Party Crashers

by Stephanie Bond

  She nodded carefully, surprised that he’d remembered, then gestured to the computer. “How about if I print some listings to take with you? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  He glanced toward the door as if he were eager to leave, but nodded. “Sure.”

  She booted up the machine, trying to school her emotions as he walked over to stand behind her chair. She sensed the invisible barrier between them in the physical distance he maintained and in the rigid posture she maintained.

  In her most professional tone, Jolie explained the search criteria—address, price range, amenities—then fed the program several scenarios of his responses and printed the results.

  “See?” she said cheerfully, handing him the printouts. “That didn’t take long.”

  He took the papers, but he averted his gaze. “Thanks.”

  “Beck,” she said softly, “I will certainly understand if you decide to continue your house search without me.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “We both have other things going on right now.”

  “Right.”

  “Right.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “Well, I’d better be going. Thanks for the sofa.”

  It was hard to smile, knowing the things that were going through his mind, but she tried. “Thanks for the cheese sandwiches.”

  “You have Pam’s number?”

  She nodded.

  He started to leave, then turned back. “Listen…I have a suite at the hotel. You’re welcome to the extra bed.”

  She had to give him credit for trying to keep his source close by, and God help her, he was difficult to refuse. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

  He looked unconvinced. “I’ll call you.”

  She followed him to the door, smiling until it was closed. Jolie leaned against the door and allowed herself a few seconds of quiet heartbreak, of wishing things could have been different, before forcing her thoughts to how to most constructively spend the afternoon. What was it Leann had said about her—that she always took things in stride? This was no time to break stride. Or to break down.

  She gasped, realizing that Leann didn’t even know about Gary, or that she’d almost been arrested. She called her friend’s cell phone, relieved when Leann answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Jolie. Can you talk?”

  “Just for a little while,” Leann said quietly. “My sister…lost the baby early this morning.”

  “Oh no,” Jolie said, her heart squeezing. “What happened?”

  “Well, the doctors said all along that miscarriage was a possibility. I guess her body just couldn’t handle the stress.”

  “You sound exhausted,” Jolie said.

  “I am,” she said tearfully.

  “How’s your sister taking it?”

  “Not well. You know at first she didn’t want the baby, couldn’t bear the thought of raising it by herself, then she came around, and now…well, she feels so guilty.”

  The word of the day, Jolie decided. “Leann, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  Leann released a shaky sigh. “No, but thanks for offering. What’s up with you?”

  Jolie couldn’t bring herself to heap more bad news on her friend’s personal tragedy. “I hate to ask, but I was wondering if you’d mind if I stayed in your apartment for a while.”

  “Of course not. Mrs. Janklo making you crazy?”

  “Right,” she said with a little laugh, although she suspected her friend sensed that other reasons were afoot.

  “Sure, stay as long you need to. I probably won’t be back for at least another couple of weeks, maybe longer.”

  “Thanks. Get some rest. Tell your sister how sorry I am. I’ll call you later in the week.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  Jolie hung up the phone feeling horribly self-centered. People all over the world were suffering through tragedies. She couldn’t imagine the toll it would take on a person’s mind to lose a baby at four months. And all this time she’d been selfishly thinking how Leann’s sister’s crisis had taken her friend from her, forcing her to make new friends.

  Carlotta and Hannah. A knot formed in Jolie’s stomach just thinking about her two party-crashing cohorts. They were all in a heap of trouble. She wanted to call Carlotta, but Salyers’ warning to steer clear of the women’s company reverberated in her head.

  The phone rang again, and she picked it up with trepidation.

  “Hello?”

  “Jolie Goodman?” a woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is the Atlanta city morgue. A Detective Salyers gave me your name and number to contact for a next of kin for G. Hagar.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “Hagan,” she corrected hoarsely.

  “Hagan,” the woman repeated. “The autopsy is done; the body needs to be claimed.”

  Jolie bit her tongue to keep from retorting that the woman needed to get a bedside manner. “There is no next of kin that I know of. What do I do?”

  The woman sighed, mightily put out. “Somebody needs to let us know where to send the body to be embalmed. Two more days, and the state will start making decisions for you.”

  “Okay. What do I do?” she repeated calmly.

  “Come down, identify the body, and fill out a form,” the woman said in a bored voice.

  Jolie swallowed hard. “I’ll be there within the hour.” She took down some directions and disconnected the call with a shaking hand. She didn’t think she could do this alone, but who could she call? She hesitated, then found her purse and rummaged for a card. Working her mouth from side to side, she picked up the phone and dialed, nearly hanging up twice before the phone was answered with a groggy “Hell…o?”

  “Carlotta…It’s me, Jolie.”

  The woman moaned. “Christ, this had better not have anything to do with dead bodies.”

  “Well, actually…”

  Twenty-one

  “I don’t believe I’m doing this,” Carlotta muttered as they walked through the doors of the morgue. She wore dark sunglasses and looked like a movie star.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming,” Jolie said. She wore a Band-Aid on her forehead and looked like a movie star’s “person.”

  “If I so much as see a dead fly, I’m out of here.”

  “What can I do to make it up to you?”

