A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery)

by Anna Burke

  “None of this is your fault, Frank. Count your blessings. At least you don’t have to listen to me go on and on about the lowlife I married. When this is all over we’ll have time to do those other things.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. Heck, you’re a member of the cat pack now. And, don’t forget, you still owe me a home cooked Italian dinner. If all that comes of this is that we become better friends, Frank, I think that’s good enough, don’t you?”

  “You’re right, Jessica. It’s more than enough, even if this is just so much ring-around-the-rosy.” He draped an arm over her shoulders and she put an arm around his waist. The two of them stood there, side-by-side, in companionable silence as the last colors of the sunset faded away.

  “Goodnight friend, thanks for the pep talk,” Frank said, kissing her on the forehead.

  Later, alone in the dark Jessica whispered, “maybe all of this is a lot of ring-around-the-rosy.” Even if they were able to make a connection between Mr. P and the resort where Kelly worked, they still had no evidence that he killed her. Linking Mr. P to the same make and model sedan that had run Kelly down wouldn’t get them very far either. There still wouldn’t be any physical evidence that it was his car that hit her. The statute of limitations had long run out on the hit-and-run, so he’d be off the hook unless they could prove it was murder. The only thing that really made this any kind of case at all was the belated eyewitness testimony of a drug addict facing a third strike. If, as Chet claimed, Kelly’s death was no accident, why? Why on earth would Mr. P have done such a thing? Even if Mr. P. had the means and opportunity to kill Kelly Fontana, it said nothing about a motive.

  CHAPTER 21

  Saturday morning when her phone rang, Jessica was still asleep. She did her best to get to the phone as quickly as she could, but struggled. Maybe scotch was more than she could handle, even an exquisite scotch. Or maybe it was the wine on top of the scotch. She did a quick tally in her head. A couple glasses of scotch before dinner, a couple glasses of wine with dinner, and another sitting on the patio after dinner. Officially that’s a binge. Her body confirmed it. She wasn’t hung-over, but it was a close call.

  “I’m getting too old for this shit,” she said, as she answered the phone with a fuzzy, “hullo.”

  “Jessica, this is Tommy. It’s Bobby Simmons. You know. Bobby the lizard, Kelly’s old boyfriend? The messages I sent out last night got a hit. Jerry’s keeping an eye on him, Jessica. He’s serving food at a soup kitchen here in Indio. We can interview him if you’d like, but I thought you’d want to talk to him, too. You need to get down here, quick.”

  “You bet I do. Wait for me. I don’t want to miss anything he has to say. What’s he doing serving homeless people at a soup kitchen?” Jessica asked, as she dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom.

  “He’s doing community service, Jessica. He had some kind of legal trouble, and just got out after a couple years in the state prison. It’s a condition of his parole. The community service, I mean. No way is Bobby-the-loser-lizard ever going to work in a casino again. He’s toxic. Bobby Simmons does hair now, if you can believe that!” Tommy snorted.

  “You two keep an eye on him. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” The drive from Rancho Mirage to the soup kitchen in Indio would take ten, so that gave her less than that to throw on some clothes.

  Jessica splashed water in her face, ran a brush through her hair, rinsed with mouthwash and put on a couple swipes of deodorant. In her closet, she pulled on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and sandals. She scanned her bedroom for the essentials—purse, keys, phone and a pair of sunglasses. In five minutes, she was dashing down the long hallway that led from her wing of the house, past the great room and to the open kitchen and morning room area.

  “Please, God, let there be coffee, any coffee, made any old way!” Her prayer was answered immediately. Bernadette was nowhere to be seen, but Jessica could smell coffee, and spotted the thermal carafe on the counter. “Thank you, St. Bernadette,” Jessica mumbled, as she dug through a cupboard for a travel mug with a lid that fit. She poured it half full with coffee then added milk to the brim and drank it, still standing at the sink. The jolt of caffeine went straight to her brain and the milk soothed her acidy stomach. She refilled the cup, this time, mostly coffee with just a touch of milk.

