by K. A. Tracy
“You mean opening a boutique out here?”
“No, actually relocating. That’s another reason for this trip. I’ll also be spending some time in Los Angeles before going back to Chicago.”
Sam was stunned. First, because he was only mentioning this now three days into his trip, but mostly because she knew how much Joe loved Chicago.
“Part of it is simply business,” Joe explained, reading Sam’s mind. “But part is personal. I’ve met someone who lives out here, has very close family ties out here, and I would rather be in California with him than in Chicago without him. There are just a few things to work out first.”
“Joe, I’m really glad for you,” Sam said, meaning it. At the same time she felt excluded that he was in such a serious relationship she knew nothing about. “So what’s his name? What does he do? How did you meet? You know I need all the particulars.”
Joe shook his head, “Not yet, Sam. I want you to meet him first. But his name is Kevin, and we met when he was in Chicago on extended business.”
“So how come you’re down here staying with me instead of with Kevin in Los Angeles?”
“He’s away on business right now, but you’ll be meeting him sooner rather than later. Just be patient for once.”
“Have you met me?” Sam muttered.
They finished their drinks and decided to head back to the St. James Club where the car was parked. They crossed at Indian and passed by Konrad’s campaign headquarters. Sam stopped when she saw it was still open. “Let’s go inside a minute.”
The front was deserted, but the office door in back was ajar, and the light was on. Sam heard the faint sound of a toilet flushing. Soon after a young woman flipped off the light and closed the door. She looked up and jumped when she saw Sam and Joe, uttering a breathless, “Oh, God!”
“I am so sorry if we scared you,” Sam apologized, recognizing her as the same girl she spoke to on Sunday. Once again, she was wearing baggy clothes and hiking boots.
”I thought everyone had gone,” the girl said quietly, regaining her composure. “Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, walking quickly to her cubicle.
“I was here on Sunday—”
“I remember you,” she said, gathering papers into a haphazard pile. She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact.
Sam walked over and extended her hand, forcing the girl to look up. “I don’t think I ever introduced myself. I’m Sam Perry.”
The girl hesitated then shook Sam’s hand. “My name’s Annie.”
“Hi Annie. This is my friend Joe.”
The girl nodded in his direction.
“How did you get stuck having to be the last one here?” Sam asked.
“I always close up.”
“How long have you worked for the campaign?”
“Since the beginning.”
“How’s it been going?”
“Fine.” Annie closed her black and gray leather messenger bag and slipped it over her head. She grabbed the handlebars of the bike propped up against the wall and started walking to the door. “I don’t mean to be rude but I really need to go.”
“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to hold you up. Thanks for your time.”
Sam and Joe walked out and turned towards Palm Canyon. At the light, Sam looked back and saw Annie riding her bike down the sidewalk toward Indian Drive. She made a right when she got to the corner and disappeared.
“Strange girl,” Sam said. “And people say I underdress.”
“You do. And while that girl might look like a shlub, her clothes aren’t. Those were $400 boots she was wearing, the pants were Lacoste, the mountain bike is worth at least $3,000, and that leather bag is $200. She might not have style, but she’s got good taste. Well, expensive taste, anyway.”
“She’s probably some trust fund baby working for a cause.”
Sam’s cell phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and answered.
“I’m so sorry,” Rose sounded contrite.
“That’s okay. I was just getting worried.”
“Oh, I’m fine. I made plans to go play Bingo, and it completely slipped my mind when I talked to you earlier.”
“Is it still okay if we stop by? We could be there in no more than fifteen minutes.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll be up watching my programs.”
“So where was she?” Joe asked when Sam hung up.
“Bingo. Hey, did I tell you about the story I did on weighted bingo balls…?”
• • •
When they got into the car, Joe laid his head back and rubbed his temples. “Who knew there was so much to know about bingo balls and that anybody would ever want to share that information in such painful detail.”
“Did I tell you I also did a follow-up story?” She started the car and smiled as Joe moaned and put his hands over his ears. Her phone rang again. “It’s probably Rose wanting to know if she should whip you up a batch of cookies.”
“All things considered, I’d rather she whip me up a Valium with a double martini chaser.”
Sam answered laughing, “Hello?”
After a brief pause she heard Ellen’s amused voice. “Are you always so happy to get a phone call?”
Sam’s stomach did a mild flip, and she smiled in surprise. “Says something really tragic and telling about my social life, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe I can help with that.”
“Well now, you really are looking to be the full service mayor, aren’t you?”
Ellen laughed softly, her voice playfully seductive. “Depends what kind of servicing you have in mind.”
Sam let the clutch out too fast, and her car stalled with a screech. She dropped her forehead against the steering wheel with a self-conscious laugh. “Do you always try to intentionally fluster people over the phone?”
“No, but in your case I’m making an entertaining exception,” Ellen admitted cheerily. “Is it working?”
“Well, let’s see…my ears are embarrassingly hot and my clutch is nearly stripped. You be the judge.”
“You really are easy, aren’t you?”
“And apparently getting easier by the minute,” she sighed, restarting the car.