  “Get my car out of the police impound lot on a frigging Sunday afternoon.”

  Jolie winced. “They won’t release your new car?”

  “Not until tomorrow, after the twenty-four-hour trial period has expired.”

  “You’re going to have to buy the car?”

  Carlotta sighed. “Technically, I’ve already bought it. If I had taken it back this morning as planned, they would’ve ripped up the contract. Now I’m stuck, big time.”

  Jolie winced again. “If it’s any consolation, the police have my car, too.”

  “The one that Gary stole?”

  She nodded. “The police found it about a half mile from Sammy’s house, but they’re still ‘processing’ it.” She tried to smile. “At least the car you got stuck with is a nice car.”

  “Yeah, well I’ve learned my lesson about borrowing things—I just wish I hadn’t learned it all in one weekend.”

  Jolie had money concerns, too, but she knew the ruined clothes and now the car only heaped fuel onto the fire of Carlotta’s financial problems. She felt responsible…sort of, but her hands were tied. “Have you talked to Hannah?”

  “Briefly—she’s prostrate with grief over her beloved Russell.” Carlotta rolled her eyes.

  “Remember the photograph I showed you with Gary and LeMon and Kyle Coffee? Russell is in it.”

  “He is?”

  “Beck said he’d changed his looks, but it was definitely him.”

  “Beck said?”

  Jolie flushed. “He took me home last night—er, this morning and…stayed. On the couch.”

  “Sure he did.�
��

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Jolie said, “And he said the fifth guy in the picture was named Gordon something, maybe Gordon Bear, with a German spelling?”

  Carlotta shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. But I need to remember to ask Hannah if Russell has the same tattoo as LeMon and Coffee.”

  “May I help you?” a security guard asked in a funereal tone as they approached his desk.

  Jolie swallowed twice before she found her voice. “I’m here…to identify a…person.”

  “Are they expecting you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Third floor.”

  They moved toward the elevator in tandem and boarded the empty car. “Your boyfriend didn’t have any family?” Carlotta asked.

  Jolie pushed the button for the third floor and the door slid closed. “None that I know of, and none the police could find.”

  “Wow, that’s kind of sad,” Carlotta said as they were carried up.

  Nodding, Jolie seconded her friend’s observation. There was being alone in the world, and then there was being alone in the world. The door slid open and they walked out onto yet more tiled floor. The temperature here, though, brought to mind the phrase “meat locker.” Jolie shivered at the implication alone.

  “I mean, my family aren’t the Cleavers,” Carlotta whispered, “but at least someone in my tribe would claim my body if I got offed.”

  Jolie’s eyes burned and she sniffed.

  Carlotta looked over. “Ah, Jolie, I’m sorry. This has to be tough for you, seeing him again like this.”

  She nodded, terrified. Plus the chemicals in the air were killing her eyes. They walked toward a rounded counter reminiscent of a nurses’ station. Two women in green scrubs were filling out paperwork and eating stromboli sandwiches—the source of the “chemicals.”

  “May I help you?” one of the women asked, then took a bite out of her sandwich.

  Jolie rubbed her nose. “Yes, my name is Jolie Goodman. I received a call about an hour ago regarding…Gary Hagan.”

  The chewing woman frowned, then looked at the other woman, who was eating potato chips and licking her fingers. “Hagan?”

  “Last night’s gunshot,” the licker said.

  The chewer nodded. “Oh, yeah.” She pointed down the hall with a tomato-sauce stained pinkie. “Ward Two.”

  “Gawd,” Carlotta muttered when they started off in search of Ward II, “I may never eat again.”

  Jolie tried to smile through the panic that was beginning to build in her stomach. Since last night, every time she pictured Gary dead, she had forced the image from her mind. Now she not only had to relive it, but she would have brand-new images with which to torment herself.

  They walked past Ward I, then located the stainless-steel double doors of Ward II. Jolie lifted her hand to knock, felt foolish and pushed one door open. Just inside, a young man in a white orderly uniform looked up from a computer. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Jolie Goodman, here regarding Gary Hagan.”

  He looked over the top of his glasses. “Spell that, please.”

  She did, and while he tapped on his keyboard she looked around the room. The temperature was at least ten degrees cooler in here than in the hallway. Two opposing walls were lined with enormous stainless-steel file drawers…for cadavers. Her knees started to feel a little slack.

  “Sign here,” the man said, pointing to a line on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. “And I need to see a picture ID.”

  She signed her name, then removed her still-damp wallet and flashed her driver’s license.

  “Follow me.”

  She did, and Carlotta lagged a few steps behind. Carrying the clipboard, he consulted numbers on the sheet and the cabinets, finally reaching down to grab the handle of a drawer on the second row, about knee height. At the last second, he looked up.

  “You should prepare yourself to see your loved one in what might seem like an unnatural state,” he said in a rehearsed monotone. “Your loved one will be nude, but modestly covered with a cloth. In the event the person suffered wounds to the head, arms, or torso before they passed away, please know that those wounds will be visible.”

  Next to her, Carlotta grunted. “I’m not looking.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready,” he said.

