by Anna Burke
“Jessica, we can use all the help we can get. This case is more than a decade old. For it to have gone cold means that Dad’s colleagues ran out of leads. They knew how distressing this was for Dad, so they would not have given up if they had anything to go on. You’re resourceful, Jessica, but you have your work cut out for you. I’m just glad you’re willing to put yourself out there and tap into your networks to give this thing a chance. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We don’t know if this is going to go anywhere. I may have nothing but bad news for you in a couple days. You might not have much to celebrate on the Fourth. Of course, not that finding out your cousin was murdered is a reason to celebrate, either. Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I’ll take that chance. And that won’t put a damper on a Fontana family Fourth of July celebration. The kids always have such a blast watching the fireworks. Mom and Dad are driving to our house in Perris for a barbeque. It’ll be hot, but not like it is here. You don’t even need to light the charcoal to grill something out here right now...a high of 118 or something like that today! Listen, Jessica, if you make that trip to Riverside on Wednesday, why not stay in town and celebrate with us on the Fourth? I can get you a discount on a room at the Mission Inn. We’ll meet for dinner Wednesday night and you can bring me up to speed about what you’ve learned. That way we can decide what to do next, if anything.” Before she could offer any objection, he rushed on. “If you come to the house for our picnic on Thursday evening Mom will have someone besides me and Dad and the kids to rave about her potato salad and seven layer dip. You’ll make her so happy, unless you already have plans.”
Jessica thought about it for a couple minutes. She was even less happy about the idea of being “home alone” for the rest of the week now that she might be pulled into another murder investigation. And she didn’t have any plans. “Could you really get me a room at the Mission Inn this close to the holiday?”
“No problem. You’re not the only one with connections, Jessica. A friend of mine who manages one of their restaurants said renovations in a section of the hotel were delayed. They weren’t able to make the rooms available in time to fill all of them for the holiday. She was pushing me to get my parents to stay there, at a good discount! Mom and Dad won’t want to miss a minute with me and the kids, so they’ll stay at my place. But if you say yes, I’ll call and have her save a room for you for Wednesday night. Thursday night, too, so you can go see the fireworks with us.”
“Except for the fact that this is all happening because a close childhood friend may have been murdered, this sounds like fun. I haven’t seen your mom and dad for a while and, honestly, Frank I can’t even remember what your kids look like! The last time I saw them they were like 5 or 6. Tiny, I remember, and moving at supersonic speed. They were part of a small herd of children running like gazelle.”
“That sounds about right. Even if you could remember what they looked like, you might not recognize them now. I have to do a double take every now and then to make sure they’re my kids when I go pick them up at school. There are times I wish they weren’t mine. Isn’t that awful?”
“Hell, no! My parents were so fed up at one point, after I got kicked out of Palm Valley and St. Margaret’s they were going to pack me off to boarding school. Bernadette convinced them to give me another chance. St. Theresa’s was my last stop before a convent or a boot camp, or the Swiss boarding school equivalent! Thinking about it now, I don’t blame them a bit. I was out of control. Sounds like your kids have a way to go if you only sometimes wish they weren’t around. And, I might add, moments ago you sounded enthusiastic about celebrating the Fourth of July with them.”
Frank shrugged a little. “You’re just trying to make me feel better, but it’s working. And I feel so much better about this thing with Kelly. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to not be carrying that burden alone.”
“Will you email me your address so I can map the route to your house? And do you remember the name of the man being held? I’d like to call and see if I can set up something with his attorney.”
“I’m texting you the address right now, Jessica.” She heard that little ‘whoosh’ as Frank sent that text. “As I recall, the guy’s name is Chester Davis. I’ll confirm that with Art Greenwald the first thing tomorrow. The kids are staying out here in the desert with Mom and Dad until Wednesday, but I’m driving back tonight after dinner. Art is in by 8 a.m., so I’ll call you as soon as I speak to him in the morning. I’ll tell Mom to expect you Thursday. She’ll be thrilled.” He stood up to leave. “Uh, Jessica, you should be prepared for the possibility that Mom’s going to jump to the conclusion that we’re dating. I could tell her otherwise, but it would explain why, all of sudden, we’re hanging out together.”