By now, Joe was sitting sideways in his seat openly eavesdropping.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Not at all. I just finished telling my friend Joe here, who’s visiting from Chicago, about my Weekender investigation of the weighted bingo balls scandal, so he for one is actually quite grateful you called.”
“Lord, I can certainly see why.” Sam heard the ting of crystal, the creak of a door hinge, and a muted pop. “I don’t know how much it’ll help your social life, but I’d like to invite you to a cocktail party I’m throwing tomorrow evening.”
“Absolutely,” Sam said, outrageously pleased. “So you’re getting an early start now with a glass of Pinot Grigio while hiding out in your office claiming to be on a business call?”
There was a moment of silence. “Do you always show off your observational prowess over the phone?”
“No, but in your case I’m making an entertaining exception.”
“Touché,” Ellen chuckled. “I better learn to be careful around you, huh?”
“Don’t worry. I’m harmless.”
“Oh, I certainly hope not.” Her voice held a smile and a challenge.
Not knowing how to respond, Sam changed the subject. “So what’s the cocktail occasion?”
“I’m hosting a get-together here at the house for supporters and others we want to endorse the campaign. I bet your bingo ball stories will be a big hit among some of the older constituents we’re courting.”
“That’s it, pimp me to the AARP crowd.”
“They always say politics makes for strange bedfellows.”
“Thanks so much for that visual.”
Ellen laughed again. “So you’ll definitely come?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
/>
“Good. It starts at 6:00. And please bring your friend.”
“Really? That’s very kind and hospitable of you. I’m sure he’d love it.”
Joe perked up. “A cocktail party? Now I really do have to go shopping tomorrow.”
“Tell him it’s California casual; there’s no need to be formal.”
“No, you don’t understand. Joe lives to accessorize. That’s the difference between us: he looks forward to being fashionable, and I simply look forward to an open bar.”
“And I look forward to your company. Come find me when you get here, okay?”
“I will. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sam. Sweet dreams.”
Sam smiled. If Ellen only knew the half of it. She hung up and saw Joe grinning at her. “What?”
“I just enjoy watching you flirt.”
“What’s with you and the flirting? I wasn’t flirting.”
“You most certainly were. Sounded like you were both flirting.”
“That wasn’t flirting. It was…friendly banter.”
“Whatever it was, it becomes you.”
“Oh, please.”
“All I’m saying is you need more friends here. Even one friend would be a start. It sounds like you and Ellen have a rapport, so you should be open to a friendship there.”
“I am,” Sam said, “but it’s hard to imagine it will happen.”
“Why not?”
“For a lot of reasons.”
“Because she’s famous?”
“That’s one.”
“Because you don’t run in the same social circles?”
“That’s another.”
“Because you’re attracted to her and it scares you?”
Sam was quiet for several moments. “It doesn’t scare me, and it wouldn’t get in the way. I wouldn’t let it. But what does scare me is that I’m working on a story that for all I know might involve her. I need to stay objective.”
“I understand that, but how many people in the world do any of us find really appealing and interesting? So when we come across someone who grabs our attention, we should give it a chance.”
Sam knew there was a fundamental truth in what Joe was saying. She also knew it was rare for Joe to be openly philosophical. “Please tell me you’re not dying or something.”
He smiled. “No, I am disease—and parasite—free.”
“More imagery I could have lived without,” Sam sighed, pulling up to Rose’s apartment building.
Joe reached in back for her bag. “I’m not lecturing, Sam. I’m just saying don’t forget to actually join in life and not just report on what others are doing in theirs.”
Sam turned off the car unsure how to respond, so she just said, “Point taken.”
Chapter Eight
Rose answered as soon as Sam knocked and hurried them in, grabbing their sleeves and pulling them through the door. “I don’t want the cool air to get out.” The ancient window air conditioner rattled as if on life support but still managed to spew out enough cool air to keep the living room comfortable.
On the coffee table were two large manila envelopes and a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and two ice-filled glasses. “Rose, thank you so much.” Joe went over and gave her a hug.
This is why he made a mint as a salesman, Sam thought. He can turn it on like a faucet.
Joe filled both glasses with lemonade while Sam opened the first envelope. She dumped a pile of receipts onto the table, quickly sorting them into three stacks: credit card receipts, cash receipts, and miscellaneous. They told a mostly mundane story—grocery store, gas, lots of fast food, a drug store, office supplies, a few movie stubs—except for one.
“Look at this.” Sam held it out.
Joe leaned closer to read it, “The Spy Shop.” It was dated May 31 of that year. “Isn’t that like an electronic toy store for adults?”
“Yes and no. It started as a novelty store, and I’m sure a lot of people still go there to buy stuff for fun. But I know a lot of reporters who won’t leave home anymore without their tie clip video cameras. They also sell nanny-cams and other surveillance devices.”
“Security is a great business,” Joe agreed, sitting back. “What did he buy?”
