by K. A. Tracy
She kept the narrative focused on Jeff and George’s fatal dance. Although Sam quoted Ellen praising Jeff’s character and talents, nowhere did she bring up the name on his original birth certificate, Anne’s association with Manuel, or the fact Argo used to be Jorge Diego-Manuel, the former boy next door of the mayoral front-runner.
It was a little after four o’clock when she emailed Marlene the story and printed herself a copy, which she put in a large manila envelope along with the photos and captions from Belinda and the newspaper articles. She pulled Rydell’s wheelie bag from beneath her desk and put all his original documentation back in it then zipped it up. She stashed the yearbook, birth certificate, and marriage documents in her backpack, a subterfuge Sam was confident would have Father Gerry’s blessing.
She dialed Monica’s intercom extension. “Hey, I’ve come up for air. Do I have any messages I should know about?”
“Let’s see…Joe wanted to know if he should make dinner reservations for tonight. Someone named Kevin Mallory called and said you had the number and would know what it’s about. A Detective Larson wants you to call him at your earliest convenience. And,” she paused for emphasis, “Ellen Konrad called for you.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She’d like you to call her at home, it’s important. And she said to be persistent. As if you weren’t,” she added sassily under her breath.
“Anything else?” Sam asked, smiling.
“She asked if you were alright.”
News sure travels fast down here. “What did you tell her?”
“That other than being understandably ornery, you seemed fine. I offered to tell you she was on the line but she didn’t want to interrupt.”
Sam disconnected the intercom and found her cell phone under a stack of papers. She speed- dialed the house line and Lena answered, “Konrad residence.”
“Is Ellen in?”
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s Sam Perry.”
“I’m afraid Ellen is busy at the moment.”
“Lena, I’m returning her call. She said it was important. Can you please tell her I’m on the line and let her decide if she’s too busy?”
There was a curt pause. “Just a moment.”
Sam stretched again, her body creaking and cracking everywhere in protest.
“Hey,” Ellen said softly, “how are you?”
Her concern sent a geyser of warmth through Sam. “To be honest, the left side of my body feels like someone worked me over with a baseball bat. I fear I’m going to wake up tomorrow looking half-Smurf.”
“It’s good to hear your sense of humor came through intact.”
“Waterlogged, but intact.”
“How bad is your arm?”
“It’s just a graze. We can either credit my lightning fast reflexes or the other guy’s lousy shooting while being stoned out of his mind for that. Who told you?”
“Frank. He stopped by to let me know you identified Jeff’s murderer, a man named George Manuel, and were nearly killed in the process. Dear God, Sam,” her composure suddenly cracked. “Getting shot, almost drowning? It scared the hell out of me.”
“It scared the hell out of me too,” she admitted, Ellen’s raw emotion breaking down her defenses and bravado. Sam leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, remembering the surreal sensation of thinking she was going to die. “When we were in the wash and George had us trapped, I thought about my dogs and what would happen to them. And I thought about you.”
“What about me?” she asked quietly.
“I shouldn’t have left last night without telling you that I don’t give up on people who matter to me—ever. And you matter to me, more than I can say…more than I really understand…so I’m not going anywhere.” Having just been rudely reminded exactly how too-short life can be, Sam didn’t care if she was being embarrassingly emo. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“I’m counting on it,” Ellen said. “There’s a lot I should have said, too. After you left, I stayed up most of the night thinking and decided you were right. It’s time to let the truth play out, whatever the consequences. I don’t want any secrets between us. I want you to know it all.”
“There are some things I need to tell you, too, before the story comes out.”
“Like what?”
Sam turned her chair towards the window. “Like, George Manuel’s real name was Jorge Diego-Manuel, your old neighbor.”
There was a heartbeat of stunned silence. “Jorge murdered Jeff? And tried to kill you? Are you sure it’s the same person?”
“Absolutely sure.”
“My God, how did he even know—” Ellen froze when she made the connection. “Is Annie involved?”
“Not intentionally.”
“What’s that mean?”
“She came up to the warehouse last night in the middle of everything. George kept her outside, but I know she saw me.”
“What was she doing there?”
Sam hesitated.
“Please…whatever it is, I’d rather hear it from you.”
“She was getting coke. Manuel was her dealer and sometime hookup.”
Ellen’s silence was painful to hear. “I really thought we had turned a corner,” she finally said. “I wonder why Frank didn’t tell me.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“You didn’t tell the police?”
“She needs intervention, not interrogation.”
“So Annie’s not going to be in your story?”
“No, and neither is what we talked about last night. But there are other things you need to know about your daughter, and some of it is going to be upsetting.”
“Annie seems to have a knack for that.” Ellen sighed wearily. Sam heard voices in the background. “I’m sorry. Phil is here, and we need to conference in a call.”
“That’s okay.” Sam swung her chair back around. “I’d rather talk in person anyway.”
“Me, too. Come over whenever you like. I’ll leave the driveway gate open. Can we go get a drink or still grab a bite together?”
“Yes and yes. I’ll be there within the half-hour.”
