Full Bodied Murder

by Christine E. Blum

  We were surprised by how much cooler the air was than the heated pool. I gave Jack an extra-long bath towel to dry off and while he was freshening up in the bathroom his cell phone rang. Of course, he had a puppy yip ring tone.

  “Can you answer that? It might be CARA calling with an emergency.”

  The bat signal, at least it waited for us to get our business done.

  “Jack’s phone.” Ugh, that sounded dumb.

  “Who the hell is this?” a woman’s angry voice came back at me, never a good sign.

  “It’s Halsey, Jack will be right with you.”

  At this point even I wanted to punch me in the face.

  “Sounds like he’s been with you, slut. And what kind of dumb name is Halsey?”

  Thank God I didn’t say “Annie Hall.”

  My whole body sank.

  “Put him on the damn phone!”

  I felt a hand grab the phone from me, and Jack went out through the French doors to talk to her in private.

  Not sure why, except that I needed to calm down, I decided that this was as good a time as any to do laundry. I could feel my face burn. How could I have been so stupid? This is what I get for opening myself up to someone again. Of course he had somebody and I was just a convenient new diversion. Had I not learned my lesson from the last time? You can’t trust people, they all lie.

  “Hey, sorry about that. Ex-girlfriend,” he said with a hangdog look as he followed me to the laundry room.

  “Ex-girlfriend, really? Since when do ex-girlfriends still have your cell phone number and feel they can call you any time of night? Damn it, Jack, she talked to me like I was the hooker who stole her trick.”

  “I’ve been meaning to change my number. . . .”

  “Jack, when you want someone out of your life, you do it, immediately. Heck, I put three thousand miles between me and my ex.”

  “. . . I have to let all my clients know.” Amazing how Jack could suddenly look so small.

  “Jack, you’re an adult and you make your own decisions.”

  “Look, let me explain about Kat.”

  “No need, I think you should go,” I responded. “This was a mistake.”

  I can be really cold if I want to be.

  “But this isn’t—”

  “No it’s not. You need to go and tend to your ‘ex’ girlfriend and I need to separate my whites from my colors.”

  Chapter 13

  It took a good week for me to get over Jack. I’ll admit that for the first two days I didn’t get out of bed, preferring to binge on Real Housewives and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

  What? Don’t knock ’em if you haven’t tried ’em. This thing with Jack was wrong on so many levels. Clearly I don’t know him and it seems that he’s got secrets. This is my first time living alone since college, and if I am going to learn to stop compromising myself for other people, then I am going to have to establish my own lifestyle boundaries. I didn’t move across the country to become a remora fish on another male shark.

  I needed to jump full force into work, the best medicine no doubt. I had some ongoing clients from New York, but I could definitely use a big, fat app-building project. Preferably one where I could repurpose some code I’d already developed for another paradigm.

  Before moving out here, I had joined several tech newsgroups where people share job opportunities, ask for advice when they are having trouble with a sticky piece of code, and let everyone know when Krispy Kreme is giving away free donuts. I set my email preferences to save these posts to a separate folder because when people get on a jag about something your inbox can get inundated. God forbid somebody starts a post entitled, “Friday Fun.” It will include a link to an online game or video, and immediately others will reply with their suggestions. The majority are ridiculous time wasters, but like watching a high-speed car chase on the news, you have to see it through.

  It was time to weed through them and see if there were any good leads. I quickly bypassed a number of unopened messages from Jack. Too soon, if ever.

  A lot of the project listings were past their deadline, but a few were still open. I really couldn’t bring myself to sign on to create an accounting and customer portal for one of the largest commercial sanitation companies in LA. Just not moi.

  Another for developing an online appointment system for a chain of hair salons could have been fun, but their budget was hilariously low.

  I was about to delete a government job just because of all the red tape when the words “life-saving service” popped out at me. This was an RFP (Request for Proposal) from the US Coast Guard in Marina del Rey. The job was to build an online secured extranet for internal communications during search and rescue missions. The data needed to also be encrypted and sent to Homeland Security’s internal system. This one I was going for.

  For the rest of the week, I filled out unending pages of questions like, “Do you or any of your employees have a criminal record? If so, please list the personnel and their respective criminal history.”

  Shouldn’t “yes” to the first question basically end it right there?

  I realized that I should be more sympathetic to anyone with a criminal past, given that I was headed down that same road unless I tracked down the real Rose Avenue murderer.

  * * *

  “Hi honey,” Aimee said, coming in the side door of my office. “I was wondering if you have a minute?”

  “Sure, I’ll always find an excuse for a break, and in your case this is a pleasant surprise.”

  Bardot sniffed all Aimee’s body parts in search of frozen yogurt.

  “I wanted to ask you about Inez, have you had a chance to get to know her at all?”

  Bardot growled.

  “No, not really, want a water? A glass of Cab?” I asked with a mischievous grin.

  “What? Oh, no thank you, I have to go to work soon. This chair looks comfy.”

  “Take it for a test drive. So did something happen with Inez?”

  “Well sort of, not really. I came home late last night dog tired from work, and there was Inez busying herself with the recyclables. I really admire anyone who is that industrious, and I’d been hatching this plan for a while.”