  “Jessica, you’re up! I thought you would sleep ‘til noon after hanging around with Frank for hours.” She had a wicked little smile. Jessica knew she was in no shape to go toe-to-toe with Bernadette this morning. She took a big swig of coffee from the cup, ignoring Bernadette’s taunt about Frank. Instead, all she said was, “Gotta go!” as she planted a big smooch on Bernadette’s cheek.

  “Go? Where are you going in such a rush?” Her eyes narrowed, sensing that Jessica was up to something. Jessica leaned in and gave Bernadette another kiss. This one made her giggle.

  “Tommy and Jerry have found Kelly’s boyfriend, Bobby Simmons. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

  With that, she dashed from the house and hopped into her BMW. When she arrived at the soup kitchen minutes later, she spotted Jerry’s pickup truck in a spacious lot in front of the complex. Feeding hungry people was only one of the many services offered by the charitable organization, so the parking lot was large, but it was nearly empty on a Saturday morning. The homeless were mostly carless, too.

  The doors didn’t open until 11:00 a.m., when a free hot meal would be provided to the public until noon. A variety of lost souls were already milling about, not exactly queuing up, but waiting for the signal that food was being served. They included the kind of folks you expected to see at a soup kitchen. Men with skin tanned and leathered by the desert sun, worn clothes, unshaven faces, and unruly hair. They looked a lot like Chester Davis. There were also a few women. Many appeared about as strung out as the men. A little clump of women had children in tow, the little ones in their mothers’ arms or clinging to them. A handful of older children played a game of tag, kicking up dust as they ran around on a playground off to one side of the building.

  Jessica felt a wave of guilt wash over her, as she was reminded once again of how blithely she spent money. The clothes she wore, just jeans, a t-shirt and simple leather flip-flops, probably cost more than what was required to feed everyone who passed through that line before noon. That was true without taking into account her Marc Jacobs handbag and sunglasses, which were a “steal” the day she bought them for a tad less than three hundred dollars. She began to wonder how much cash she had in her wallet and whether the kitchen staff could accept it. Or maybe they would take a check. She was digging through her purse, adding a couple tens to the cash from her wallet, when there was a knock on her car window.

  Jessica let out a little yip before she realized it was Tommy. He and Jerry had not been in the truck when she drove up, so she figured they were among the group waiting under a canopy near the front door. She rolled the window down and chided him.

  “Shit, Tommy, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “Jessica, come on, will you? They’re starting to feed people.”

  Jessica rolled the window up and shut the car off. As she glanced at the building, a thin man wearing a poufy white mesh hair net was standing in the doorway. He held the door open and directed the flow of down-and-outers. He stared at them for a moment as Jessica slammed her car door and walked toward the entrance, with Tommy at her side. Jerry met them as they entered the building, and they all followed the hungry throng to the dining hall that had a serving line set up cafeteria style.

  “That’s him,” Jerry said in a low voice, nodding in the direction of the guy who had been staring at them earlier.

  Bobby Simmons perused them warily as he took a place in the serving line behind the counter. In addition to the white bouffant hair net, he was wearing a large white apron hooked in a loop around his neck. Knee length, it covered much of his clothing. Jessica and her companions sort of hung back, watching him
as the hungry patrons, familiar with the routine, grabbed trays and moved through the line. Jessica hadn’t given much thought about how to approach Bobby. She was about to confer with Jerry about what they should do when a woman dressed in similar food service garb approached them.

  “Can I help you?” Jessica had pulled a business card out of her wallet while searching for cash earlier and handed it to the woman.

  “We’d like to speak with Bobby Simmons. What would be a good time to do that?”

  “Is he expecting you?” She sounded like his executive assistant. She had the officious demeanor to fit the question.

