by K. A. Tracy
“I will. I promise.”
“Thank you.” Sam gathered her backpack and slid out of the booth. “Sorry to keep you after work like this. I’m sure you’re tired. This seems like a busy place.”
“It is,” Kylie agreed. “Actually, I have to come back and work the evening shift. The cashier called in sick.” She glanced at the pictures of Jeff in Sam’s hand. “Guess I shouldn’t complain, though. There are lots worse things.”
Chapter Twelve
Parked in the shady alley behind the Desert Diner, Sam glanced at the clock on her dashboard. In four and a half hours she’d be at Ellen’s house, and the thought made her stomach flutter in anticipation. Was Ellen really making an overture, or was Sam reading way too much into what was very likely a professional courtesy? More importantly, could she remain objective?
Sam was convinced that Ellen was hiding something. Not about Jeff’s death but about his life. Was she protecting herself in some way or someone else? If so, then who and why? She reread the notes from their interview, but nothing jumped out to shed any new light. She idly ran her finger over Ellen’s phone number. Impulsively she reached for her cell phone and called the house.
“Konrad residence,” a curtly efficient voice answered.
“Hi, is Ellen in?”
“I’m afraid she’s busy. Would you like to leave a message?”
Sam hesitated. “That’s okay. I’ll just catch up with her later.”
She hung up, feeling foolish. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and flipped through her notebook to the page with the list of motels to check out. As she shifted into first gear, her phone vibrated and played the incoming call tone: the opening notes of the Hawaii 5-0 theme song.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’m sorry about that,” Ellen apologized, sounding slightly winded.
Sam put the car back in park. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“The only thing you interrupted was my indecision between egg salad and yogurt for lunch.”
“And the egg salad no doubt won out.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you knew that,” Ellen said genially. “Do you mind if I eat while we talk? I’m starved.”
“Of course not.” Sam heard a door close and Ellen sigh as she sat down. “Do you always have people screen your calls?”
“Not if I can help it. But Lee sometimes gets…let’s say, overly protective.”
“In other words, she saw who it was on your caller ID and didn’t want the riffraff bothering you.”
“Something like that. Except you’re not a bother at all and hardly riffraff. How’s your story going?”
“Well, so far there are a lot more questions than answers. Jeff Rydell was a man with a lot of secrets.”
“Like what? Or can’t you say?”
Sam debated a moment. “Did you know he was moonlighting at an exotic dance club in Indio?”
“Doing what?”
“He apparently was paid to look after one of the dancers.”
“You mean like a bodyguard?”
“More like a handler. To make sure none of the patrons got out of line with her and that she didn’t break their heads open for trying.”
“When was this?”
“Up until the night he died. In fact, he was killed within hours of leaving the club.”
“A strip club?” There was a pause and a squeak, probably from Ellen leaning back in her chair to absorb the information. “That’s honestly the last place I would picture Jeff.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t very sure of himself or assertive, which a job like that requires, I would think. Plus, he seemed a bit repressed and inhibited to be comfortable hanging around strippers.”
“As in born-again Christian repressed?”
“No, more like, never-been-laid-much inhibited.”
“Maybe he was never-been-laid-much inhibited because he was born-again Christian repressed. God, maybe he killed himself.”
“You really are bad,” Ellen laughed softly, then became serious. “I always got the sense Jeff was trying to figure out who he was so he could find what would really make him happy.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I suppose to varying degrees we are. Sometimes it’s just a matter of reclaiming the pieces of ourselves we lose along the way.”
Sam sensed Ellen was speaking as much about herself as Rydell. There was so much beneath the surface of this woman she craved to know.
“Well, it seems Jeff decided going back home to be with his girlfriend would make him happy,” Sam said.
There was a pause. “He had a girlfriend?”
“You sound surprised.”
“He never mentioned being involved with anyone. I wonder why he would keep that a secret.”
“There’s a lot I wonder,” Sam said. “Why he was willing to be away from her for so long? What brought him here? What kept him here? Why was he killed once he decided to leave and go back home to his mystery girlfriend? I just wish I could talk to her.”
“Where is she?”
“I have no idea because I don’t even know her name yet. I do know that before coming to Palm Springs he lived in the bustling metropolis of Cattle Hill, Tennessee. Ever hear of it?” she asked casually.
“Has anyone? It almost sounds made up.”
“Well, it’s not as bad as Deadhorse, Alaska, or Monkey’s Eyebrow, Arizona.”
“Those are real places?”
“Just like French Lick, Indiana, and Dildo, Newfoundland.”
“Must be those long Northern winters.”
“Or serious wishful thinking.”
Ellen chuckled then grew somber. “You said the strip club was in Indio; so how did he end up dead out in the desert?”