  “Involving Inez?”

  “Yes, I can’t imagine that she does this digging in the trash all day, every day; if she is, then it just shows how much she needs the money. So I told her that I could probably afford some part-time help at my yogurt shop, was she interested? I said that I can’t pay much, what with Tom in school and me helping out my uncle in Iowa, but for a few hours each day she could be inside, and have all the free yogurt she wants.”

  “I’m guessing that she didn’t take this in the spirit it was meant?”

  Aimee exhaled. “I’d been rehearsing this for days, rewriting it in my mind so that she’d understood that I cared about her and wanted to help.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she was too busy and closed into herself like a clam. Brought her cart up next to her and held onto it. That’s when I really messed it up.”

  “You know, there are some people who have a hard time accepting help, they want to do everything themselves. I speak from experience.”

  “Yeah well, I was stupid enough to continue making my case. I told her she’d make a lot more money, picked up one of her bottles and said ‘you get what, five cents a bottle? How much can you make a night, even if you do start with an empty cart for each run? I’m worried about you making ends meet.’ Inez quickly grabbed for the bottle and it slipped out of my hand, shattering in the street.”

  I thought back to that night when Bardot and I watched Inez do some sort of bottle swapping between the bins and her cart. I would need to expend some additional brain cells on this.

  “My guess is that you hurt her pride. I know you were just trying to help, but before you save the world, Aimee, you need to pay all your attention to yourself. Did Inez say anything else?”

  “Pretty much what you ju
st said, she told me that she minds her own business and suggested that I do the same.”

  * * *

  I spent the next few days mapping out the website for the Coast Guard. Sometimes called wire frames, this exercise would become the blueprint for the project.

  I heard a ping emanate from my computer, and tried to stay focused on my task at hand. I was pretty sure that this alert was another time waster from my newsgroup. It pinged again and this time it had me.

  I was glad that I did, this was notification that my search program on the film company Musso was involved in was complete.

  After deciphering the results and doing a bit more research, I discovered that the Nighthawk Film Production Company was a dummy corporation registered out of Nevada. This lead was both good and bad. Good because I’d confirmed that it exists and was clearly intended to be kept off the books. It was bad because, by definition, a dummy company’s true owners usually hide behind an attorney or bagman. Connecting all this to Musso just became a herculean task.

  I remembered what Marisol has said about Thursday night being the time Musso loaded the cars onto a truck and drove them somewhere. I wondered if Rosa had been up one of those nights and had confronted him. Or helped him? Tomorrow was Thursday, and I needed to find out and get something on Musso.

  * * *

  I had no idea how long I’d be gone, so I packed the car with waters, a Thermos of tea, some snacks, and a laptop.

  Never leave home without one.

  I’d decided to bring Bardot, for company, safety, and comic relief. And for good measure, I texted Sally, letting her know what I was doing, and sent it in the last minute so she couldn’t stop me.

  It was about eleven thirty at night and the loading of the cars had begun. This time there were only four so the truck was a bit smaller. I loaded Bardot into the back and as I started closing the door, I felt some resistance. I let up for a second and Marisol appeared from behind and slithered into my car.

  “Oh no you don’t!” I yell-whispered.

  She grinned at me and Bardot, delighted to have a back seat mate, barked with joy.

  “Get out!”

  “No, I’m helping you, Halsey.”

  Bardot thought that this was a game and barked louder. I needed to quickly diffuse the noise. The truck had started up; there was no time to argue.

  As I got into the driver’s seat, I said, “I’m letting you out at the first light, and you can walk home. This is a one woman job.”

  Marisol fastened her seat belt and Bardot curled up in her denim dress lap. I knew that I was stuck with her.

  “How much wine did you drink today at that club, you safe to drive?”

  * * *

  I followed at a safe distance although the driver seemed to have come with the truck, so I doubt he’d be concerned about a tail. Musso was in the passenger seat but he’d have to have been tipped off to want to reposition the long side mirror to see past the truck to what was behind. We were heading northeast and with little to no traffic, we were cruising.

  “So are you and Inez friends, Marisol?”

  “Not really, but I help her out, give her the girls’ old clothes, shoes I no longer wear, cookies I get on sale.”

  “So that’s what was in the paper bag you handed her the other night?’

  “Maybe.”

  She looked over at me surprised and a little nervous by my observation.

  It doesn’t feel so good when the shoe’s on the other foot, does it Marisol?

  “And in return she tells you what’s going on in the ’hood based on her trash bin forays?”

  “She volunteers, I don’t ask for it,” Marisol said, raising her chin up in a display of dignity.

  “And?” I asked, suspecting that she’d clam up.

  “Nothing worth repeating, yet.”

  Marisol the mysterious. But not a murderer, I decided.

  “You got any new information to contribute to our little field trip, Marisol?” I looked into the rearview mirror and saw her sitting comfortably and looking at the scenery. A nice night for a drive in her mind.

  “I know you didn’t kill Rosa,” she replied.

  “What? How?” I almost veered off the road. “Has Augie found evidence on Musso?”

