Room for Doubt

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “And I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to find any either. If Sally’s been telling the truth and she’s involved in the deaths you’re investigating, these women don’t want to be found. Not ever.”

  The waiter returned with a large stack of pancakes, piled nearly ten inches high. Chase cut the stack in half and placed some of them on an empty plate in front of me, then slathered the remaining cakes with melted butter and drenched them in syrup.

  “This source of yours, what is it she wants?”

  “She wants me to find Sally.”

  “It’s a woman then?”

  “She was a former victim who recognized Sally’s voice.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She thinks Mustang Sally may also have been abused. That she’s in trouble. That something’s gone terribly wrong, and that’s why she’s speaking out.”

  “And does this source of yours have any idea who this Mustang Sally is? How old? Where she might be living?” Chase cut into the stack of cakes and took a bite.

  “No, but Misty might.”

  “Misty?” Chase swallowed hard, then put his knife and fork down.

  I nodded.

  “Is this some psychic prediction or just her opinion?”

  “Believe me, I’m as blown away by what I’m about to tell you as you are. But this person who thinks she recognized the voice thinks Sally may have a son.”

  “A son?”

  “And if she’s right, then something Misty said to me last night is starting to make some sense to me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Are you familiar with the play Arsenic and Old Lace?”

  “About the old ladies who murdered a bunch of lonely old men.” Chase laughed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You think this is that?”

  “Not exactly. But Misty does. She thinks the women had help like in the play. They buried the bodies with the help of their adult nephew.”

  “It might explain how an old lady or even a group of women were able to hoist Bruno’s body up on the scaffolding of the Hollywood Sign. They had to have a little muscle.”

  I pushed my plate away. The thought of Bruno’s body on the Hollywood Sign had killed my appetite.

  “And I suppose since you believe I planted your audience with callers the first time Mustang Sally called that the only reason you’re talking to me now is because you think I have some way of finding her?”

  “I was thinking you could check back through your social media contacts, see who you tweeted and who retweeted. Maybe somebody who knows somebody has a couple of old lady aunts in their friend files?”

  “Even if I could do that, Carol, there’s no way of tracking word of mouth. Someone saw something online, told a friend, who told another friend. Or maybe heard a promotional spot for your show. The station ran enough. There’s no way of knowing.”

  I was growing exasperated. I didn’t want to hear excuses.

  “Yeah, well, there’s got to be a way to find her, Chase. Someone must know something. Go through your sources. Because other than hoping she’ll call back, it’s all we’ve got.”

  CHAPTER 22

  I left Chase in the restaurant and arrived home to find Sheri and Misty in the kitchen. On the counter between them was a clear plastic bag full of freshly cut herbs along with a few other store-bought items—onions, garlic, and a small jar of honey Misty had asked Sheri to bring by. An herbal remedy, she said.

  Sheri explained Clint was home with a low-grade fever and upset stomach and that she was worried. Despite the fact she’d rushed him to the doctor and been assured it was nothing more than a cold, Sheri was convinced it was something serious.

  I wasn’t surprised. Sheri was a bit of a hypochondriac, and recently there had been an outbreak of West Nile Virus. It was all over the news. I had covered the story for the station, and because of the concern of an outbreak, I had included a short update in each of my top of the hour news reports. While the Center for Disease Control had confirmed two deaths, they believed the likelihood of a serious outbreak was low. But Sheri was convinced Clint had been exposed. After leaving the doctor, she had called to talk to me, thinking I was privy to more inside information. When Misty answered in my absence, Sheri shared her fear, and Misty being Misty suggested she come by for a home remedy and some chamomile tea.

  To calm Sheri’s nerves, I repeated everything I knew about West Nile Virus. The disease was carried by mosquitos, and the risk was highest for those working outside, particularly those working around horses after dark or around standing pools of water. Both fatalities had been older people, and according to the CDC, the most susceptible were those in poor health. None of which applied to Clint.

  Finally, after my reassurance and a pot of Misty’s chamomile tea, the issue appeared to be settled. Sheri changed the subject and asked where I’d been.

  “I had a breakfast meeting,” I said. I paused and, feeling as though Misty might be reading my mind and about to broadcast news of my meeting like a tabloid headline, blurted out, “With Chase.”

  “Breakfast?” Sheri raised a brow. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “I don’t. I needed to discuss last night’s show.” I paused and glanced quickly between Misty and Sheri. “Mustang Sally called the show last night.”

  “I heard. And evidently, so did Jennifer Lamb.”

  “Who?” I couldn’t place the name.

  “The woman who sat next to us at Shutters the night we went to dinner. The one whose fiancé dumped her? We rescued her.” Sheri filled Misty in on the breakup we’d witnessed a week ago, and how we had consoled Jennifer while we waited with her for a cab. “She called to say she recognized Sally’s voice.”

  I put my teacup down. No amount of chamomile tea could stop my heart from racing.

  “She’s serious? She knows who Mustang Sally is?”

  “I’ve no idea. I was in a rush to get Clint to the doctor, but I told her I’d give you her number. I knew you’d want to call her back.”

