by Cook, Alan
Stunned, I couldn’t move for an eternity of seconds. Nothing else untoward happened, and eventually I brought myself to a sitting position between the cars. Except for traffic noise, all was quiet. Evidently, a car speeding through a parking lot wasn’t cause for alarm in California. In any case, the motel patrons stayed snugly inside their rooms.
I got to my feet, feeling wobbly, and walked to my room. Where was my room card? It was in my purse. Where was my purse? Somewhere on the ground. I had to get back down on my hands and knees between the cars and feel around in the darkness. My fingers finally located it.
I stood up again, fumbled in it for the room card, and shakily managed to insert the plastic in the too-narrow slot on the door. The red light told me the mechanism didn’t like the way I’d done it, and wouldn’t unlock the door for me. Technology. Grrrr. It took me three or four tries to get a green light. I stumbled into the room with the door closing behind me and headed directly for the bathroom.
I turned on the light and looked at my face in the mirror. There was a smudge on my cheek. That would wash off. My hands were dirty and pockmarked and bloody from hitting the asphalt. Soap and water would take care of them. However, the arm of my jacket had ridden up, exposing my forearm, which was covered with long scratches. Blood oozed out, threatening to make a mess. In addition, my knees hurt. My jeans were torn, and the scraped knees peeked through the holes.
I washed my face, hands, and arm and wrapped a hand towel around the arm to keep from getting blood on my clothes. It took me a while to pull off my tight jeans. After a quick look at the damage to them I threw them at the waste basket. Teenyboppers might wear purposely torn jeans but I didn’t. I washed my knees and was relieved to see the scrapes weren’t deep.
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. Thinking better of it, I went to the room phone. Should I call 911? The emergency was over. Should I call the local police?
From my previous experience with the police in the Los Angeles area, I knew there were many different police forces. Any areas not covered by them were covered by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. I didn’t know whether Redondo Beach had its own police force or contracted with the Sheriff’s Department.
I could find out, of course, but if I did I might be up half the night, answering unanswerable questions from beat patrolmen who didn’t know anything about the scam or Jason’s murder, and weren’t even in the organization investigating those crimes. I didn’t have any useful new information such as the make or model or even the color of the car that almost hit me. I hadn’t seen the car at all, only a dark shape.
The police department I needed to talk to was the department of the City of Los Angeles—LAPD. The scammer operated within their jurisdiction, and the murder had occurred within the city limits of Los Angeles. They presumably had detectives working on both cases. Jason had contact with LAPD. He would tell me who to talk to. Should I call him now? It was doubtful I’d be able to reach the right people at this time of night. I didn’t want to waste my time or that of anyone else. Besides, I was tired and hurting. I’d wait until tomorrow.
However, I was too jumpy to stay in the motel another night. What if the scammer returned to finish the job? I called the number of Tina and Ernie. Rigo answered. I didn’t want him worrying about me. I had to put up a brave front.
“Hi, Rigo. It’s me. I think I’d like to take your parents up on their kind offer to let me stay there.”
“Of course. Are you all right? You sound strange.”
“I’m…I’m okay. I had a fall in the parking lot and scratched my arm. I just need some TLC.”
“Do you want me to come and get you?”
“No. I can drive. I’ll see you in a few minutes.
CHAPTER 8
I awoke in a spare bedroom of Ernie and Tina, and immediately felt itching over much of my body. Had my injuries spread? I got out of bed and also felt stiff in my knees where they’d hit the pavement when I dodged the car. Since a T-shirt of Rigo’s was the extent of my night dress, I pulled on a pair of panties before I ventured into the hall and the bathroom, even though I was sure Ernie, Tina, and Rigo had left for work.
I looked in the bathroom mirror and gasped. A large part of my legs, arms, and chest when I pulled up the shirt were covered with an ugly red rash and blisters. I could tell from the itching my back was affected too. This malady was completely unrelated to my injuries, which were healing nicely. Did I have measles? I didn’t know whether I’d been vaccinated for measles. I took a shower, trying to wash the rash away, but that didn’t accomplish anything, including relieving the itching.
I threw on some clothes and went downstairs to make myself breakfast, aided by a helpful note from Tina. I was unable to resist the urge to scratch. Scratching gave me an intense burning sensation, but when I started scratching I couldn’t stop, much as a junky can’t resist getting a fix. The feeling was addictive, something like an orgasm, but caused by exquisite pain instead of pleasure.
I called Tina at the family business and told her my symptoms after assuring her this new problem wasn’t related to my injuries, which were fine. Tina had cleaned up my wounds the night before. Rigo was the only one who didn’t buy my story about tripping in the parking lot of the motel, but he was unable to get the truth out of me during a mild interrogation. He knew about most of my previous adventures when I was seeking my identity, and said I attracted trouble like a candle flame attracts a moth. Tina finally told him to lay off.
Tina was sympathetic to my new problem. “A family friend of ours is a dermatologist. I’ll give you the number of the office where she works. Give it a call and mention my name. Maybe she can fit you in.”
I called the doctors’ office in Torrance and asked for an appointment with Dr. Kemp. The receptionist asked me to wait while she checked the schedule. “Dr. Kemp has a cancellation at noon. Can you make that?”