“He drove there. I talked with someone who saw him heading that way late Saturday night. I’m pretty sure he knew his killer, or killers, but why it happened I have no clue. I’m still just trying to get a picture of who this guy was. It’s like a moving target because he seems to have been a different person to everyone who knew him. I haven’t found the common thread that ties all these different Jeff Rydells together. He was up to something, though, and I think that’s what got him killed. But what he was up to, I can’t say.”
Ellen was quiet a moment. “You know, when you work on a character in a script, the first thing you’re supposed to do is create their backstory, which is where you find the character’s current motivation. Once you figure out Jeff’s backstory, you’ll be able to tie all the different Jeff Rydells you see now together into the individual he really was.”
“Let’s hope or there’s going to be a lot of empty space in this week’s edition.” Sam sighed. “So on one hand you have people trying to run interference for you, screening who gets through, and yet you haven’t even asked the reason I called.”
“Was there one?”
“Not really. I guess I just wanted to talk.”
“That’s reason enough,” she said warmly. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”
Sam felt exposed and flustered. Unnerved, she moved to safer ground. “So, how’s your party set-up coming along?”
Ellen groaned. “Mostly, I just stay out of the way so the caterers and rental people can do their thing, and everyone else can fight it out.”
“Who’s fighting what out?”
“Lee and René are always at odds, mostly because Lee tries to micromanage the kitchen along with everything else. René is French, so it’s not just a personal affront but an assault on her heritage. It’s a good thing Lee doesn’t understand French very well, or I’d really have a war on my hands.”
“So you’re hiding out in your office?”
“With the door locked.”
Sam smiled. “Who knew a cocktail party could have so much drama?”
“You think you see violence? The last thing they were arguing about were the bar stations. René thought both bars should be full-service; Lee wante
d one beer and wine, the other mixed drinks. I honestly thought they were going to come to blows.”
“Split the baby: let both be full service, but pick one bar to have an express beer-and-wine-only line as well.”
There was a moment of silence. “Observant and diplomatic.”
“Oh, so not,” Sam assured her. “Well, I better get back to work. I hope things calm down there so you’re not too stressed for your party.”
“I’m going to go be boss and pull rank now. That’s always a good stress reliever.”
I can think of better, Sam mused.
“You know, I can hear you thinking,” Ellen said, “and it’s no wonder you blush so much.”
“Busted again,” Sam laughed. “And on that note, I really better go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“I’m really looking forward to it. And Sam? I’m very glad you called.”
“Me, too.”
Sam hung up, energized and optimistic. Maybe…
There was truly nothing she wanted more than Ellen Konrad in her life in whatever way possible. But before that could happen in earnest, there were questions that still needed to be answered.
• • •
Sam worked through the list of motels. It was a bust. Although the clerks tried to be helpful nobody recognized Jeff. Nor did they have a record of anyone by that name in their registration ledgers. She made one last sweep and passed the Sandy Dunes Inn, which sat on a dusty stretch of Indian Drive just outside her original target area. Journalistic due diligence compelled her to stop in.
When Sam walked in, a chime rang in the deserted lobby. A slender, balding, middle-aged man with a comb-over emerged from an office behind the front desk.
“Can I help you?” he asked with clipped efficiency.
“I hope so,” Sam smiled, noticing he didn’t respond in kind. She introduced herself, briefly explained her assignment, and held out the pictures. “I’m just wondering if this man ever stayed here.”
“Why exactly do you want to know this?”
“Because I’m trying to write an obituary and nobody, including the police, have been able to locate next of kin.”
The man regarded her coolly. “Are you going to quote me?”
Sam’s gaze narrowed to match. “Do you have anything quotable to say?”
“I’m not sure I want my name bandied about in the paper.”
“Actually, I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Benjamin Hayes. I’m the proprietor.”
“Well, Ben, I’m not much of a bandier. I only quote people if they’ve given me their okay. Right now, I’m just looking for information that might help me write an accurate article. So, to your knowledge, did this man ever stay here?”
“You mean you don’t want to quote me?”
With an effort, Sam refrained from grabbing his throat and kept her tone amiable. “I would be happy to quote you, if you have anything pertinent to say. Certainly, if he stayed here, I would mention that in the article as well.”
“That would be good. A little publicity never hurts, right?”
Sam just smiled, debating whether she would use hellhole, squalid, or fetid. “So, do you recognize him?”
“I do. He stayed with us for several months earlier this year.”
“Did he ever talk about family or why he came to Palm Springs?
“Not to me. I don’t fraternize with the guests.”
“Can you tell me what kind of lease he was on? Was it by the day, the week, the month?” Sam suspected this place probably rented by the hour as well.
“I believe he was on the weekly special, which is the daily rate minus 15 percent.”
“When he checked in, did he have to fill out a registration form?”
“Yes, we require that of all our long-term guests. I suppose you want to see it.”
“That would be most helpful. I appreciate it.”
Benjamin Hayes disappeared into the back office and returned in under a minute to hand the file to Sam. He pointed to the receipts. “It appears that he paid a full month, which is the daily rate minus 20 percent, his first two months here then started renting by the week thereafter.”
