Relatively Dead

by Cook, Alan

  I finally became exasperated and gave up. If I couldn’t save one person, I certainly couldn’t bring down the whole syndicate. That wasn’t my purpose in life. I was trying to find a murderer.

  Beside me, Rigo looked concerned. “You know, you can’t beat this thing all by yourself. All you’re going to do is get yourself killed, like Jason did.”

  “I wonder if Marcia, Jason’s girlfriend, killed him because he was threatening the scheme. Maybe he got cold feet. From what I’ve heard about him he was a good guy, not a swindler.”

  “If you have suspicions, go to the police.”

  “Again, zero proof. They’ve already talked to Marcia. I’m sure they’ve checked to see if she’s a registered gun owner. Nobody saw a gun. Nobody heard the shot. Based on how loud the band was, I’m not surprised. The killer goes with Jason to the ladder and shoots him after he starts down. Killer has back to the crowd so nobody sees the gun. Loud music drowns out the noise of the shot. Nobody realizes Jason has fallen. Killer mingles with the crowd.

  “There’s nothing unusual about seeing Jason and Marcia together, so nobody pays any attention and can’t remember whether they were at the ladder together or not. The partiers don’t actually know Jason fell until some time later, because they don’t hear the cries of the people on the beach walk who see him fall. It isn’t until they hear sirens—”

  “Promise me you’ll drop this investigation. It’s not like finding your own identity. We’re talking about a distant cousin here.”

  “We shared genes.” I didn’t want to argue with Rigo. It was a beautiful day. “You know where I’d like to go? The San Diego Wild Animal Park. I’ve wanted to see it ever since you told me what a great place it is. It’ll give me a chance to drive this car somewhere other than the mean streets of L.A.”

  “Sounds good, but we’d better get going if we want to get there before it closes. Go down Crenshaw to PCH and turn right.”

  “You make a good GPS.”

  “I’m glad I’m of some use to you.”

  CHAPTER 16

  I enjoyed going through the gears of the Porsche as I climbed curvy Route 74 out of Hemet and drove into the San Jacinto Mountains. Maybe I could be a race car driver. That is, if I didn’t consider sixty as being fast. All right, I’d hit seventy a few times on the freeways, but Danica Patrick I wasn’t.

  At Mountain Center I took the fork to mile-high Idyllwild, set amid the stately pine trees—Ponderosa and Sugar Pine. Jason told me their names while selling me on a visit. I opened my window so I could inhale their aroma.

  Yesterday had been a dreamy day—for a while. Rigo opened up to me during the drive to the Wild Animal Park, talking about his ideas for expanding his parents’ company. Now that he’d stopped washing dishes and dithering about being a therapist, he’d apparently found his true calling in the business world. I liked to think I had a hand in that. I’d urged him to use his computer skills to help the family business become more efficient, and his resistance to taking a handout, as he called it, had finally been overcome. It wasn’t a handout when you were increasing profits.

  At the park we rode the monorail around the large open space where the animals lived in the great outdoors, breeding prolifically to prove how happy they were. We walked hand-in-hand to the elephant show and along the hilly paths to see lions and tigers and other more remote exhibits.

  It wasn’t until the ride home that things got a bit sticky. Rigo started talking about the future—our future together. The problem was, how could I plan for the future when I barely had a past? As far as my memory was concerned, I’d only lived for a few months. I was still finding myself. I wasn’t ready to make any firm plans for the future.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Rigo—loved him, even. I was certain my feelings for him went well beyond the gratitude I felt for him because he’d found me in the Dumpster and probably saved my life. But… In any case, this put a damper on the day and solidified my decision to visit Jason in Idyllwild on Sunday instead of spending the day with Rigo.

  As I pulled into the center of Idyllwild, with its woodsy buildings, my GPS told me how to get to a spot called Fern Valley where Jason’s cabin was. The sturdy cabin was made of redwood and set on a large lot along with dozens of pine trees, at least one of which had a base that must be four or five feet in diameter.