  Misty put her teacup down. “Jennifer. That’s the name I couldn’t remember the other night. And I was right, Carol, she is connected. I knew it.”

  That afternoon, I met Jennifer at her apartment in Santa Monica, a dingy second-story walk-up with bars on the windows, just blocks from the beach. She answered the door dressed in sweats, her hair in a ponytail, and looking like she hadn’t glanced in the mirror or been outdoors in better than a week. Through the bars on the screen door, I could see stacks of boxes behind her, things I assumed she’d shipped to LA in anticipation of a new life with her fiancé.

  “You okay?”

  “’Bout as good as can be expected.”

  Jennifer invited me in, and I took a seat on a worn sofa facing a small studio kitchen. The place reminded me of a cheap motel, colorless and furnished with aging mid-century modern furniture. I wondered just how long she’d been there. On the counter was an open box of Oreos.

  “You want coffee?” Jennifer went to the kitchen, moved some boxes around, and finding the coffeemaker, began making a pot.

  “No,” I said.

  She proceeded as though she hadn’t heard me.

  “I apologize for not calling the station last night. I probably should have. But it didn’t hit me until this morning that that caller on your show last night was Mustang Sally. I recognized her voice.”

  Clearing a space on the coffee table in front of me, Jennifer put the cup down and joined me on the sofa.

  “Do you know her?”

  “Not personally. But her voice, very definitely. She left a message for me on my voicemail.”

  “You’ve spoken to her?” I wrapped both my hands around the coffee cup and held on tight.

  “No, not exactly. But like I told Sheri, after hearing her voice on your show last night, and listening to what she s
aid, I know it’s her. It’s got to be. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that voice.”

  “But how? I mean if you don’t know her, how’d she get your number?”

  Jennifer explained that after her fiancé had left her, she had taken my advice and got herself into a women’s self-help group.

  “I found it online the night we broke up. They call themselves the Butterflies. I don’t know what I was expecting from an online group, but they were there when I needed them, and they made me feel better. Not so alone. Here, you can see for yourself.”

  Jennifer reached for a small notebook computer on the table in front of us and opened it. A chat room full of odd names like Dead2me, NoseyNan, CupidsGottaPistol, and MerryWidow filled the screen, followed by their short missives.

  “None of us use our real names. But the stories, they could fill a book. There’s NeverAgain. Her boyfriend got her pregnant, then left with her best friend and now wants the baby. And Pennywise&Wiser, her husband was a con artist. He was married to two other people at the same time.” Jennifer signified air quotes with the tips of fingers at the use of the term people then bit her lips tight.

  “People?” I furrowed my brow.

  “One was a man, the other was a woman. Pennywise found out when she was waiting in line at the post office behind a woman and realized the woman in front of her wasn’t a woman at all. But her husband in drag!”

  I shook my head and stared back at the screen and tried not to let the shock on my face register. New comments and replies were populating the page every couple of seconds.

  “And Mustang Sally, the woman you heard on my show last night, is part of this group?”

  “Judge for yourself.” Jennifer pulled the computer back into her lap and scrolled back through the conversation until she came to her own. “Here. I’m DumpedAndDepressed.”

  Jennifer’s entry was all about the breakup. How her fiancé had publicly humiliated her, breaking up with her in a classy restaurant, leaving her totally devastated. Several responses from other women, appearing to reach out to offer support, claimed similar experiences. It wasn’t until Jennifer entered something about how abusive she felt Jason’s treatment of her had been that Mustang Sally’s name appeared on the screen.

  The message read: You’re never alone. You’ve come to the right place. If he’s hurt you, you have resources. We’re here with everything from advice to relocation.

  “I had no idea what she was talking about or how crazy she was. I just wanted someone to listen to me and tell me everything was going to be okay. But reading back through all this now, I realize how it must have sounded. I think she mistook Jason for being physically abusive.”

  “And he’s not?” I pulled the computer towards me and scanned back through the postings. “He’s never hit you or anything like that?”

  “Hit me? No. What’s wrong with Jason is that he’s got a bad case of cold feet. And it’s killing me. I thought for sure once he and I got engaged everything would be okay. I moved here expecting to set up a house and be done with our crazy on-again, off-again relationship. Only instead of moving in together when I got here, he got me this crummy little apartment. Said he wanted to fix his place up all nice before I moved in. Then next thing I know he’s right back to his old self. Acting all nervous about our engagement. Starts saying he’s not so sure we’re right for each other. Can you believe that? I give up everything. Leave my home. My friends. My family. My job. And for what? A broken heart?” Jennifer took a tissue from inside the sleeve of her sweatshirt and wiped her eyes.

  I scrolled through the rest of the conversations between Mustang Sally and Jennifer. It was clear Mustang Sally had fixated on her once the word “abuse” came into play. In one entry, Sally suggested they meet for coffee.

  Why not join us for a meeting? I’ll text you an address.

  I didn’t see a response and asked Jennifer what happened next?

