The Bride Wore Dead

by E M Kaplan

  Then Josie heard the front door of the office open again. Her heart throbbed with returned nervousness. She should have realized that Julie Bosarch would come back for another load of things. Josie took a couple of seconds to figure out what to do, ruling out the stupidity of saying, Nobody’s here. Then she heard an aggressive male voice, identifying himself as police and asking who was there. “In here,” she called out, before he could burst in and hold her at gunpoint.

  #

  As it turned out, he did that anyway, though his entry was more of a controlled stride than a burst. He quickly holstered his gun when he got a look at her, standing gingerly in the dust with her tank top, sandals, and shorts—no place to hide a weapon. He was a young Hispanic cop in a crisp tan police uniform that had what looked to be the town shield of Puerta on the left breast pocket. His last name, Alverez, was stitched on a patch above it. He moved so fast, he stirred the air, smelling of fabric softener, aftershave, and clean sweat.

  “Puerta Police Department. Miss, can you identify yourself?” he said.

  “I have a driver’s license,” she said and took it from her shorts pocket to show him.

  He glanced at it and looked back at her. “This is expired.”

  She blinked, feigning surprise. “It is?”

  “Puerta is a long place from Massachusetts. What are you doing on the premises, Ms. Tucker?”

  She nodded somewhat ruefully. “I’m looking into the death of Leann Ash-Williams.”

  He looked at her skeptically. “Reporter?”

  “I was hired by the Williams family to look into the matter.”

  He squinted at her. “Private investigator? Do you have a license with you?”

  “No,” she admitted, realizing that it might have made things easier if she had. “I’m just a family…” Should she say friend? Employee? “Acquaintance,” she settled on.

  “One of the neighboring business owners reported a trespasser on the premises,” he said.

  “Geeze. I’ve only been inside here for about two minutes. Four minutes, tops,” she said, sensing that she was about to begin babbling in her nervousness. “And I haven’t touched anything.” Yep, that sounded like a lie—she couldn’t even convince herself of that one. It probably made her sound even more pathetic. She stared nervously at Officer Alverez’s square jaw and thickly muscled neck while he, in turn, placed his hands on his hips, feet squarely apart, blocking the door. Intimidating much? Like she was going to make a run for it in her sandals. Like she wanted to end up being tackled to the ground in the middle of main street out there in High Noonsville. Amateur film footage on Court TV.

  He went on, “I’m going to have to take you down to the station. Will you come with me now?” It was not a question. He gestured for her to walk out first.

  She nodded and had a sudden thought. Det. Mike Flores. “Do you know a Detective Flores?” she asked him as she led the way out of the office back to the front door.

  “Flores?” he said. “He’s my partner—over there.” He pointed to another police officer who looked similar, young and dark-skinned, although not as intense or bull-necked. Flores was leaning casually against a squad car, which was now parked next to her Honda.

  “This is the big offender?” Flores asked. Where Alverez spoke like he’d watched too many reruns of Cops, Flores was smiling and…less likely to toss her bodily into the caged backseat of their cruiser. Cops had always given her a hard time, but now was not the place to freak out about her sealed juvie record. In a story, Flores would be the partner who died heroically in a shootout, joking between grimaces, bleeding his life’s blood slowly from a GSW to the abdomen, while Alverez would grind the enamel off his teeth and quietly pine for his dead partner for the rest of his life.

  “Detective Flores, I’m Josie Tucker. I flew in from Boston to look into the death of Leann Ash-Williams.”

  Flores stared at her. “You’re her?” He elbowed Alverez as he was making some notes of the “incident” in a small leather-covered notepad. “This is the person Obie sent.”

  Alverez looked up briefly and nodded. “We have to take the suspect down to the station.”

  “My dad knew Keith Obregon in the Marines,” Flores told her. “They were in the same company.” He looked at her again. “I didn’t know you would be so young. You’re some kind of chef or something, right? You want to have some dinner with me tonight?”

  “We’re detaining her, not dating her,” Alverez said looking up sharply.

  “Yeah, I know, Turi,” he said patiently, and to her, “I mean after we take care of this, do you want to have dinner?” His partner made a choked snort.

  “Dinner? With you?” Josie said. She’d been expecting just about anything other than a come-on.

  Flores smiled in true Poncherello fashion. “Yeah. But, we have some business, too.”

  She recovered from her surprise as best as she could. “I have to eat where I’m staying—at the Castle Ranch—they make me special food,” she said. “But I get a phone call. You guys are going to let me make a call, right? I can use it to tell them that you’re going to be my guest, all right? I would like to talk to you about what happened.”

  “I don’t know much about that,” he said smiling, “But we can have a good time anyway.”

  Alverez made another incoherent sound—disgust that Josie wanted to echo. The macho stuff was flying pretty fast and furiously. She repressed the urge to make an Erik Estrada crack and played the game back. “We’ll see how much you know about that,” she said.

  #

  They loaded her, remarkably gently, into the back of their air conditioned cruiser and took her down to the station, which was only about three blocks away—walking distance. “Wow,” she said looking around as Alvarez eased the cruiser into one of the many empty parking spaces in front of the station. “Long trip.”