  I pulled into the short, semi-circular gravel driveway behind Jason’s SUV. Jason met me at the front door with a hug. “Did you have any trouble getting here?”

  “No. The car knew where to go. It must be designed for climbing hills.”

  Jason looked at home. He was casually dressed in khaki pants and shirt, both with many pockets. How did he remember which pocket he’d placed something in? He gave me a quick tour of the cabin, which was two rooms plus a bathroom. The living room had a stone fireplace and a window with a view of a tall and steep granite rock Jason called Lily Rock.

  The walls were knotty pine. At the other end of the room the kitchen was located behind a counter, with a small dining table on the living room side. The second room was the bedroom. I was wondering where I was going to sleep when he pointed out that the couch in the living room unfolded into a bed.

  I needed to talk to Jason regarding his grandson. I was looking for a way to lead in to that when he surprised me.

  “I’m glad you got here early.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided instead of thrashing around to get up and get started.” I’d said good-bye to Ernie and Tina, but Rigo was still in bed when I left.

  “That’s good because it gives us plenty of time for something you might like to do. Are you up for a hike? How’s your poison oak?”

  “Still there, but I’ve been running. How big a hike?”

  “Idyllwild is underneath a mountain called Tahquitz Peak. It’s a ten-mile roundtrip from Humber Park with a twenty-four hundred foot gain in altitude.”

  “It sounds as if you know it well.”

  “Yeah, well I’m climbed it thirty or forty times. There may still be snow on the trail, so we have to dress warmly. I haven’t climbed it yet this year.”

  “As long as we don’t climb Lily Rock. That looks awfully steep.”

  “It is. I’ve only climbed it once. There’s quite a bit of exposure near the top.”

  “I don’t do exposure.”

  “The trail up Tahquitz isn’t near any gut-wrenching cliffs.”

  “Good.” Jason was obviously excited about climbing the mountain. I couldn’t tell him no. “I’m traveling light. I’ve got a sweater and sweatshirt with me. Will those and my running shoes be all right?”

  “Sounds good. Your shoes should be fine. You’ve got good balance. I wear hiking boots with lug soles. Better for an old guy.”

  Jason was wearing his boots. He pulled trail lunches, already prepared, out of the refrigerator. He had water bottles, a small first aid kit, and two day packs. He would have been very disappointed had I said no.

  ***

  We stopped at the ranger station to pick up our trail permit. Then we parked in Humber Park at the upper end of Idyllwild. The altitude was 6,400 feet. A quick calculation told me Tahquitz Peak must be 8,800 feet high. I’d never been that high on land.

  We started up the trail through a pine forest. It wasn’t overly steep, but I was still surprised at how easily Jason navigated the trail. I would have to revise my picture of senior citizens some more. We were able to carry on a conversation. I was about to bring up the subject of Jason III when Jason II did it for me.

  “Jason and I hiked this trail together a number of times. He was a good hiker. Loved the outdoors.” His voice trailed off.

  “I went to the party at his apartment house Friday night.”

  “You did?” Jason looked surprised. “They had another party? On the roof?”

  “Yes. I was surprised, too. I got some information. Have you heard of an investment group called a syndicate?”

  “No. Who’s involved?”

>   “Apparently, Jason was involved in it.”

  As I explained how the syndicate worked, Jason’s face grew darker and darker. I didn’t want to hurt him, but he had to know. I tried to downplay the role of Jason III, partly because I wasn’t sure how involved he was, but Jason II wasn’t buying it.

  “Jason had an MBA. Since this syndicate involved money, I’m sure he was right in the thick of it. He was besmirching the honor of our family.”

  Jason looked so upset I wanted to try to put Jason III’s involvement in a better light. “One theory I have is he might have been killed because he wanted out when he realized how bad it was. I can even picture Marcia, his girlfriend, killing him.”

