by T. L. Hart
“What guy?” I wondered if cousin Dewayne was skulking about, since I’d been avoiding his calls, each a little more impatient than the last. It had made me uneasy to find he had managed to get my number. How he’d figured out where I was working was another disturbing question. “Tall blond guy, a little seedy?”
“Nah. Dark and maybe five ten or so. Not a grifter, for sure. Dressed rich enough to go out with one of your old evening gowns. Funny thing. He had a picture of you, but he kept asking questions about Jennifer Strickland. Guess he hadn’t heard you were getting divorced.”
“What kind of questions?” Probably one of Gregory’s stooge investigators. I guess I didn’t scare him as much as I thought.
“Where you lived. How long you been working here. Who you’re hanging out with.” She shrugged. “I told him you were a snooty bitch who didn’t have time to talk to the likes of me.”
“Molly—”
“I’m poking fun at you, J.C. I didn’t tell him anything. I figured if he was up to any good he would have walked in the front door and talked to you himself.”
“Thanks Molly.” She was solid—the kind of person I liked having my back. “If he comes around asking any more questions, would you let me know? If anyone comes around?”
“Sure thing.” As I turned to walk away, she called me back. “J.C., when we were unloading all the boxes of stuff you donated, I found a few things I was pretty sure you didn’t mean to include—pictures, a journal, stuff like that. Want me to drop it by tomorrow?”
“Anytime. Thanks, Molly. Nice of you to notice.”
When I told Aggie what Molly had said about the guy at the dock, she wasn’t happy at all.
“That worries me.”
“I’m sure it’s one of Gregory’s trained monkeys trying to dig up dirt for the divorce.”
“If that’s the case, why would he be asking where you live and how long you’ve been here? Gregory knows the answer to all of that.”
“Yes that’s true.” I didn’t like the idea of being asked after. “Do you think he could be working for Max Sealy? Jo’s terrified of his finding out she’s involved with someone again. She’s really scared of him.”
“I think she has good reason to be. She was almost killed herself.”
“Don’t you get paranoid too. There’s a good chance the whole thing was a gay-bashing hate crime.”
“You think using a stun gun to get Jo out of the way and then a baseball bat on—” Aggie’s voice faltered. “On you wasn’t a strange setup for a random hate crime?”
“I’m beginning to wonder if anything in the whole damn universe is random. Too many coincidences for my comfort.”
“I’ll have a few friends do some watching around the parking lot and alleys. And I want you to be more careful; no more breezing in and out of here at all kinds of hours. I want you to be more cautious, no matter where you are.”
“Aggie, we don’t need to overreact.” I didn’t like the idea of tiptoeing through my life. “This could be a reporter or something like that. We can’t go jumping to conclusions.”
“Sure we can,” she growled. “And we can be ready for trouble if it comes.”
“And how are we going to get ready? Buy a gun?”
“Good first step. Then we teach you how to use it and get a permit.”
“I was not serious, for God’s sake.”
“I am. Dead serious.”
“Oh, come on Ag.” I laughed, but she didn’t crack a smile. “Can you really imagine the two of us ‘packing heat’?”
Aggie grabbed my hand and put it on the waistband of the sweatpants she was wearing. Under the baggy shirt was a hard metal shape even a novice like myself knew wasn’t a cap pistol. I snatched my hand back.
“Christ Aggie. That’s a real gun. How? When?”
“Of course it’s real. It’s also legal.”
“Why haven’t you shown it to me? Or told me about it?”
“That’s why it’s called a concealed handgun permit. You aren’t supposed to go around showing it to everybody.” Aggie lowered her voice. “There are a lot of dangerous fools walking around this town who aren’t happy we’ve helped their wives and girlfriends get away from them. It’s not smart to have no protection against guys like that.”
“Oh Lord. If Jo finds out about this, she will go ballistic.”
“Jo asked me about getting a permit two weeks ago.”