  “City regulation states that we have to escort suspects to the station in the cruiser at all times if the temperature is above eighty degrees,” Alvarez said. He pressed the button on the rear view mirror and the outside temperature appeared as exactly eighty. “Also, we can’t leave a patrol car unattended.”

  She nodded at him in the rear view, willing herself not to crack a smile. Alvarez, she understood.

  Within minutes, she was whisked inside a fairly modern brick office building. She sat in a chair by smiling Flores’s desk and he waited on her with coffee, which she didn’t drink. He cranked up the machismo a notch higher sitting on the desktop next to her looking down at her. Between Paunch and his partner Supercop, she had no idea what to expect.

  “Bordering on freaking harassment,” she muttered to her lap, glancing downward to make sure her top wasn’t gaping and offering him a show from his vantage point.

  “What’s that you say?” He tilted his head toward her. He had an easy smile, but she didn’t trust him whatsoever. She didn’t doubt for a minute there were other things going on beneath his overly friendly surface. But at this point, Josie was seeing wife beaters under every rock and around every corner.

  “Portabella, leek glacé mint,” she said. “I think that’s on the menu for tonight’s dinner.”

  He made a face. “They got any cheeseburgers at that place?”

  Despite his heavy come-ons, she made dinner plans with him hoping she would not regret it. She might not have sound judgment when it came to finding clues, but she was going to play up her natural strength—tenacity, or as her Aunt Ruth liked to say, pig-headedness. She used the phone to request a dinner for two in her bungalow at the Castle Ranch although she was looking forward to it with as much enthusiasm as a tooth extraction. At his own desk, Alverez hung up the phone.

  “You can go,” he said. “I called Julie Bosarch. She says she knows you and doesn’t care if you were walking around in there.” He looked perplexed. “You didn’t say you knew her.” Julie Bosarch had vouched for her? Why would she let Josie off the hook so easily?

  Outwardly, she nodded at A
lverez and smiled her sweetest smile at him though it might possibly have pulled a muscle in her face. Then Flores drove her back to her car and dropped her off. “See you at about seven,” she told him and waved as he drove off. She huffed out a sigh of temporary relief and got back into her own car to return to the Castle Ranch.

  “I am so dead,” she said, not meaning it, but kind of meaning it all the same.

  CHAPTER 15

  It was close to 4:00 p.m. by the time Josie got back to her room. She groaned when she remembered that she had Obregon’s fax in her pocket the entire day and had forgotten to read it. Detective work entailed a lot more multi-tasking than her single-tracked mind was capable of. She lay across the bed and read it now. Or rather, tried to decipher his shorthand.

  J. Tucker:

  Interview w/L. A-W’s former landlord in Cambridge inconc. Reports of domestic disturb. from neighbors, nothing on record. Paid rent on time.

  As per your sugg., the following:

  — D. Campbell (w. LaRue). Married 12 years. 3 kids. Marriage counseling for 4 years.

  — W. Lake (w. Lisa). 2 dom. disturb. in the past year. Lisa’s medical record a mile long. Ribs. Collar bone. Cheek bone.

  Josie read over Mr. Obregon’s make-shift abbreviations again slowly. His message read like he was paying by the letter, like a telegram. His notes were peculiar, but they got the job done.

  From what she could decipher, Leann’s former neighbors in Cambridge reported a domestic disturbance. Also, Mr. Obregon had tracked down info on the two sets of Leann’s former boyfriends and their wives who had sat at Josie’s table at the wedding. Doug Campbell was the high school one with the smart aleck wife who Josie had taken a liking to. Bill Lake was the man in the bad suit with the quiet wife, who, it looked from Mr. Obregon’s inquiries, got beat up routinely. Josie didn’t like seeing that pattern. Leann had seriously dated a future wife beater? It didn’t take much to see what kind of man she kept settling for. All signs so far were pointing to Peter Williams being a physical brute, controller, and dominator. Josie thought back to the vise pinch that he had put on her wrist just a few months earlier. She shivered. Her imagination didn’t need any more fuel.

  She was heartened, on the other hand, that Mr. Obregon had made a lot of progress. He was after all the trained professional here, not her. She would have to fax him back with her day’s discovery. And probably, to reassure him that she hadn’t been hit over the head or stabbed in the back by a lurking poisoner or killer bee. But, if she was going to make a progress report, she had better make some progress.

  By now, she figured it was as good time as any to check in with someone at home. She and her friends always made it a point to call one of the others every couple days, even when they were in the same city. She could use a little comfort right about now. She’d almost been arrested, for crying out loud. She thought about calling Drew, but her nerves got the better of her, so she dialed Susan. A cop-out, she knew. But also, Susan was leaving Boston soon for some R-and-R in California with her Silicon Valley sweetie James.

  “Hey, there. How are you doing?”

  “Dealing,” Susan said, clearly still upset about Leann. Josie could hear the strain in Susan’s voice. The wedding seemed like a million years ago, but it had been only a matter of days.

  “Hang in there.”