  Jason stopped and took a drink of water. “Marcia avoided me at the memorial service. The couple of times I met her she was very cool toward me. Pretty much ignored me.”

  “She didn’t treat me any better. In fact, she kicked me out of the party when she checked up on me and caught me lying.”

  “You didn’t use your real name?”

  “No. In case the murderer was the guy who scammed my grandmother, since he would have recognized my name if he’d been there. But I didn’t see anybody at the party with a hand problem. I asked everybody I talked to whether they’d seen diseased hands at the party the week before. Negative.”

  “You’ve got a lot of guts. I don’t want you getting yourself killed for my grandson.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  ***

  We did hit some snow as we were traversing the face below the peak. Jason asked me if I wanted to turn back. I said no. We were able to wade through or walk on top of the snow, which reached a depth of several feet in places, without getting too wet or too cold. We reached the peak with its gorgeous view of the surrounding country, including Mt. San Jacinto, the almost-11,000 foot mountain that towered over Palm Springs.

  The fire tower on Tahquitz wasn’t open for the fire season yet, and we had the top to ourselves. Jason said it was staffed by volunteers during the fire season. I felt the lack of oxygen at that altitude a bit, but it didn’t really bother me. We ate our lunches sitting on the rocks while Jason tried to come to terms with the behavior of his grandson.

  “I’d like to expose the syndicate before people get burned.”

  “It’s too late for that. If it’s shut down now, the current investors will lose at least part of their money. They’ll hate you. I tried to convince one woman who invested that it was a bad thing. She didn’t believe me.”

  “If Marcia killed Jason, I want her brought to justice.”

  At least we agreed on that.

  ***

  Jason took me to dinner at a nice restaurant in Idyllwild. I was none the worse for the hike. We showered at the cabin. I thanked him for showing me the joys of mountain hiking. He said he was glad I had a good time. He was always looking for people to hike with. They didn’t just pop out of the woods.

  We talked about how we could get evidence that Marcia killed his grandson. We didn’t come up with a workable plan. Jason became frustrated and changed the subject. He started telling me about Idyllwild. He and his wife, Laurie, had owned the cabin for many years, using it for a retreat away from the city. It wasn’t until his wife died he decided he wanted to live outside of Los Angeles. That’s when he moved there.

  “Years ago, there was a restaurant here called the Chef in The Forest. Not to be confused with one now called Little Chef in the Forest. The original was run by a larger-than-life chef who would serve excellent meals and then come out to the dining room and give everybody lollipops. Laurie and I loved to eat there.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “He had a weekly cooking show—I believe it originated from San Diego—and one day when he was being driven back to Idyllwild after the show the driver reached down to pick something up from the floor. The car went out of control and hit a bridge support, I believe. The chef was decapitated.”

  I almost spit out a mouthful of food. “That’s a horrible story.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told it while we were eating. Anyway, there hasn’t been a restaurant here like that since.”

  When the check came, I tried to take it but Jason beat me to it. When I said something he told me he was happy I’d come for Jason’s service and done some investigating. The least he could do was buy me dinner. I thanked him as sweetly as I could and resolved to start acting more feminine.

  Back at the cabin he showed me family pictures, including some on his laptop computer. This reminded me of what I hadn’t had a chance to tell him so far. I got out the charts Frances printed for me and laid them on the table.

  “On Thursday, I visited my friend, Frances, who’s a forensic genealogist. She checked your genealogy on the Internet. She found your grandfather, Jason Boyd I. I believe I told you he had a third son named Patrick who stayed in Northern Ireland.”

  “Uncle Patrick.” Jason repeated the name, savoring it. “My father never told me about him. He didn’t really talk about his father, Jason, either. It was strange, because if he had a falling-out with his father, why did he name me Jason?”

  I showed him the line of relatives on the chart. “Patrick had a son named Clancy. Clancy has two sons named Timothy and—you’ll never guess—Jason.”