  “No, he’s not expecting us, ma’am. We’re sorry about that,” Jerry Reynolds answered, scuffing the floor a little. If he had been wearing a cowboy hat, he would have tipped it to her right about then. “The police department gave us this location as the best place to find him on a personal matter. It’s pretty darn important, or we wouldn’t have rushed down here this morning without calling first, Ms., uh...forgive me, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

  Tommy’s friend who supplied the info about Bobby Simmons did work for the police department, so what Jerry said was sort of true, but not exactly. However, even if they’d had a month of Sundays, they wouldn’t have called ahead. No way would they have given a shyster like Bobby Simmons the heads up he needed to dodge them.

  It didn’t matter at that point. Jerry flashed a devastatingly handsome smile at their inquisitor, then held out his hand to shake hers. She was obviously bedazzled, as she replied, “Ronda, Ronda Emerson.” Smiling broadly up at him, she placed her gloved hand in his. Gay or not, the man had a way with women. Perhaps it was his leading man good looks, or his chivalrous behavior, mixed with that aw shucks number he was running on her at the moment. In any case, Ronda Emerson was now putty in his hands.

  “Let me take your card, uh,” she let her eyes drop from Jerry’s face long enough to read the name on the card that Jessica had handed her, “Attorney Huntington, I’ll give it to Bobby. I can’t make him talk to you, of course.” Her eyes drifted back to Jerry, who was still smiling beatifically. “I’m sure he’ll be right over. You all take a seat at one of those tables toward the back, will you?”

  “Thank you, ma’am, we appreciate your help, given how busy you are.” Jessica had to stop the impulse to roll her eyes. He was laying it on thick. Ronda Emerson bumped into two or three people as she backed away. Fortunately none of them dropped their trays or spilled the food being dished out to them.

  The three of them sat down as they were instructed, waiting while Ronda Emerson spoke to Bobby Simmons. Bobby took the card from her and put in a shirt pocket. For a moment, Jessica thought he might run for it. His eyes darted from side-to-side, and he glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen. There must not have been a way out. Next, he scanned the area between him and the doorway that led to the front entrance. She wondered if they could get to the doorway first. Probably, so she relaxed a little. Bobby must have figured out the same thing. His shoulders slumped as he handed his serving spoon to Ronda, who stepped into his place in the serving line. She smiled at Jerry, who gave her a little wink. Flustered, she missed the plate she was aiming to supply with what looked like sweet potatoes. She didn’t notice, and the poor hungry man she was feeding didn’t seem to care that it had landed on his tray. He just leaned in a little closer as Ronda Emerson doled out another spoonful, this time on his plate.

  “You want to talk to me?” Bobby Simmons asked, in a sullen tone. Jessica spoke first.

  “Yes, Mr. Simmons. It’s nice to meet you.” Jessica stood and held out her hand, as Jerry had done with Ronda earlier. She also tried out her own version of a ravishing smile on Bobby, with much less luck. He did not return the smile, nor did he take her outstretched hand. “I’m Jessica Huntington and these are my associates, Mr. Simmons. Will you have a seat, please?”

  Jessica took a closer look at Bobby as he sat down and pulled off the hair net. He was in better condition than Chester Davis. She still would have had a hard time believing he was about her own age. Nor did he have a swagger, or much of the lounge lizard about him that Tommy had recounted when describing the youthful Bobby Simmons. One reason Tommy may have found it so hard to believe he was doing hair was that Bobby had none of his own. Well, almost none. He had thin wisps around the sides and back of his head. A few strands combed over on top were kind of standing on end at the moment. Bobby reached up and swiped at the top of his head, patting down the restive tufts.

  “This is Jerry Reynolds,” Jessica said, gesturing toward Jerry, who sat across from her. Bobby cast a scowl in his direction but did not say anything to Jerry. “And this is...” Bobby cut her off.

  “I know who he is. You’re Kelly’s little brother, Timmy, right? I remember you. Hell, even if I hadn’t seen you before, I would have known you were her brother from a mile away. You look just like her. Except for your eyes and except that you’re a boy, of course.” For some reason, Bobby thought that was funny, and actually chuckled. The glee fled as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, exposing tattoos as his sleeves rode up. Tommy said nothing, but clenched then unclenched his jaw.

  “So, what is this? What are you and your ‘associates’ doing here during my community service, Attorney Huntington?”