“No way. Jo’s about as likely to use a gun as she is to suddenly rise and fly.”
“I think you underestimate little Jo.” Aggie cocked her head to one side and shrugged. “She’s not the delicate little flower you picture her as. Jo has a long history of taking care of Jo.”
“And exactly what is that supposed to mean?” I didn’t like her to have such a suspicious mind where Jo was concerned. “This isn’t the first time you’ve made a crack about her. What’s she ever done to you?”
“Not a thing.”
“So why don’t you like her?”
“Like her just fine.” I could see she was lying through her perfect white teeth. “Nothing wrong with noticing someone might have a tiny fault or two.”
“That still sounds like a veiled criticism. Stop bullshitting and tell me what you’ve got against her. I won’t be mad.”
“Yeah right,” Aggie drawled. “You are so crazy ’bout that woman you think her farts don’t stink. Always have been. So you imagine I’m gonna dis her to you?”
“I think I’ve been in the dark so long about so many things, a little clue here and there couldn’t hurt.”
“Uh-huh. Ain’t comin’ from me, s’all I’m sayin to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jo left me. It was only for a couple of days, but it felt like a long time. She was heading up a big benefit for the gubernatorial campaign in Austin. The dinner was A-list, strictly for the cream of the crop, that being anyone who could come up with the five thousand for a plate of ribs and beans. I know the rest of the country has rubber chicken at their political fundraisers, but Texas is cattle country after all.
I watched her pack, drove her to the airport and kissed her goodbye, wishing I didn’t feel so alone. Aggie was out on the town and asked me to come along, but being a third wheel to a perky redhead didn’t appeal to me, especially when the evening included a movie at the Angelica, a local art film house. Any movie that required me to listen to Chinese while I read English subtitles took the evening from fun to fat chance.
I decided to have a quiet evening at home, reading a book or doing something constructive. Times like this I wish I recalled a hobby—a knack for macramé or a passion for bowling, maybe. Instead, I picked up an order of extra-spicy garlic chicken from a neighborhood Thai place and a six-pack of Kirin to soothe the burn.
The Thai food was a good idea. The book was a chick lit paperback Jo had left, and it was so dull it made watching grass grow seem exciting. Nothing like boredom to encourage dealing with unpleasant matters. I had an upcoming meeting with Himself to see how my divorce proceedings were proceeding. I wanted to give him the journal of Jennifer’s that Molly Rayner brought me.
I glanced through the first few pages. Not a word about giving cousin Dewayne a hunk of change; no mention of him at all. The notebook was mostly a rehash of her fabulous shopping and spa-ing adventures, with a few gripes about Gregory scattered here and there. Even Jennifer was beginning to suspect that Prince Charming was hiding a little frog DNA.
She was especially interested in some details she found while snooping—I mean, while checking her email—on Gregory’s precious laptop. It seems she was the designated driver to and from the dentist after Gregory had a little happy juice for a root canal. He was so stoned he hadn’t locked down his system, and Jennifer hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of browsing his files.
Not being as unskilled at the computer as I am, when she found some information that aroused her curiosity, she sent the files to her email on her own computer for
later review. Trusting soul that she was about Gregory managing her money, Jennifer knew enough to doubt that she and Gregory owned property in the Caymans. She certainly didn’t have access to a pass-protected bank account in Costa Rica.
She also wondered why her parents’ last travel itinerary was on her husband’s computer. She had barely known Gregory at the time, having only met him because of some paperwork she needed to sign when her parents were setting up details on estate planning. Her folks hadn’t seemed to know him much better, certainly not well enough to share private details of their vacation with him. Not until after her parents’ tragic plane crash had the handsome young broker offered her a shoulder to cry on and become a source of financial advice. When he proposed to her after only a few weeks’ courtship, it seemed natural to accept.