  Jolie nodded and steeled herself as the young man slid the drawer out from the wall. She stared at the still face of the dead man, her heart thumping against her breastbone.

  Carlotta looked over Jolie’s shoulder. “I thought Gary was white.”

  Jolie sagged. “He is—that’s not Gary.”

  The young orderly’s eyes widened behind his glasses, then he consulted his clipboard again. “Oh, you’re right. Sorry ’bout that.”

  “Christ,” Carlotta muttered.

  He slid the first man back into the wall, then pulled open the next drawer over. A nauseating medicinal odor filled the air. As awful as it was to see Gary’s ashen face, at least his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, Jolie decided. If one’s gaze didn’t stray to the two-inch round black hole in the middle of his chest. Her own chest constricted painfully.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “That’s Gary Hagan.” Carlotta grabbed her hand for a surprising squeeze and Jolie was grateful.

  “Okeydoke,” the orderly said, closing the drawer with a metallic click. He pointed to the clipboard. “Sign here and here and I’ll get the personal effects.”

  She did, blinking away the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, then followed the young man back to the front. He consulted another computer screen and gave an exasperated sigh. “The personal effects are in police custody—sorry. But I need to know where you want the body to be sent.”

  “Leed Funeral Home.” Jolie extended a card for the small funeral chapel on the northern side of Buckhead that she’d found in the Yellow Pages (“In your hour of need, lean on Leed.”) When she got her broker business off the ground, she was definitely going to come up with a catchy slogan and take out an ad. “They’re expecting the…Gary.”

  “Okay, you’re all set.” The orderly smiled. “Just go back out these doors the way you came. And have a nice day.”

  They exited into the hall and Jolie stopped to gulp fresh air.

  Carlotta jammed her hands on her hips. “Ugh. I complain about my job way too much. Are you okay?”

  Jolie nodded, trying to dispel the thought of Gary being warehoused like an auto part. They made their way past Ward I, where two uniformed police officers stood by and mournful cries were audible from inside the room. Jolie’s heart went out to the family. The door opened suddenly and Detective Salyers emerged to speak to the officers. They nodded obediently, then left.

  Salyers turned and her face registered surprise and recognition. “Ms. Goodman.” Her gaze darted to Carlotta. “Ms. Wren.”

  “Hello, Detective,” Jolie said.

  “I suppose you’re here to make arrangements for Mr. Hagan.”

  “That’s right.”

  Salyers’ face looked grave. “Well, this is opportune—I have news.”

  “What?”

  “The woman found in Mr. Hagan’s car has been identified.”

  Jolie glanced at the closed doors, her heart welling for the unknown family. “Who…who is she?”

  “Janet Chisolm LeMon, wife of Roger LeMon.”

  Jolie gasped and covered her mouth.

  “The man didn’t know his own wife was missing?” Carlotta asked.

  “According to Mr. LeMon, his wife was supposed to be on a spiritual retreat in upstate New York. She wasn’t allowed to contact anyone and no one was allowed to contact her.”

  Jolie scoffed. “Who loses track of their spouse for a month?”

  “Two of Mrs. LeMon’s friends confirmed his story, and I have to say that he seems pretty torn up about her death.”

  “If he didn’t know she was missing, how was she identified?”

  “Her suitcase and purse were pulled o
ut of three feet of mud at the bottom of the river. Ms. Goodman, you should know that Mr. LeMon has admitted that his wife was having an affair with Mr. Hagan.”

  Jolie gaped. “He told me he didn’t even know Gary.”

  “He said he lied for his wife’s sake because she had ended the affair.”

  “But doesn’t that give him a motive for killing Gary?” Carlotta said.

  Salyers crossed her arms. “Actually, Mr. LeMon seems to think that Mr. Hagan killed Mrs. LeMon because she ended the affair, then you, Ms. Goodman, killed Mr. Hagan in a jealous rage.”

  Jolie fumed, shaking her head. “That’s insane.”

  “But it would explain your preoccupation with Mr. LeMon.”

  “I’m not preoccupied with Roger LeMon! Don’t you think it’s strange that his name keeps popping up in the investigation?”

  “So does yours, Ms. Goodman.”

  Jolie frowned. “How did she die?”

  “Gunshot. The weapon was also pulled from the mud, registered to Mr. Hagan.”

  Jolie was still digesting that troubling detail when the door to Ward I opened and Roger LeMon came staggering out, wiping his eyes. He immediately zeroed in on Jolie, pointing at her. “What’s she doing here?”

  “Ms. Goodman is here on a personal matter,” Salyers said in a calming voice.

  “Seeing about that killer boyfriend of yours?” he shouted. “You ought to see what he did to my wife!”

  Jolie shrank back while Salyers put her hand on his arm.

  “I should thank you for killing Gary Hagan! You saved me from killing the bastard myself!”

  “That’s enough, Mr. LeMon,” Salyers said. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She gave Jolie a look that said to stay put until they were out of sight, then she led him to the elevator.

  “He seems upset all right,” Carlotta murmured as the elevator door closed. “But is he upset about his wife being dead, or about her being identified?”

  Jolie bit into her lip. “Good question. The thing is, for all I know, Gary could have had an affair with Janet LeMon.”