  “She sent me a private message. Said when I was ready all I needed to do was go back online and type in the words, I’m sick and tired of it all, and I’m not going to take it anymore. After that, I would receive a phone call telling me where to go to meet her. From there she said we’d go to a meeting. But I didn’t want anything to do with it. She sounded strange, and I wasn’t feeling particularly trusting. I’m angry and heartbroken, yes. But Jason’s not a totally bad guy. He even texted me yesterday. Told me how much better he felt about us now that we’d broken up. Can you believe that?”

  I shook my head. For all the heartbreak Jason had caused her, I had the feeling they were far from done.

  I glanced back at the screen. “But Sally called you anyway. Even though you didn’t reply.”

  “She did. And that’s why I called you. I was required to give an emergency contact number when I signed up for the chat room. And when I didn’t respond to Sally’s online suggestion that we meet, she called me. Only I didn’t answer. I thought it might be Jason. I forgot I’d used the number on the cell phone he gave me, and I didn’t want to talk.”

  “And you said, she left a message.”

  “That’s why I recognized her voice. You have to admit, it’s not like a normal human voice. All gravely like that. And what she said. It was creepy. She told me I could arrange for a contract. Do you believe that? A contract. That I’d be doing women everywhere a favor if I did. And then she said something about some type of tribunal or high council who would hear my case. All of it was as she said on your show. I probably should have called you after you got off the air last night, but I’ve been living in such a fog. It really didn’t click for me until this morning.”

  If I hadn’t witnessed Jennifer’s breakup firsthand and taken Mustang Sally’s call on the air, I wouldn’t have believed what I was hearing. It was beyond any crazy conspiracy theory. I could understand women spewing their anger, sharing their grief, but plotting murder? It was hard to think something like this could really happen.

  “I’m hoping you saved the message.”

  “I did.” Jennifer reached into her purse and took out a cell phone with a jewel tone aquamarine cover, lots of bling, and a screensaver with a picture of her and Jason together. “It’s on here if you want to listen. In fact, you can have the phone if it helps. It was an engagement gift from Jason. I think he got a two-for-one special. His and hers. Charming, isn’t it?”

  She slapped the phone into my hand.

  “I don’t need to keep it. Just borrow it for a bit if I could.”

  “Take it. I still have my old phone. It’s the number you called me on. I wanted to keep it. Just in case, you know, this happened.” Jennifer glanced around the apartment. “I hadn’t even downloaded my contacts onto the new phone. But who cares. I’m going home. I’m going to finish packing all this stuff up and leave soon as I can. If I’m lucky, maybe I can still get my old job back, and the fewer reminders I have of him, the better.”

  I turned on the phone. “Is there a passcode?”

  “J J three two two. It was supposed to be our wedding day.”

  I typed in the combination and went immediately to voicemail. The last message posted read No Caller ID.

  “I hope it helps, Carol. For whatever it’s worth, I think the woman’s nuts, but if I were really in a bad way—like some of the women on the Butterfly site—I’d want someone like Mustang Sally on my side.”

  I stared back at the computer screen. In the back of my mind, I was already starting to form a plan.

  “Jennifer, these other women, the Butterflies, did you ever meet any of them? Do any of them know what you look like?”

  “Never.” She took a sip of her coffee and sat back on the couch. “I got so caught up in the online thing and thinking about Jason I didn’t go anywhere. Couple times to the corner for coffee and whatever I could pick up at the market, but as far as meeting people goes, I haven’t been anywhere or seen anyone sinc
e the breakup.”

  This could work. I held the phone out in my hand. “And other than Jason and Sally, does anyone else have this number?”

  “No. Jason got us both new numbers. His ends in three-three-two-one, mine ends in three-three-two-two. Cute, huh?”

  CHAPTER 23

  It was after three p.m. by the time I left Jennifer’s apartment. Without thinking, I got onto the freeway and instantly melted into a sea of red lights. Traffic was stop and go, with more stop than go and speeds less than twenty-five miles an hour. Kicking myself, I tuned to the station for a traffic report. Instead, I got Dr. Sam, KNST’s new health and fitness personality. He was talking about the recent outbreak of West Nile Virus, and chatting with him was a caller whose voice was becoming unmistakably familiar to me.

  Sally!

  With the unexpected excitement of hearing Sally’s voice, I nearly slid into the car in front of me. Before my fender could kiss the expensive import, I slammed on the brakes and gripped the wheel. I turned up the volume on the radio and listened. The sound of Mustang Sally’s rusty voice was unmistakable, and the purpose of her call even more disturbing. Sally was accusing the CDC of trying to downplay the dangers of West Nile Virus. Another death had been attributed to the virus this morning in the Antelope Valley, and she was convinced the outbreak was greater than reported. She sounded desperate, as though she were choking back emotion, her broken voice halting between accusations of a cover-up and denial.

  Dr. Sam handled her like a pro. He was doing his best to calm her, repeating everything the CDC report had said, stressing that the virus could not be passed from an infected animal to a human. West Nile, he said, was not an airborne disease but a pathogen carried by mosquitos.

  “Tell that to my dead son. He caught it from my neighbor’s horse.”

  The line went still, and Dr. Sam was silent. There was an unusually long pause, and I could imagine the scene inside the studio. Matt scrambling to let Sam know the caller had hung up and that he needed to fill dead air. Quickly.