“Great. I can’t wait to see you.”
Sam gathered what she needed and locked up her desk. Toting the wheelie bag behind her like a rheumatic flight attendant, she stopped by Marlene’s office. “Is it okay if I take off?” She realized the perfunctory nature of the request since it was obvious she was packed and ready to go regardless. “Feel free to edit the story at will if it was too long.”
Marlene waved her over. “It was long, but we’re adding pages to accommodate it. Layout isn’t happy but Craig Lowe is thrilled and plans to syndicate it. He wants you to know that you’ll get a bonus percentage from any reprint sales.”
“That’s awfully generous of him.”
“He knows a cash cow when he sees one. He’s only being generous because he’s afraid you’re going to come to your senses and go back to work for a real newspaper.”
“Regardless, tell Mr. Lowe I said thanks and that I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say, but he doesn’t need to know that,” she smiled. Marlene peered over her reading glasses. “It’s a powerful piece, Sam. Good work. Since both Rydell and Manuel are dead, I doubt legal will need anything from you. So go home, and take tomorrow off. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Sam waved goodbye. She parked the wheelie bag next to Monica’s desk. “Two more big favors? Can you please call Kevin Mallory back and tell him this wheelie bag is ready for him to pick up? And can you please have this package delivered to Detective Larson over at the police station?”
“Of course,” she said, phone already in hand. “You just go home and take care of yourself. And if you need anything, you better call.”
“Thanks, Monica.”
Between the breeze and bone-dry air it was a comfortable hundred degree day. The h
eat wave was officially over. Sam put the top down and headed towards Ellen’s house. She called Joe who picked up on the first ring. “Waiting for Kevin to call, I see.”
“Am I getting as transparent as you?” Joe sounded happy. “They’re ready to make some arrests based on documents they found at the warehouse, meaning he has to work tonight. So we’re going to meet for happy hour.”
“Happy hour?” Sam knew Kevin wouldn’t drink before serving arrest warrants. “Is that what they’re calling afternoon quickies these days?”
“And you wonder why I had to keep some distance the last couple of years. You always figure everything out. I’m sure the people at the boutique thought I was a raging drunk. Regardless, I should be back around seven o’clock. Did you want to go to El Paseo, or are you too trashed?”
“I’m having dinner with Ellen, if that’s okay.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” he said, sounding like a proud parent. “Tell her I said hi.”
“I will. See you later.”
The Labor Day vacationers had begun trickling in, and downtown traffic was noticeably heavier. Sam couldn’t believe summer was almost over. She turned left on Alameda and wended her way through the serpentine streets of the area known as Las Palmas to Ellen’s house.
Sam grabbed her cell phone and the manila envelope, leaving her bag in the car. She realized she’d forgotten to return Larson’s call and speed dialed his number while walking up the sidewalk. The call failed, and Sam wondered if this was a cellular dead zone being so close to the mountains. The front door was ajar, and assuming Ellen had left it open for her, Sam went in. She had just finished dialing Larson’s number a second time when she strolled into a macabre tableau playing out in the Konrad living room.
The seating area was on the right side of the room. Two plush couches were arranged perpendicular to the fireplace. In between the couches was a teardrop shaped wooden coffee table. To the left of the couches were two matching chairs. Phil Atkins and Lena were on the couch closest to Sam, their backs to her. Luke sat on the other couch. Ellen was perched on the arm of the far chair. Everybody was motionless, turned towards Anne, who was backed up against the center set of French doors. She was holding a gun pointed in the general direction of her head.
This is un-fucking-believable.
When Anne saw Sam walk slowly into the room, she leveled the gun toward the door. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was shaking as much as her hands.
Sam heard a voice coming from her cell phone and casually slipped it into her T-shirt pocket, praying Larson wouldn’t hang-up. “I’m certainly not here to get shot again. Any chance you can put that gun down, Anne? You might not care about me, but I don’t think you want to accidentally hurt your mom or Luke.”
She didn’t know much about guns but Sam recognized this one, having already been up close and personal with it. She disconnected the call to Larson. “That’s George’s gun, isn’t? You took it out of his glove compartment last night when you got the drugs.”
“You’re the one who told her, aren’t you? It’s none of your fucking business what I do or who I see. I am not going to be locked up again. I’d rather die first.”
Ellen glanced at Sam with a helpless expression. Lena saw the exchange and stood up. “This is your fault,” she accused in a brittle voice. “You have no right interfering in our lives.”
“Back off and sit down,” Sam snapped, suddenly very tired, in pain, impatient, and pissed off. She pointed her finger at Lena, “You do not want to be fucking with me right now.”
She felt a lightheaded recklessness but no fear. If Anne was going to shoot anyone, it would probably be herself. “At least be honest, Anne,” she leaned against the back of the empty chair. “It’s not the thought of going to a hospital making you want to die. It’s the idea of getting sober and getting well because then you’ll have to deal with what you’ve done, in total clarity.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, glancing anxiously towards her mother.
