told the dog. “It’s not my case.” I looked at the clock on my desk and sighed. “We gotta go, pup.”

  It took some effort, but I left the file on my desk.

  24. The Only Thing Holding Him Up

  It was a beautiful spring evening, with the temperature in the early 60’s. I drove through the city streets with the windows down, enjoying the breeze nearly as much as the dog, who had his head and shoulders jammed out the window. I dropped Toka off at the apartment, leaving the car double-parked in front of my building, and headed out of the downtown area toward Schaumburg, a suburban area with chain stores and chain restaurants and chain gas stations. My father, the independent store owner, calls it Chainsburg.

  As I threaded through the light evening traffic, I kept catching a glimpse of a beige Toyota Camry. I could have sworn I’d seen the same car parked outside my apartment building when I’d come back down from dropping off Toka. I frowned at the rearview mirror and told myself I was being ridiculous. There were probably thousands of beige Camrys in the greater Chicago area. When I pulled into a huge multi-store parking lot it didn’t follow, and I relaxed. You’re getting paranoid in your old age, Lena, I thought.

  I parked the Jeep in front of Babies ‘R Us, where my husband was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the store. With his big smile and jeans and leather jacket combo he looked like a catalogue model. I, on the other hand felt grubby and fat. As I laboriously climbed out of the Jeep and walked toward him, I glanced down at my huge belly, wincing at the ketchup stain on the blueberry dress and the snarl of something in my hair – wait, was that a paper clip? Ugh.

  “Hey, babe. You ready?” he asked me.

  I nodded. “Sorry I’m late. Is Rory here already?”

  “Yep, she went inside to get you one of those scan gun things.” He grinned at me. “She seems really, really excited.”

  “I bet.” I smoothed my hair behind my ears and blew out a breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Rory had decided to throw me a baby shower the following month, and so we were supposed to register for all the clothes and gear and various baby accoutrements we wanted our child to have. Having been through the wedding experience a few years back, I already knew that choosing domestic paraphernalia was not my best activity. To make it even more complicated, I had no idea whether we were looking for pink or blue items. At twenty-two weeks (apparently pregnant women are required to change their inner system of time measurement to weeks), I should theoretically have known what I was having, but Toby had been adamant about not finding out until the baby was born. He insisted that it was one of the few great surprises left in life, and we shouldn’t miss it for the sake of convenience. I thought that was about the stupidest thing I’d ever heard (after all, it’s still a surprise when they tell you in the doctor’s office, just with less viscera), but I was still working my ass off to appear excited and complacent about having the kid, so I’d gone along with it.

  “Lena!” Rory trilled as we walked through the door. Today she was wearing black slacks and a modest V-neck sweater, clothes that I would actually wear. Good for her. She was also carrying a large printout and a scanner gun, and looking perky as hell. Bad for me.

  “Hey, sister.” I gave her a hug, wincing at the disapproving look she gave my appearance. At least she hadn’t seen the paper clip. “You look like you’re all set to go.”

  “Yep! Here’s your scan gun,” she handed it over, “and this is a list of the basic stuff you’ll be needing for the baby. Now, I can tell you from experience that some of this stuff is crap, and some of it will save your life.” Rory was positively glowing with enthusiasm, and I had to grin at her in spite of myself. She was clearly enjoying a fresh new opportunity to guide and help me. I glanced down the list, and realized with a sinking heart that it was three pages long. It had a staple, for crying out loud.

  “Okay,” I said gamely, “Where do you want to start?”

  “Well, first off,” Rory began, “don’t register or buy too much newborn stuff. If you’re late, like I was with Cassie, or if the baby is just big, then he or she might outgrow that stuff in just a few weeks. Oh, this is a great brand of stroller...”