  “Not yet, but you weren’t the first one to go into Rosa’s house that day.”

  Why was this only now coming out?

  I tried to remain calm. “Who else went in?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  I slowed the car, seriously considering throwing her out.

  “What do you mean you can’t remember?” My voice was rising and I woke Bardot up.

  “I seen the front door open and somebody was coming out; there was shade on the front stoop so I couldn’t see who it was. I’d have to wait until they reached the sidewalk.”

  “So who’d you see when they got to the street?”

  “I didn’t see nobody. You and Bardot came out of your house, and I was more interested in seeing what you were up to.”

  “Arrrgh!” Tossing her out was too soft, I started thinking about tying her to the rear fender and making her run.

  “Think, you sure you didn’t see who came out of that house?”

  “I been trying, ever since Augie and me-” She stopped herself.

  “Ever since what? You like torturing me, don’t you?”

  “Since we decided you could stay and we’d help you prove someone else did the murder.”

  There it was, straight out of the horse’s mouth, I had indeed been accepted into Marisol’s coven.

  Chapter 14

  About forty minutes into the trip, we exited the freeway and made our way on a smaller route. We had left most of the vestiges of civilization behind, and even in the dark, the beauty of the hilly terrain and forestry did not go unnoticed.

  My ears were popping from the altitude as we passed the ENTERING ANGELES NATIONAL FOREST sign and then began ringing as Bardot got a nose full of critters and started yelping excitedly. It was risky but I decided to turn my headlights off so that I could follow closer to the truck. I didn’t want to get lost in here in the middle of the night.

  “They’re turning, Halsey!”

  “I see it; don’t back seat drive.”

  With that, Marisol slithered her way into the passenger seat.

  “How old are you again?”

  She just grinned.

  The truck was starting to slow, and I wondered what we were going to be faced with next. Some sort of rendezvous? God, I hoped we were not going to see another murder.

  The truck stopped and I had to hang my upper body out the window to see what was happening. I watched a guard unlock a large chain anchored on each side of the dirt road by concrete posts so that the truck could pass. As soon as it did, the man relocked it.

  “What’s happening?” Marisol asked, squeezing her body into my window as well.

  “Ow! Get back in your seat! What’s happened is we’re screwed, that’s what’s happened.”

  With the truck gone and clear moonlight, we could now see that a fence went around on both sides of the road into the forest, there was no way we could bypass it.

  “I’m going to take a look, maybe there’s a way,” Marisol said, hopping out.

  “Don’t let the dog—”

  It was too late; Bardot took off like a flash.

  “AARGH!”

  I grabbed the emergency backpack my dad had put together and insisted I take for the trip across county. Inside I found a flashlight which I quickly made use of. The bag also had water, some tools, a flare, and some dehydrated food. Dear ole Dad.

  “I don’t suppose that if I told you to wait in the car you’d do so?” I asked Marisol, who was already heading up the path.

  “Come on, she can’t have gotten too far.”

  I found Bardot’s leash in the back and off we went.

  It was so quiet away from city noise that our footsteps echoed. We whispered Bardot’s name as
softly as we could.

  There was a sudden rustle emanating from the brush and I swung the light, hoping to see yellow Lab ears. Instead, the golden fur of a mountain lion came into view.

  We both screamed. I was sure that if this cat didn’t kill us Musso would.

  I signaled for Marisol to stay still, and the animal disappeared.

  I caught my breath and we continued on, even more quietly.

  A second noise, this time running toward us, sent me into a cold sweat.

  Did the lion go and get reinforcements? Did my dad pack any pepper spray in the backpack? I closed my eyes and braced for the worst.

  I felt the weight of an animal hit my chest and then the wetness of a tongue on my face.

  “Bardot!” Marisol said, petting her. That triggered a lick on her face.

  Bardot jumped down and took off again, this time stopping up ahead and looking back. I grabbed her leash and approached gently.

  “Where’d they go, Bardot?” Marisol asked and Bardot went running.

  “I’m trying to get a leash on her so we can get out of here, thanks a lot!”

  “We’ve got to follow her, she wants to lead us to Musso.”

  Did Marisol speak dog now?

  “Look, there’s a bunch of lights up there by that waterfall,” Marisol said.

  Bardot wagged her tail and smiled as we caught up to her.

  “Good girl,” I said and gave her some dehydrated peas.

  What wasn’t in my pack were binoculars, but I had a souped-up camera app with a great zoom feature. Marisol crouched next to me and we scanned all the activity. Musso was directing the off-loading of the cars. We watched big lights being positioned, as well as cameras. I saw several trucks with Nighthawk Film Production Company signs on them, and some people waiting at the side in director’s chairs.

  “This is a film shoot,” I said, doing a camera pan from one end to the other. “Musso is supplying cars for movies.”

  “Why does he have to be so secretive about that?” Marisol asked, standing up.

  “Because he’s working off the books with a sham company. He probably gets paid in cash and certainly doesn’t pay any taxes on the income.”

  “He doesn’t have it long enough, that bitch makes him buy her things every week. I hear her whining all the time, ‘Musso, I need jewelry, buy me some diamonds,’ makes me sick.”