Jennifer had written page after page—wondering why she and Gregory were drifting apart, planning things that she could do to keep him. It made me sad to think the previous owner of my body had wasted tears and other bodily fluids on trying to keep the slimeball in her life. I wished there was some way for her to know he wasn’t worth a single second of her concern.
Without a golden parachute, Gregory wasn’t about to dive out of the jet-set wealth of the super rich into the more scaled-down style he could manage on his own. Gregory could afford to fly first class on his own income. Jennifer could buy the airline. I could buy the airline now, if the mood struck me. Crazy that.
I wish I knew what made Jennifer decide to let me have her body, to give life up without a fight. She didn’t have to let me in, I know that much—she had the original claim. I don’t know why she left; poor little rich girls have problems too. If I’d had to spend years living with Gregory, I think I’d have been looking for an exit sign myself. But all that money could have bought a lot of freedom without going literally out of this world.
Reading her journal was like reading about a stranger and, since I looked in the mirror at Jennifer’s face every morning, that didn’t seem right. I owe her so much, I wish there was something I could do to make the balance sheet more even. I get a buttload of money, a nice body, a way to reclaim my life—Jennifer gets dead.
There was a fair possibility that my sensitive musings were in large part due to the three bottles of beer I had downed with dinner and while reading Jennifer’s memoir. I thought about making a pot of coffee to chemically balance my blood alcohol level. I thought about taking a hot bath and watching TV. What I did was fall asleep on the couch, surrounded by empty beer bottles and holding the journal on my chest.
I dreamed of the fog for the first time in a long while. Not too surprising considering my reading material and curiosity about why Jennifer left and I came back. Booze is a wonderful guide dog to blind dreamers.
My sleep was filled with fog and fury. Jennifer was there, demanding justice. The voices were shrill and the impenetrable whiteness hurt me. Hurt my head.
When I woke, my head was pounding, the overhead light glaring white and blinding. I blinked and was a little surprised to find myself still balancing Jennifer’s journal on my chest. I stood on unsteady feet and let it fall to the floor. This had been a bad dream and a bad trip. Booze may be a guide dog, but let me tell you, she’s a bitch.
Chapter Thirty
At the risk of sounding trite, there are two kinds of people in the world: those who wake up smiling and chipper the morning after having too much to drink and those whom a compassionate God should let live. I am not a chipper person. God let me live, and being merciful, along with light, He let there be coffee.
I had a pot before getting into the shower on my way to Starbucks. It was substandard compared to my usual latte, but strong enough to let me withstand the water crashing against my skull and the supersonic roar of the blowdryer. I had an appointment with Himself at ten and with the help of half the lethal dose of caffeine and more than the recommended two aspirin tablets, I hoped to get there looking vaguely human.
I grabbed Jennifer’s journal and headed out for the offices of the mysterious Greenly Inc. Judging from the small fortune this firm was charging me, I expected miracles. Well, not get-your-name-in-the-Scriptures miracles, but something impressive. If not a burning bush, maybe a houseplant that didn’t die if you forgot to water it for a month. That would do me a lot more good than parting the seas, especially in Dallas.
Sean Himself was waiting for me with a big easy smile and the offer of a cup of coffee, which I declined. The gallon or so I’d had earlier was starting to kick in and I was so wired, I could feel each hair on my head vibrating.
“I brought something I thought you might find interesting,” I began. “This is Jennifer’s diary.” He wrinkled his forehead, looking puzzled. I realized what I had said and corrected myself. “My diary. Jennifer before the accident—me before the accident,” I stammered. “My diary.”
I presented it to him, wondering now why I didn’t just tell him what it said. I was getting so used to being Cotton again to Jo and Aggie it was easy to talk about Jennifer in the third person. My shrinks had accepted the notion, but no way was I going to try to explain it all to a virtual stranger.
“It has a lot of information about suspicious behavior by Gregory. I thought it might be of some use in your investigation.”