“I don’t want to mislead her, Frank, but I suppose we don’t have to go out of our way to prove things one way or the other. Just as long as your mom doesn’t also jump to the conclusion that I’m some kind of a hussy for dating her son when the ink isn’t even dry on my divorce papers yet.” Jessica stood up to walk him to the front door.
“Jessica, Mom thinks you walk on water. Why not? You’re kind and beautiful, intelligent and well-educated. What’s not to like?” He took a step closer. Jessica caught another whiff of that woodsy scent. It was like stepping out onto the deck area at the top of the Palm Springs tramway, and being hit square in the face by the scent of the Jeffrey pines that flourish at ten thousand feet. It wasn’t altitude that was making her light-headed at the moment.
“Don’t forget classy,” Jessica added, nervously.
“How could I forget classy, cuz?” With that, he chucked Jessica under the chin and turned to leave. Jessica was still struggling to clear her head. “What is my problem? No men, no men, no men.” Then another thought crept into her addled brain: “Chocolate cake, more cake, more cake.” She’d better get rid of it.
“Wait a second, Frank. Would your mom be insulted if I sent the rest of that cake home with you? I could put some of it in the freezer so I won’t eat myself into a stupor or let it sit there and get stale. What do you think?”
“Freezing that cake would be a crime. Trust me, I’m a cop. Bernadette’s chocolate cake will bring back memories of so many good times, all those picnics and pool parties when we were growing up. Don’t you want to save a little for yourself?”
“Okay, I’ll keep another piece for me and send the rest home with you.” With that, Jessica sprang into action, putting the cake into a carrier for transport home, minus that piece for herself.
“You can pick up your carrier when you come to visit on Thursday night. Don’t be surprised if Mom sends it home with something in it for you and Bernadette. She’ll be inspired. Hey, maybe we can keep this going, with you and me, and my kids caught in the middle of a bake-off between Mom and Bernadette. How great would that be?” Jessica handed the cake carrier to Frank as they both walked from the kitchen to the front door.
“You and your kids can get away with that, but not me. I have to go hop on the exercise bike to work off what I’ve eaten already today!”
She reached past him to open the front door. Frank turned to face her as the blast of afternoon heat swallowed them both.
“Jessica, you don’t need to work off a thing. I meant it when I said you look great.” His earlier shyness had reappeared. He sort of bumped into the edge of the door before turning around, slipping out and closing it behind him.
CHAPTER 6
Jessica rode the spin cycle like a maniac for an hour, sweating off the calories packed on by eating all that chocolate cake. She was trying to discharge a different kind of energy, too. The whole encounter with Frank Fontana had left her charged up. Not just from the prospect that someone close to them might have been murdered. An unexpected combustibility between them had caught Jessica by surprise.
She noticed men in a different way than she had as a marrie
d woman. Why not? She was, after all, a healthy, red-blooded, young-ish woman, suddenly single. Pedaling faster, she counted the days since she last had sex. Not days, but months flashed by since her unanticipated entry into celibacy.
It wasn’t just sex that was absent from her life. But all those small acts of physical affection taken for granted by partners in a committed relationship. The embraces and caresses, some fleeting, some lingering, were gone. Kisses too, more or less passionate at times, but affectionate nevertheless, missing and missed. The realization of more loss was sparked by the briefest encounter with a flash of body heat and a hint of pine scented pheromones.
Was it something about Frank, or was she just a slave to her own privations? Her wary female psyche rose up to shield her from having to answer that question. “Time,” she whispered. She needed time to clear her head and to rid herself of the bitterness and disappointment that clung to her like a noxious cloud. It would surely taint any new relationship. She was not her mother. Not the kind of woman who could shed one man and move on to the next, was she? Jessica hit it harder, sending the spin cycle into overdrive.