“I’ll be there.”
Other than the itching, I only felt a bit stiff from my injuries. Maybe running would take my mind off my troubles. I put on my running clothes, keeping my arms and legs covered, and headed out the door to run in the hills of Palos Verdes. I had to run slowly or the itching became worse, so it was less than a successful workout.
***
“What have you been doing the past couple of days?”
I was bare from the waist up. If Dr. Kemp were male this might be uncomfortable, especially since my breasts were covered with the rash. On the other hand, a male doctor as handsome as Dr. Kemp was blond and pretty… She looked much too young to be a doctor.
I stared at Dr. Kemp. What did my activities have to do with the rash? “Yesterday morning I went to a memorial service.”
“That’s probably not it. Most churches don’t have—”
“It was outdoors.”
“Outdoors where?”
When I explained, Dr. Kemp shook her head. “I think you have poison oak. I doubt that you could have gotten it there. You need to have contact with the plants.”
“Oh.” I blushed as I remembered. “Yesterday afternoon a friend and I went to Nojoqui Falls Park in Santa Barbara County. We…sat in some greenery.”
“Aha. From the looks of it, you rolled around in some three-leaved greenery. Was your friend male, by any chance?”
“Yes.” I laughed. “I don’t know why I’m so embarrassed about it. I hadn’t seen him for several months.”
“From the looks of things, you made up for your celibacy. It’s covering a lot of your body. In fact, this is about the worst case of poison oak I’ve ever seen. Have you had it before?”
“I…I don’t remember.” I didn’t want to get into my amnesia problem.
“You probably have. You’re showing a strong allergic reaction.”
“I…have itching in my genital area.”
“I had a male patient with a case almost as bad as yours. He complained about genital itching so I asked him to pull down his pants. His penis was really swollen. It
was definitely caused by the poison oak, although our head doctor says I have the highest EQ rating in the office.”
“EQ rating?”
“Erection quotient.”
I laughed. “I’ve never heard of that before.”
“Secret of the medical profession. Regarding the itching, I’ve had patients with poison oak who had to tie their hands together at night to try to keep themselves from scratching in their sleep. I’ll give you some steroids and some lotion. Scratching just makes the itching worse. The rash should go away in a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?” I groaned.
Dr. Kemp gave me samples and a prescription. “Well, you’re my last patient. At least I get Wednesday afternoon off. Although unlike many doctors, I don’t play golf.”
I had a thought. “Are you free for lunch? I have a hypothetical question about someone else. I’ll pay you a consulting fee.”
Dr. Kemp laughed. “You don’t have to bribe me to get me to have lunch with you, Miss Sakai. Sounds like fun. By the way, my name is Alice.”
“I’m Cynthia.”
***
I waited for Alice outside the medical building. I made two phone calls on my cell phone. I called Jason and cancelled the lunch appointment I’d made with him. I told him I was trying to get some information that might be helpful to us. I agreed to meet him at three o’clock at his motel.
Next, I called Rigo at work. I asked him if he had a rash or an itch.
“Nothing so far. Mom told me you have a problem. Did you see a doctor?”
“I’ve got poison oak—from Nojoqui Falls.”
“Well I’ll be filleted and broiled in oil. Is it bad?”
“Bad enough so you can’t touch me for two weeks.”
“Ouch. It doesn’t get any worse than that. What are your plans for tonight? Are you eating dinner with us?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you later.”
“The secret life of Carol Golden, aka God knows how many other names.”
“Sorry. Don’t have time to chat.” Rigo was trying to lay a guilt trip on me.
Alice walked out of the building as I disconnected. She looked even better without her lab coat. She was petite—shorter than I was—but with a good figure not hidden by her skirt and light jacket. She still had her hair up. I suspected it was quite long.
“Do you like Italian?” Alice gestured down the street. “There’s a good lunch place about three blocks from here—easy walking distance. I’m always telling my patients to get some exercise. I guess I have to set an example.”
As we walked, I told Alice I was in California to attend my cousin’s memorial service, but I didn’t say anything about murder. The hostess at the restaurant recognized Alice—she called her Dr. K—and seated us in a booth with a checkered tablecloth beside a window with the sun lighting up the curtains but not getting in our eyes.
Alice ordered a seafood salad, which I guessed had fewer calories than the angel hair pasta and sausage I was eating, but I was still thin from my injuries and stay in the hospital after I’d been found unconscious, even after many months. I had trouble gaining weight because of all my running.
I briefly outlined the way Mrs. Horton had been scammed, trying not to sound too dramatic, but Alice reacted with shock. I came to the point, describing what the Western Union clerk said about the hands of the man who picked up the money.
“He said it looked as if the man had the creeping crud on his hands.”
Alice laughed. “He must have a medical background.”
“I was wondering if you had any ideas about what it might be.”
“It could be chronic hand eczema or it might be an allergic reaction to something he’s been handling. I’ve known people to be allergic to liquid soap or cleaners of various kinds. It could even be poison oak.”
“If it’s poison oak, it will go away. That won’t help to identify him.”