  She continued talking as we wandered the aisles, holding up things for me to scan with the gun. I tried to focus on smiling a lot and asking intelligent questions, glancing at Toby out of the corner of my eye. He was trailing a little ways behind us, stopping here and there to pick up a pair of teeny shoes or a blanket with puppies on it. He favored all the blue stuff. After awhile I stopped listening entirely and just watched him, heart in my throat.

  In books and movies, it always seems like the pregnant mother develops this instant, important connection with the fetus, or zygote, or whatever. Not only do they become obsessed with talking about baby stuff, but they become obsessed with the baby itself. I, on the other hand, still mostly thought of the thing as one of the facehuggers that eventually pops out of human chests in the “Alien” movies. It was just...in there, growing, leeching off my oxygen and food. I rarely even felt it kick, because, as my OB had explained, my placenta was on the front wall of my uterus, creating a buffer between me and the baby. It had to kick me awfully hard just for me to notice.

  So despite months of waiting, that special connection just hadn’t happened to me. Toby, on the other hand, was completely smitten with the life form in my body. It made me feel horribly guilty... and kind of jealous, too.

  “Lean? Did you hear what I just said?” Rory demanded, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Yes,” I said automatically.

  “Oh yeah? What did I just say?” Rory had her hands on her hips, total mom-style. I looked back at her and grinned.

  “I’m sorry, Ro, I have no idea. I was watching my husband play with booties.”

  “I was not!” Toby protested, dropping the infant puppy slippers he’d so obviously been playing with. “But listen, what do you think about doing the nursery in puppies?”

  “Omigod that’s adorable!” Rory cried, before I could say anything. I nodded in agreement, but no one saw it—Rory was ripping the scan gun out of my hand to erase a bunch of stuff we’d already scanned, so she could go back to pick out the puppy-themed items. She and Toby chatted about wallpaper colors and borders, and I followed behind.

  A dozen scans of baby paraphernalia later, I checked my watch and saw it was time to go pick up Nate. Finally.

  “Honey?” I said, and Toby turned to look at me, a grin still on his face. I couldn’t help smiling back as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Listen, Toby, I love the puppy idea. But I did promise Nate I’d give him a ride home. Do you mind if I duck out? Anything else you guys find is awesome.”

  His smile flickered. “But we’re only like halfway down the list. Couldn’t Nate take the bus?”

  “He could,” I allowed, “But it would take him a long time and I already promised. And he’s just got so much on his plate at home, I want to b
e, you know, reliable.”

  “Lena...” He paused, gently untangling my arms and holding my hands in his. “Don’t you think you’re spending a little too much time with this kid?”

  Rory raised her eyebrows, sensing a Conversation. “I’m just going to run back and see what else they have with puppies,” she said, holding up the scan gun. She scurried off.

  Don’t be defensive, I told myself. Be calm and reasonable. “Does it seem like too much?” I asked lightly. Go, me.

  “Well, it’s just ...I mean, I know his stepfather doesn’t have all that much time, and then who knows where Nate will end up, if he’ll even stay in Chicago. He’s a great kid, but I don’t want you to get your heart broken because you can’t spend time with him anymore.”

  “Maybe I could still see him, in like a Big Brother Big Sisters kind of way,” I suggested carefully, as if it was just occurring to me. Frankly, it hadn’t crossed my mind that I wouldn’t see Nate after Tom passed away.

  “Maybe,” Toby said doubtfully. “But we’re going to be awfully busy with the baby. You don’t want to make promises now that you won’t be able to keep later.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” I’d be so busy trying not to think too much about the baby that I hadn’t thought too much about the future, period. For a moment I entertained a fantasy in which my father adopted Nate and he showed up at all family events, with his eager smile and shy sense of humor. Then I came back to reality. My father was in his sixties, and very comfortable staying in the small world of the comic book store and the apartment above it. He was a wonderful man, but not in a position to take on a teenager. I focused back on my husband. “That’s definitely something to think about, babe. But for just tonight, I did promise a ride home. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Toby said, disappointment plain on his face. I gave him a hug and a kiss and went off to hug Rory, too.