A mechanical ping signaled that her hour was up. She was sweating and her muscles were exhausted in a good way. Jessica downed the remaining water in the bottle she had brought into the workout room with her. A shower would do wonders to put her in the right frame of mind to organize her thoughts, about Kelly, not Frank.
Their conversation had set her mind into high gear. Her compass was damaged, for sure, but it was still actively in search mode, the needle bouncing frantically. The more Jessica pondered Kelly’s “accident”, the more determined she became to find out what had happened. If it had indeed been an accident, why hadn’t the culprit stopped to help her or call 911?
After showering, Jessica dried her hair so that the short, precisely cut bob sat in place as it was supposed to do. The blond highlights, redone at the Grand Wailea, were shimmering. Sunlight streamed in from the clerestory windows above the large tumbled marble and glass enclosed shower. Conveying the characteristic golden hue of late afternoon, everything shone more richly. Jessica was overtaken by a powerful sense of well-being, a conviction that she was going to be okay without Jim or any man, for that matter. Committing that golden moment to memory, she hoped it would sustain her when the cyclones of anger, self-doubt and recrimination swamped her later.
A year, she needed a year. She was going to put the calendar in her head down on paper. In March of 2014, she would be a new woman, a single woman without a grudge to bear against the man who so callously betrayed her. “...kind, beautiful, classy...” Frank’s words drifted back to her. She stored those up, too, for the stormy days yet to come.
After slipping on a pair of shorty lounge pajama bottoms and a tank top, Jessica grabbed her laptop computer and climbed into her enormous bed. She propped herself up against the headboard upholstered in a plush, velvety fabric. Pulling up calendars for 2013 and 2014, she marked off the months since that awful confrontation with Jim and the floozy. She noted the month when her divorce would be final, and highlighted March, 2014, as the end of her year-long cycle of loss and grief.
Next, in a new folder called “Kelly,” she created a file where she could make notes, recording today’s date, June 30, 2013. She summarized what she could remember about the conversation with Frank. Then made a list of things she needed to follow up on.
The first thing was call Paul Worthington. She remembered what Bernadette had said about figuring out if she was going to date Paul Worthington or work for him. At the time, she dismissed those words as an artifact of overwrought matchmaking. Once she had heard what Jim had done, Bernadette had been eager for Jessica to put Jim behind her: get up, dust herself off, and “climb back into the saddle” so to speak. Rather surprising coming from a woman who only ever had one true love.
Jessica was more convinced than ever that she was not ready to date. Not Paul Worthington. Not Frank Fontana. A tingle stuck, recalling Bernadette’s prayer for God to send Jessica a good Catholic boy. Frank certainly qualified. “But I’m not ready,” an inner voice cried out.
The job with Paul Worthington’s firm was almost tailor-made for her current circumstances: a baby step toward a future in law. He expected no long-term commitment. Having a small number of clients would leave her plenty of time to recover from her divorce, but would also keep her from becoming a recluse. It would give her the opportunity to pursue the practice of law in other areas than environmental law, and with a well-regarded firm. It was a near-miracle as second chances go.
“So, okay, Bernadette, date Paul: no; work for him: yes.” Another decision made. “Ooh, and an office on El Paseo,” she thought. The desert cities’ answer to Rodeo Drive, she would be surrounded be her favorite shops: Saks, Escada, Between the Sheets, Tiffany’s, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Ann Taylor, Kate Spade, and a slew of local boutiques. Even with all that shopping on her door step, she’d do less damage with her black AMEX card if money was coming in as well as going out. Jessica picked up her phone to call Paul Worthington before she could change her mind again.
“Damn!” She had not turned the ringer back on after that meeting with Frank. Two missed calls and a voice mail message. She listened to the voice mail left no more than twenty minutes ago.