  “Mr. Simmons, some new information has come to our attention about the circumstances surrounding Kelly Fontana’s death. Tommy, Jerry and I have some questions, and are hoping you might be able to help us.”

  “Tom and Jerry, for real? Now that’s funny. I love those guys. They’re two of my favorite cartoon characters.” Bobby Simmons still had his arms folded obstinately in front of him, but he was back in chuckle mode. He snapped out of it quickly and spoke very deliberately. “I didn’t have anything to do with her death. That was a long time ago. I told the cops everything I knew. Ask them. They’ll tell you I cooperated completely.”

  “We know that, Mr. Simmons. We’ve gone through the record, and it’s clear that you were very helpful. Especially when it came to telling the police about the last time you saw Kelly and the fact that she was on her way back to work that night. I had a question about what she was wearing. I know it was a long time ago, but do you remember what you said?”

  “That’s easy, a no-brainer. I worked at that casino for almost eight years. The girls pretty much wore the same thing. Kelly wore all black when she was working at the spa, black pants and a long black top. They called it a smock or something like that, but basically it was just a shirt, but longer. The ladies that served drinks and food on the casino floor or in the restaurants, they wore black, too, mostly. Black tights and these short little black skirts and tops that were just regular shirts, you know? Kelly had them in white and black and some kind of light brown color, too.”

  “Okay, do you recall which shirt she wore that night?”

  “White, I know for sure because I made her wear it. I told the cops we had a fight that night. I was mad because she was working all the time. She was my girlfriend and I hardly saw her. So, that night I was sort of pissed, anyway, because she was going back to work again. I told her she did not need to work that hard, that I could help out with the bills. We could have saved a shit load of money if we moved in together, but nothing doing. She had a lot of reasons—excuses, really—for not moving in. She could be real stubborn, you know?”

  “Yes, I do know, as a matter of fact. So go on. You said you made Kelly wear a white shirt that night, right? Why?”

  “In the summer, when it’s really hot in the desert, the servers sometimes just wore a vest—no shirt. But it was January, and she was getting ready to walk back to work with just that vest on and no shirt under it. It was cold out, so why is she going to freeze her ass off all the way to work and back? Maybe she’s trying to get some action from the men. Some old guy was slipping her tips, big ones, you know? I’m talking about hundred dollar bills. Maybe she’s showing a little skin to get that guy going. So I a
sked her why this whale was being so nice to her, was there something she wanted to tell me?”

  “So, what did she say?”

  “She tells me I’m crazy, there’s nothing going on. So I told her to put a shirt on under the vest. Asked her what difference would it make, unless there something going on? She’s really pissed, but so am I. I can be stubborn, too, so she goes and gets that white shirt and puts it on. Then she put the vest on over it. It was a black one with the casino name and that little sign on the front of it in red. She stomps out of there, slamming the door. Boy, she sure had that fiery red-headed temper, even though her hair was more brown than red.” Jessica was watching him carefully. He showed little in the way of sadness. It had been a long time, but she had still expected him to express some sense of sorrow or loss as he described that last time he ever saw his girlfriend. All she saw was a lot of irritation, after all these years. He would be at the top of her suspect list if she hadn’t heard that story from Chester Davis.

  “Okay, thanks, Bobby that’s helpful. Do you know if she had a cell phone with her when she left the house that night?”

  “Of course she did. I told her to call me when her shift was over, and I’d give her a ride home.”

  “And did she call you for a ride home?”

  “No, she didn’t. I told the cops that back then, too. That was last time I saw Kelly Fontana or spoke to her.”

  “Did you worry when she didn’t call later?”

  “Hell, no! I told you she was pissed. When I offered to pick her up later, you know what she said?”

  “No, what?”

  “She said, ‘Bobby Simmons, go fuck yourself,’ just like that.”

  “Okay, so Kelly went back to work that night because she was getting big tips from some whale. Did you know who she was talking about? Did she mention anyone by name?” Bobby shifted a little in his seat and glanced around him, as though to see who might be in earshot.