  “Are you all right? Is he there?” By the combined fear and accusation in Susan’s voice, it was obvious she meant Peter Williams.

  “Yeah, he’s here. Not at the place I’m staying, but near town at his brother’s house. I haven’t seen him or his brother.”

  “God, that makes me feel sick. I wouldn’t want to be in the same room as him.”

  “Me either, really.” Josie smoothed down the goose bumps on her arms. “Do the others know? The bridesmaids?”

  “Yes. They’re shocked, too. Sandra and Leah are the only ones who knew her better than I do. The others are kind of like you—didn’t really know her, but were just standing in.” Josie couldn’t remember which of the women were Sandra and Leah.

  “Really? I thought I was the only one on the fringe.”

  “That’s the way it’s always been with Leann. I guess not a lot of people knew her well. And those of us who did…we didn’t really know her either.”

  “That’s awful,” Josie said, her heart hurting more for the dead woman.

  “I know it. And the really sad part is…she really was worth knowing.” Susan’s voice wavered.

  “I’m sure she was. I’m glad she had you.” They went on to talk a little about Susan’s upcoming trip to California. But more was weighing on Josie’s mind, namely, how rude she’d been the last time she’d seen their fourth musketeer. She paused, and then said, “Susan, look, I really need to talk to Benjy.”

  “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

  “I said some really mean-ass crap to him at the wedding. If I don’t squeak an apology out soon, I’m going to miss the cut-off date for the statute of limitations on being forgiven.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Susan said. “I say mean things to him all the time.”

  “Yes, but you’re you and I’m me. And…he’s in love with you. We all know that. There’s a big difference.”

  Susan considered that. “Good point. So call him.”

  “I’m not really talking to Drew right at the moment and I want to avoid calling their house.” As soon as she said it, Josie wished she hadn’t.

  “Wait a minute. Just wait. What is going on with you guys?” Susan asked, astounded. Josie didn’t think anyone knew about her feelings for Drew yet, although it would be painfully obvious sooner or later.

  “You know me. Sometimes the more I open my mouth, the worse off I get. I’m having some difficulty…with myself right now. A little Drew, but mostly myself. I’m hoping to get over it in the next week or so, if possible. But anyway, if you see Benjy before you leave, tell him I’m very, very sorry.”

  “Sure,” she said. “But I’m probably not going to be seeing him before I go. You might just have to track him down yourself. I’m going out to California for a week or so. Hey, did you know Leann’s death has been in the papers? They ran a story about it right next to the wedding photo that they were going to publish originally in the society page. It’s really vulgar. But anyway, I’ll be back early next week. I just…have to get away from this place for awhile.”

  “I know what you mean. So, let me know when you get back. I should be back, too, by then.” Josie said goodbye and hung up, thinking that death itself was a little vulgar. Nothing polite or mannered about it whatsoever. So messy. So many loose ends to deal with. Strangers raking through the wreckage of your most intimate details. It took a particular kind of person to be an undertaker, a coroner, or a funeral director, someone with way more tact and sensitivity than Josie.

  #

  After another look around her room, she found the in-room brochure that listed Castle Ranch’s amenities. One glossy page had a smiling picture of Lillian, the nutritionist, who looked much better in the picture than in real life. Other pages had shots of the pool and fountains, the dining hall, and a more lavishly furnished bungalow than Josie’s. Nice marketing job, Antonio.

  On the last page, she found a picture of an athletic red-haired woman with a wide, white smile. The caption under the photo said, “Schedule your appointment with our on-site massage therapist today!” Normally, the idea of another person—a stranger—kneading her uncovered hindquarters, and other parts, did not appeal to Josie. She squinted closely at the picture and discovered that the woman was wearing a shirt with her name embroidered over the breast pocket: Tammy. As in, Tammy Roberts, she figured—another name from Mr. Obregon’s cheat sheet. So she picked up the telephone again.

  When a woman’s voice answered the in-house extension, Josie took a small gamble. “Is this Tammy Roberts?”

  The woman said, “Yes it is. Yes, ma’am.”

  “Are you taking any walk-ins right now?�
�

  “I sure am. Between you and me, there isn’t nothing to do lately. Just sitting here twiddling my thumbs and talking to myself.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Josie told her.

  Following Tammy’s directions, Josie made her way back to the lobby down the same hallway that led to the dining area. She passed the dining hall and continued all the way to the end of the corridor. A fitness center opened up to Josie’s left. She looked in at the weight lifting machines, stationary bicycles, and other pieces of exercise equipment she couldn’t identify, like maybe an inner-thigh squeeze and some kind of yellow strap hanging from the ceiling. The wall-mounted TVs were all off. No music. Nothing. The place was deserted like a ghost town, a lot like the resort, a lot like the whole town.

  “Come on in here and strip down nekkid.”

  Josie saw a flash of red hair on the other side of the room between the shiny steel machines and bars. Tammy Roberts waved her over to a small room at the back of the fitness center.

  “Just kidding. I’m totally teasing. I love saying that to people. Cracks me up. And laughing is good for you. I mean, what’s the point of a massage if you aren’t loosened up, right?”