  “Another Jason? My God. You were the one who was searching for relatives, and here I’m finding relatives I never knew about. Clancy would be my first cousin.”

  “Technically, half first cousin. The original Jason married a second time after his first wife died, so you and Clancy have different grandmothers.”

  “That must have been after my father came to America. You learn something every day. My father and his brother, who was your grandmother’s father, immigrated to the U.S. when they were eighteen and twenty, if memory serves me correctly. As far as I know, they never communicated with their father again. He could have remarried and had a third son after they left. They apparently never knew.”

  “I told you Timothy was murdered a month or so ago.”

  “Yes. We appear to have a bloody family. However, I don’t see how that could relate to Jason’s murder.”

  “Frances has a hunch they may be related. Her hunches are not to be sneezed at.”

  “I like my hunch better—assuming Marcia didn’t kill Jason, that Elizabeth’s scammer is the murderer.”

  “You both could be right.”

  “He would have to be a genealogist. But why would he target our family?”

  “We don’t know. The theory could be all wet, especially if Marcia or someone with the syndicate killed Jason. However, one thing Frances and I talked about is the possibility that the killer, if there is only one, is targeting young male Boyds. Which reminds me of something else. I’d like you to take a DNA test so we can establish exactly what this Boyd Y-DNA looks like.”

  When Jason looked dubious, I explained it involved scraping the inside of his cheek with an object like a toothbrush several times, and sending the results to a lab. His name wouldn’t be attached to it, but Frances, the forensic genealogist, would have access to it by a number and would be able to check for matches.

  With these assurances and when he saw how easy it was, Jason acquiesced and did the first scraping. I was fading fast, having gotten up early to come to Idyllwild. Since I was traveling light, I didn’t have any sleeping apparel. I’d returned Rigo’s T-shirt to him. Jason and I were sharing a bathroom, and if he had to go during the night he’d have to come through the living room where I was sleeping.

  I probably shouldn’t sleep in the nude, which I sometimes did. Jason was becoming a father figure for me. I couldn’t remember my real father—or grandfather, for that matter—and I needed a replacement. I couldn’t remember what I wore to bed when I was young, but I assumed one appeared in front of one’s male relatives dressed demurely.

  “May I borrow a T-shirt? I didn’t bring anything to sleep in.”

  “Sure. How’s your poison
oak?”

  He’d asked the same question that morning. It was probably just short-term memory loss. Not all older people got dementia. Then I realized he just wanted an update.

  “A touch better. But it still itches, especially at night.” I lifted my shirt and bared the rash on my stomach, having decided this was a better alternative for showing a man than unbuttoning my shirt from the top. “Sometimes I scratch it in my sleep.”

  “Wow. You got a dose. Do you have anything to put on it?”

  “Yes, but it’s only partially effective in stopping the itching.”

  “I’ll get you a T-shirt.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I was awakened by an odor that was a combination of bacon and pancakes, coming from the kitchen end of the room. I groggily opened my eyes and saw Jason, very much awake, doing several things at once. He’d noted my food likes and dislikes last night.

  I got out of bed, grabbed my clothes, and walked toward the bathroom, passing Jason along the way. “Smells good. You sure get up early.”

  He grinned. “I got used to it in the army and afterward when I was still gainfully employed. I can’t sleep late.”

  I knew he’d been in the military, including Vietnam. Then he worked with businesses wanting to sell to the military. Or something like that. I checked my poison oak, which still looked about the same—nasty—got dressed, and joined Jason for breakfast. I was a little stiff from yesterday’s exertions and ravenously hungry. I was eating my way through a stack of pancakes when a phone rang at the other end of the room.

  “That’s my cell phone.”

  I didn’t encourage people to call me on my cell phone just to chat, so it must be important. I wasn’t on any of the Internet social networks, either, having decided I was too private a person. I excused myself and found the phone. The number displayed was Grandma’s. It must be Audrey.