“Jessica, this Paul Worthington. If you can give me a call, I need to ask for a favor.”
She hit the callback icon and got an answer right away.
“Hey, Paul, this is Jessica. Sorry I missed you. Can you talk now, or is there a better time?”
“Now is just fine. I’m glad you got back to me so quickly. I know you’re still trying to decide what to do about signing on with us at the El Paseo office. I don’t want to pressure you, but I have a couple that I’d like you to meet as potential clients.”
“Well, it’s no pressure at all. I am interested in joining the firm at your office here in the desert. If you already have someone in mind as a client, that’s good too.”
“That’s great news, Jessica. The client, clients actually, are Nicholas and Nora Van der Woert. We got their daughter out of some trouble with the law a while ago. They’re really good people. Both in their late fifties, a two-career couple getting ready to retire and looking to buy something in the desert area. I immediately thought of you when they approached us for help in managing that transition. They may want your input about their housing choices in the area in addition to dealing with legal matters.”
“I’ve been away for a while, but I do still have ties here, Paul. I have a pretty good idea about the range of communities and country clubs in the area.” Before squatting at her family home, she had looked at real estate on the internet. A familiar face or two remained among the realtors, still standing after the collapse of the local market. She had also become reacquainted with the area’s country clubs and gated communities. They run the gamut from moderately priced communities, targeting seniors and others of modest means, to super high-end settings catering to the needs of billionaires, with everything in between. In the end, she settled for mooching off her mom, overwhelmed by the decisions involved in buying a place of her own.
“I’d be glad to help with their search once I know what they’re looking for in the way of amenities like golf or tennis. Do they want to be in a newer community, or a more established one with some history? What’s their price range? Things like that,” Jessica added.
“I understand what you’re saying. You can ask them. They also have some estate planning needs. Changes to make to their wills, and they’re looking for some guidance about setting up a trust of some kind. From what I gather, they have a longstanding track record of philanthropy that includes an interest in environmental causes. Given your background you can be helpful on that front too. So, what do you think?”
“I suppose what matters most is what they think of me. I believe I can be helpful, and handle their legal services, as you’ve laid them out.”
“I’ll be your mentor,
so you won’t bump up against any problems with the firm. It will save the Van der Woerts money if you pick up most of the hours that I would have put in. You’ll have not only me but others in the firm on call to back you up, and we’ll review the documents you put together, of course. You already met our office manager in Palm Desert, Amy Klein. She worked in this office for five years or so and knows more than I do about how the firm runs day-to-day. Amy will be around to show you the ropes, too.”
“That all sounds just fine. Great in fact, since I’ll have a safety net while I get up to speed in areas where I have less experience.”
“The favor I need from you is to have the first meeting here with us in LA, and soon. Ideally, we’d have a late afternoon meet and greet for an hour or so at the office. Then we’d all go out for cocktails and dinner after that. They’re available on Tuesday. It is late notice, but they’re under some sort of pressure to get things moving. I haven’t asked, but maybe health problems are pushing them into retirement sooner than expected. I’d like to accommodate them if it’s at all possible. Can you arrange to do this on Tuesday? I’d need you to meet with me first, around 2 or 2:30, so I can introduce you to people and show you around. That would also give me a chance to provide more background about the firm and the Van der Woerts. I’ll ask them to join us at 4:00 or 4:30.” He was speaking at a pretty good clip, finally pausing long enough for Jessica to answer.
“A Tuesday meeting will be fine, Paul.” The wheels were turning as Jessica quickly calculated how this fit with what she had agreed to do in Riverside. If she could get hold of someone in the public defender’s office, she would try to arrange for a meeting with Chester Davis on Wednesday, before checking in at the Mission Inn. So much for that week home alone, it was filling rapidly.
“Two o’clock should be no problem. And I’d love to meet the Van der Woerts.”