“Glad to have it.” He took the book and put in on his desk. “Truth to tell, very glad to have it. This is turning out not to be your garden-variety divorce. Lots of interesting people involved. And a few situations we’re going to have to decide how we want to handle them should they become common knowledge.”
“Let’s give it a go.” He pulled a manila file folder out of his top drawer; it was remarkably thick. “Doyle Dewayne Winters. It seems you have good reason to doubt your cousin’s story. He’s a flimflam man, through and through. Mostly petty theft, but he seems to be escalating in intensity.”
He looked up from the file and shook his head.
“He would have been paroled earlier, but he beat the bejesus out of his cellmate. Don’t let him fool you. He’s already been a bad boy since he got out of jail, racked up a sizeable gambling debt. The man holding the marker is rough trade, so Dewayne may be desperate for cash. If he hasn’t already been tagged by the cops, it’s only a matter of time. If you see him or he starts squeezing you, one call to me will take care of it.
“My next piece of advice is for you to stay as far from your husband as you can possibly manage.”
“That’s not a plan; that’s a done deal,” I said. “Besides giving me the creeps in general, I’m starting to get scared of Gregory. He’d be sitting pretty if anything happened to me before I get my will changed or the divorce settlement goes through.”
“We’d better get the legal eagles cracking on the paperwork then,” Himself said, jotting down a note on the folder. “Don’t be afraid; just be cautious. I’m serious about this. I have a few more things that have to be verified before I can present you with hard facts, but don’t assume anything when you’re dealing with him. After combing your financial statements, I have every reason to believe your husband is capable of some pretty underhanded activities.”
He opened the file and pulled out a couple of pages.
“I don’t know that you want the authorities involved, but it’s more than clear that Mr. Strickland has been skimming quite a lot of money from your accounts since the day he married you. Before then, actually, if you want to count all the money he embezzled from your parents.”
“He was stealing from my parents?”
“Hand over fist.” Himself pantomimed as if he were pulling a rope in. “I don’t know how he thought he was going to get away with it, clumsy bastard that he is. Begging your pardon.” I waved him on. “He’s not even a very clever thief, just a very lucky one. If your parents hadn’t died so tragically, God rest their souls, he’d have been done for. Double lucky, because you evidently gave him carte blanche with the funds and must have never looked at a statement in your life.”
“So it seems. As you figured out pretty quickly, I’m not much of a financial whiz, but my father was. He’d have figured out if he was being stolen from.” A shiver of something nasty ran down my spine. “I think you may want to do a more in-depth investigation of Gregory after you read the journal. Something very strange is on his computer regarding my parents and their final trip.”
I gave him a brief idea of the contents of Gregory’s laptop according to Jennifer’s foray into hacking. “I don’t care about the money. I’d happily give him a chunk to get rid of him, but I’m not going to let him get away with murder. Do you think he could have been involved in my parents’ deaths?”
“That’s a big leap on short evidence, but I promise that I’m not going to allow you to become another victim.” He scribbled something on a yellow Post-it note and stuck it on the front of the file folder. “Tomorrow, I’m getting you a bodyguard.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” I objected. “We don’t have a shred of real proof yet that Gregory is dangerous, just crooked. He’s too big a sissy to get his hands dirty with anything violent. This thing with my parents’ trip information may have been less incriminating than I thought.”
“After all I’ve told you, how can you close your eyes to the possibility he’s bad news? Women are such fools over men.” He was exasperated. “Under the circumstances, I hardly expected such typically female behavior from you.”
“The circumstance being?”
“It would seem men in general and your husband in particular would have no sway over you now that you are involved with a woman.”
Despite his professional skills, Himself, it seemed, was a little bit of a caveman. I hadn’t seen that coming, but as long as he kept it out of my business, no skin off my nose. “That’s pretty judgmental of you. I don’t see how my having a girlfriend impacts my ability to interact with the men in my life.” Wait. How did he know about me and Jo? Only one way he could have. “I didn’t hire you to investigate me, by the way.”