The first receipt was dated January 26; the second, February 23; and the rest dated at seven-day intervals until the last receipt, dated April 13.
The registration form listed his Cattle Hill address although the phone number line was left blank. His emergency contact was Larissa Dodds, with an 865 area code phone number.
“Hello, L,” Sam whispered.
“Did you say something?” Hayes asked.
Sam ignored the question by pretending she didn’t hear it. “Do you have a copier? I need a copy of these receipts and registration. The police need to notify next of kin.” Although both statements were absolutely true, the inference was not. The copies were really for her, but Sam knew Benjamin Hayes would feel more important thinking they were official police documents.
“Of course,” he held out his hand. “I’ll do that and put them in an envelope for you.”
Sam gave him the file. “And please make sure to put your name down on the envelope in case they need to contact you.”
Benjamin almost smiled but couldn’t quite get there.
It was nearly 2:30 by the time Sam was finally on her way back to the office. She really did need to call Larson and give him Rydell’s emergency contact information. But she didn’t necessarily need to do it this second. Instead, Sam mentally replayed her conversations with Ellen, Kylie, and Kim. The portrait of Rydell taking form in her mind only served to create more questions than answers. Why would someone like Jeff be associated with an apparent loon like Money? He had obviously gotten in over his head with something, but Sam increasingly doubted it was drugs. It just didn’t feel right that he was dabbling in a life of crime, although she certainly couldn’t hang a story on intuition.
Something else bothered her. She pulled over to the curb in front of the Denny’s on North Palm Canyon and flipped through her notebook. According to Kim, Money and Jeff had their confrontation, or whatever it was, sometime after 12:30. Just a half hour earlier, Alison said Money was talking about running away with Jeff as soon as he made some kind of major financial score.
Sam eased back into traffic wondering what had happened within that half hour to piss Money off. From the sounds of it, Money could switch moods on a whim, but Sam thought it significant that Money wasn’t driving with Jeff when he stopped for gas. She was with the mystery man in the black Lincoln. Sam pulled over to the curb again. She looked up Alison’s phone number and called.
She answered with a friendly, “Hello?”
“Hi, Alison. It’s Sam Perry.”
“Oh, hi.”
“Listen, I have a really quick follow-up question.”
“Okay. What?”
“You told me you talked to Money last Saturday around midnight, right when Lavender started her set, about Jeff’s run-in with that guy, right?”
“Right.”
“And that she bragged about going off with Jeff once he came into some big money, right?”
“Right,” she dragged the word out, sounding warier.
“I’ve heard from other people that Jeff and Money got into an argument Saturday after Lavender’s set was over. And that she was pretty mad. Do you know anything about that?”
The silence answered the question.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asked gently, not wanting to give Alison a reason to hang up.
“You asked me the last time I saw Jeff. You never asked me the last time I saw Money.”
She’s right, Sam thought grudgingly. But it still felt that Alison intentionally withheld the info. “So, you were aware Money had words with Jeff after she talked to you the first time?”
Alison sighed unhappily. “She came out to the bar and was ready to spit nails. Whenever she’s like that we try to stay out of her way. Well, except for Argo. He’s about the only one who can t
alk to Money.”
“What do you know about Argo?”
“Not much. He’s a fun guy to work with, but we’ve never gone out or anything. Like a lot of people there, he doesn’t talk about his life outside the club.”
“But he’s friendly with Money?”
“Argo’s friendly with everybody. But yeah, I’d say he talks to her more than anybody else. They seem to get along. They kind of hang when he’s on break and stuff.”
“Have you ever seen them leave the club together?”
“I think once or twice he gave her a ride home because her car was in the shop or something.”
“So obviously they know each other outside the club. Or at least, he knows her well enough to know where she lives.”
“I guess. One time he said something about them going way back, but that was all he’d say.”
“So what happened Saturday?” Sam pulled into the Weekender parking lot and kept the car idling.
“She came out of the lap dance room and went straight to Argo. They were over in the corner by the waiters’ station, so I couldn’t hear what they talked about. But whatever it was put Argo in a weird mood. He said that Money wasn’t feeling well, and he needed to drive her home because they’d driven to the club together. Right at our busiest time, too, so it kind of pissed me off.”
“And you never saw Jeff leave.”
“No. He probably went out the back door. That’s the same way Money and the other girls usually come and go, so they don’t have to pass by too many customers.”
“Do you have a phone number for Argo?”
“No. The only person I talk to outside the club is Jenny.”
“I assume that’s September.”
“Yeah. But as far as everyone else, that’s the kind of place you just do your job and mind your own business.”
“I hear you.” Sam knew she had pumped this well dry. “Thank you so much, again. Just one more thing: do you know what kind of car Argo drives?”
“I’ve only ever seen him on a motorcycle.”
“What about Money?”