“Sure you do. Jeff told you he was leaving to go back to his girlfriend in Tennessee, destroying your dream of being together. He also warned you to stay away from George, that something was going down. That’s what you were arguing about the night he died. First he ruins your life then he tries to tell you what to do? Fuck him, right?”
“You don’t understand.” Anne’s voice was ragged and trembling.
“Yes, I do,” Sam said quietly. “You felt angry and hurt but mostly abandoned. When he left, you’d have nobody, except for George. When you told him about Jeff’s warning, part of it was to get back at Jeff for hurting you, to let George make his life hell for a while. But it was also to get George’s approval to make sure he’d still want you. You needed George to keep from being completely alone.”
“Please shut up.”
“I know you didn’t want Jeff hurt. You just didn’t realize what was at stake for George. Beyond his freedom it was about money. Jeff was messing with his golden goose. You grew up with money, so you take it for granted. It didn’t occur to you that someone like George would kill over it.”
“Dear God, Annie,” Ellen whispered. “What have you done?”
Anne saw the dread in her mother’s eyes and raged at Sam. “Goddam you, shut up! Just shut up!” She took a step toward Ellen. “Mama, I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear. Please, Mama, you’ve got to believe me.”
“I’ve been a bad, bad girl,” Sam recited softly. “And I need to be redeemed to the one I sinned against because he’s all I ever knew of love.”
Anne started to cry while everyone else in the room stared at Sam as if she was speaking in tongues. “Those are the words to a song I saw your daughter perform to the other day,” she explained to Ellen.
“Perform?” she repeated, confused.
Sam maintained eye contact with Anne as she talked. “She works as an exotic dancer at the Crazy Girl in Indio.”
“How? She’s only seventeen.”
“George was a bartender there and introduced her to the manager. Even if they asked for proof of age, fake IDs are not that hard to come by. Anne calls herself Money, and she’s the star of the club. Men pay dearly for her lap dances.”
Ellen took a deep breath, gobsmacked.
“I would say it was a secret life except it wasn’t,” she turned to look at Atkins, “was it Phil?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” he said calmly.
“Come on, you must have known about Money since you’re the one who hired Jeff to keep an eye on her.” Sam looked back at Ellen. “He paid Jeff via a credit card applied for through his consulting business.”
“That’s why Jeff was there watching the show?” Luke blurted out. “Because you paid him to be?”
“You knew about your sister and didn’t tell me?” Ellen asked, incredulous, and looking ready to throttle him.
Luke shrank back from her glare. “I just found out. She told me she finally had a job she loved, but that you wouldn’t understand. The only way she would tell me where was if I promised not to tell you. I went to check it out last Saturday, and I couldn’t believe Jeff was there watching her dance naked, so we had it out.”
Mystery Man A, Sam thought, as another loose end was tied off.
“I told Phil about it the next morning,” Luke continued pleading his case to Ellen, whose anger hummed through the room. “He said not to worry you with it because he’d take care of it.” He turned to Sam for validation. “You saw us. That’s what we were talking about when you showed up at headquarters that day.”
“I wouldn’t be too hard on Luke,” Sam told Ellen. “I’m guessing the reason Phil didn’t tell you about Anne was that he couldn’t. If he told her secret then she might tell his.”
Atkins sprang off the couch, his hands flexed into fists and his skin ruddy. His reaction, and the anticipation on Anne’s face, convinced Sam her hunch was correct.
“Tell what secret?”
Ellen asked, never taking her eyes off Atkins, her demeanor dangerously calm.
“That he treated himself to some of her special lap dances.”
Ellen stood and took several steps toward him. “Is that true, Phil?” When he didn’t respond, her eyes burned blue fire. “How could you? You’ve known her since she was a child. She’s still a child.”
Lena stared at Atkins, aghast, and moved away from him.
“Oh, please,” he said contemptuously, “she was hardly a virgin. Besides, she came on to me. She wanted me.”
“Oh, please,” Anne mimicked him and rolled her eyes. “It’s always been a mercy fuck. Even at fifteen I could tell you were desperate.”
Atkins looked like he was about to implode.
“Get out of my house, Phil,” Ellen spoke barely above a whisper, but her words boomed with fury, “before I change my mind and have you arrested.”
Atkins tried to stare her down but withered under the ferocity of Ellen’s rage and looked away. He reached into his pocket and threw a set of keys onto the coffee table that skidded off onto the area rug. He left without a word. Only when the front door shut did Ellen’s anger subside into numbness, and she sat back down. But an uncomfortable silence and growing tension again pervaded the room, and Anne started fidgeting. Just as with Manuel, Sam felt less vulnerable talking.
“It must have been frustrating,” she said to Anne.
“What must have?”
“To have the one man you loved turn you down.”
“It was her fault,” she gestured carelessly toward Ellen with the gun. “He pushed me away because she told him not to. She wanted him to herself.”
“Annie,” Ellen said patiently, “I’ve told you, there was nothing romantic going on between us.”
“I saw all the times you’d sneak off to another room, all the whispering—”