“I have no idea. These model numbers on the receipt mean nothing to me. But I suspect the one for $500 was more than a novelty. He spent almost $700 altogether. That’s a lot of money for someone who was doing odds jobs here and there to get by. Unless he was buying it for someone else.”
There were only a handful of credit card receipts, most from restaurants and grocery stores. There were also several cash advance slips from ATMs using the same Chase account. While the purchases were unremarkable the name on the card left Sam shaking her head—Jeff Rydell. “This makes no sense. Rydell didn’t have a credit card so how could this be in his name? And these go back to April.”
“How do you know he didn’t have a credit card?”
“I. Just. Do.” She shot Joe a not in front of Rose glance, and he obediently let it drop.
Sam stacked the piles and put everything back in the first envelope. The second envelope contained a potpourri of apparently unrelated items. There was a dog-eared local map, some fast-food coupons, two postcards showing vistas of Palm Springs, several empty letter size envelopes, some newspaper clippings, a promotional flyer for discount computer programs that had the bottom torn off, a copy of the photo in his bedroom of he and Ellen, a candid snapshot of some houses, and a folded piece of paper that Sam picked up and opened.
“It’s a letter.” She smoothed it out on the coffee table then read it out loud.
My J –
I was so happy to hear the sound of your voice last night. I’ve missed you so much. It seems like forever. Waiting has been a terribly hard cross but I never stopped believing you would come back to me. I understand why you had to see it through for yourself and for us. I know it’s been hard on you, too. Know you are righteous. They brought ruin unto themselves. You deserve all the bounty that is coming to you. I’m counting the hours until we can begin the rest of our lives together as one. One heart. One soul. Remembering how your naked body feels against mine is making me want you so bad. I can’t wait until next Sunday. - Your L
“So who’s L?” Joe asked.
Sam reread the letter silently then sat back. “Take your pick: Lavender? Lena? Hell, it could even be phonetic for El as in Ellen or someone we don’t even know.”
“Lavender?” Joe interrupted.
“She’s a dancer at the Crazy Girl. That’s her professional name.”
“And from the sounds of it, she probably is a pro. By the way, don’t be so closed-minded. Who says L doesn’t stand for Larry or Lance?”
“Or Lucas. That’s the name of Ellen’s son. But to be honest, this doesn’t sound like a guy—gay, straight, or otherwise.” Sam sat tapping her glass of lemonade with her finger. “Judging from the postmark, the Sunday she’s referring to is the day they found Jeff.”
Rose suddenly looked worried. “Do you think the murderer wrote the letter?”
Sam thought it doubtful. “The person would’ve had a rather dramatic change of heart. That’s certainly happened before, but I’m not sensing that’s the case here.” She picked up the letter. “They brought ruin unto themselves. That wording seems very…”
“Biblical?”
“Fundamental is more what I’m thinking. Although the bit about Jeff’s naked body does seem a bit naughty for the religiously conservative crowd.” Sam set the letter on the coffee table. “The overall phrasing doesn’t sound like the writer is from this area.”
“You don’t think the murderer is going to come looking for that letter, do you?” Rose asked.
“Rose, I truly don’t think this letter was written by the murderer,” Sam assured her. “And I certainly don’t think you are in any danger. Besides, I’m going to take the letter so if anyone wants it, they have to come looking for me, okay?”
/> Sam checked her watch then stuffed everything back in the envelope. “You know, it’s probably better if I organize all this at work. Besides, it’s getting late.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, dear. I never go to bed until after the news and my crossword.” It sounded like Rose didn’t want to be alone, but Sam didn’t have time to babysit, which is why she’d never be salesperson of the year.
“Thanks, Rose, but Joe and I have a couple of other errands to run. Don’t get up; we’ll let ourselves out.” Sam walked to the front door while Joe took the tray with the pitcher and their glasses into the kitchen. “By the way, did Jeff have a storage area here?”
“Not one of his own. We have a locked space out back on the side of the carport that anyone can use on a first come basis. They just have to get the key from me, and he never did. It’s pretty full, anyway. Why?”
“No real reason. Just wondering.” Sam opened the door as Joe walked back in the room. “Take care, Rose.”
On their way down the creaking elevator, Sam took out the Spy Shop receipt and called the store’s phone number.
“Spy Shop. This is Robert,” he announced enthusiastically.
“Hi. How late are you open?”
“We’re here until 10:00.”
Sam got directions and hung up. It was a little after 9:30. “It’s not too far from here. Do you mind if we stop by on the way to the Crazy Girl? I’m curious to see if we can find out what Rydell bought.”
The street outside the apartment was deserted and creepy. Joe looked around. “Don’t you wonder why someone would have picked to live here? There has to be other places just as inexpensive that aren’t so bleak.”
Sam started the car. “I wonder where he lived before moving to this apartment. According to Ellen, Jeff started working for the campaign around February, not long after she announced her candidacy. But Rose says he didn’t rent here until April. I suspect he didn’t show up in town with much cash, so maybe he lived in one of those rent by the week places.”
“How can you find out?”
“Good question.” She put the top down then made a U-turn. “The man had to talk to somebody. I just need to find them.”