“Did the clerk say anything more specific about what this crud looked like?”
“He mentioned sores shaped like coins.”
“Coin-shaped lesions could be caused by secondary syphilis. Keratosis—lesions on the hands—are a common symptom. Penicillin helps to get rid of them.”
“If it’s syphilis, wouldn’t he have to seek treatment?”
“You’d think. The symptoms can be rather awful, especially with the unsightly rash, and if not treated it can lead to tertiary syphilis, which can ultimately be fatal.”
We talked some more about skin conditions. I found Alice to be knowledgeable and easy to talk with. When the waitress brought the check, I grabbed it. I took a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet and slid it over to Alice.
“This is for your help.”
Alice looked horrified and gave it back to me. “I can’t take your money.”
“I don’t want to be the sort of person who seeks free medical advice at parties.”
Alice was the sort of person who laughed easily. She laughed now. “I get that all the time, but with you I don’t mind. You’re a fascinating woman. I suspect there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”
“A woman of mystery. That’s what my boyfriend says. At least I’m going to pay for lunch.”
CHAPTER 9
Jason’s motel appeared to be less expensive than mine. Well, as long as it had a decent bed and clean bathroom and didn’t smell of cigarette smoke. I was sure five-star hotels were overrated, although I had no memory of ever having stayed in one. I parked the Porsche in front of the building and called him.
He came out of a second-story room and down the external stairs much faster than I was used to seeing a member of his generation go. He was wearing a sweatshirt and a brimmed hat. He walked briskly across the parking lot and greeted me with a smile and a hug.
“Hi, Cynthia. Well, did you learn anything useful? You said you were collecting information.” Then he stood back and looked at me. Although my arms and legs were covered and I was wearing dark glasses, he must have seen something. “Are you okay? You look kind of bedraggled.”
“Yes, except I was rolling in poison oak and somebody tried to kill me last night.” I tried not to sound too dramatic.
That took the bounce out of him. “You poor kid. Do you want to sit down and tell me about it? My room is kind of small. There’s a cafe around the corner…”
“It might be better if we took a walk. Less chance of being overheard. Do you want to walk on the beach?”
“Actually, I’d prefer to walk on the beach to sitting in a restaurant. Living in the mountains, I don’t see the beach much. I’d like to take advantage of being here while I can. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Yes, as long as we don’t go too fast.” I looked down at my flimsy shoes. I’d already walked my daily limit in them. Any farther and they would start to hurt my feet. I remembered I had my running shoes in a bag in the car.
“Just a minute.” I opened the door, took off my street shoes, and put on socks and the running shoes.
“Do you always drive a Porsche?”
“At home I drive an old Toyota.”
“I’ve always had a secret desire to own a Porsche. It’s a good thing I can’t afford one, however, because it would shorten my life expectancy.”
“Are you afraid you’d crack it up?”
“No. I’m afraid I’d drive it when I should be walking. I walk at least four miles a day to stay in shape.”
“I’m impressed.” He did look healthy. His body was thin and straight, with no tilt or wobble when he walked.
“Where I live nothing is level, so I either have to walk uphill or downhill.”
No wonder he was able to climb up and down the cliff. Jason was giving me a different perspective on senior citizens. He had long legs and walked fast. I’m not short, but I almost had to run to keep up with him. Even so, I suspected he wasn’t going his usual speed. I hated to admit defeat, but I was suffering.
“Can we walk a little slower?
Going too fast makes my poison oak itch. If I start scratching I won’t be able to stop.”
Jason slowed down. “How did you get poison oak?”
I explained I went to a park with a friend, leaving out most of the details.
“That’s nasty stuff. I guess I’m lucky. I’ve never had it, although I’m an outdoor person.”
“Well, you probably won’t catch it from me.”
Jason smiled. “So I don’t have to stay away from you?”
“The doctor didn’t say I had to be quarantined.”
We came to the cliff and looked down on Redondo Beach, with its large expanse of soft, off-white sand. I knew Southern California beaches were some of the best in the world. We negotiated a long ramp down to the combination bike path and walking path, and headed north toward the Redondo Beach marina.
The concrete path was split into sections, for bicycling and walking, although walkers drifted into the bike lanes, especially when passing others on the narrower walking portion. However, traffic for both walkers and bikers was light on a Wednesday afternoon in spring.
As soon as we were walking on the level beach path, Jason looked at me. “You said someone tried to kill you last night. I assume that wasn’t just hyperbole.”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask the driver of the car what it was.”
“Why would anyone want to hurt you? You look like such a good girl. I bet you’ve never done anything bad in your life.”
That statement almost made me choke. I decided this wasn’t the time for true confessions. “On the flight out here I did the crossword puzzle in the airline magazine and didn’t take the magazine with me like they ask you to.”
Jason laughed, then turned serious and asked me for more details about what had happened the night before.
I quickly told the story, trying not to make it sound too horrible. Jason asked if I’d been hurt. I downplayed my injuries. I didn’t like people worrying about me. Maybe it was because I was afraid they’d try to restrict my movements. That’s why I hadn’t said anything to Rigo and his parents. I needed to confide in Jason because this might be connected to his grandson’s murder.
