Grave Expectations on Dickens' Dune

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Getting mixed up with a goon like Jimmy Dunn was hurtful whether Pete hid it from me or not,” I snapped. Then I paused, remembering the worry on Pete’s face. It hadn’t always been there. It never stayed there long, but a more perceptive person might have asked more questions. “He wasn’t always secretive. Maybe losing my job was more of a burden on him than I realized. I never expected him to carry the load.”

  “From what you’ve told me about Pete, I’d say his troubles stemmed more from his high-spirited nature and wild ambitions than from concern about the job you lost.”

  “The go-getter in him was certainly part of what made him so successful in his sales position. His company was sad that he died because everyone liked him as a person. Pete’s boss also admitted that losing Pete was going to be bad for their bottom line. Being so highly regarded in his job must not have been enough for Pete. If only he could have told me how much more he wanted to achieve, maybe I could have helped him figure out how to do it. No matter what Dickens said, love is about sharing secrets, letting your guard down, and striving not to remain a mystery, isn’t it?”

  “Miriam, you’re even more of a romantic than I am.”

  “I doubt it. On days like today, I wonder if I would have been better off without love or marriage.” As I said that, Hank’s handsome face appeared before me. My heart had skipped a beat when he squeezed my hand—even in the middle of the mess created by the late, inscrutable Peter Webster.

  Maybe I am a hopeless romantic, I thought.

  “Losing Pete was bad, but his betrayal is worse—it’s like losing him all over again. The guilt is overwhelming, too, since I feel as if I was a co-conspirator, keeping his secrets even though I didn’t know I was doing it.”

  “Your accountant should have been more forthcoming with you before Pete died. Waiting until you became a widow to tell you he suspected your husband had ‘gotten creative,’ and gone off the books with your finances wasn’t helpful.”

  “Pete was feeding him papers with my signature on them, so I believe he was genuinely surprised I was as out of the loop as I was. The bigger question I have is, why didn’t I know?”

  “Judith Rogow has asked me almost the same thing. She also said it’s the secrets we don’t know we’re keeping that can be the most dangerous. I’m sure that’s one of the main reasons she’s still pushing to get closure. If you’re okay with it, why don’t I see what I can find out about Peter Webster?”

  “Why not? Break it to me gently, will you?” I responded after pausing to consider what her offer might mean. “Hank is going to check into Jimmy Dunn’s background and will tell us what he finds out about that mad man. I’m sorry to have this bomb go off right in the middle of our efforts to solve the mystery of Allen Rogow’s disappearance.”

  “Actually, it’s good that you have work to do so you don’t let your mind run wild. Whoever financed Pete’s loan may want the money back, but I agree with what Hank already told you about Jimmy Dunn. You don’t need a background check to figure out he was up to his neck in trouble, which only incidentally had anything to do with you.”

  “I hear you. Darnell was being a jerk when he said it, but I hope he was right that if there was a hit out on me, I’d already be dead.” I sighed. I felt relieved hearing Charly’s reassurance. She was right, too, about the importance of staying busy.

  “A change of scene will do you good. Find a place to stay on the beach and see the sights while you and Neely are in San Luis Obispo. One of Father Serra’s old California missions is there and, if you have time, the Hearst Castle is an interesting place up the coast a little farther north.”

  “Hank said something like that, too. It wasn’t ‘get out of town by sundown,’ but it was close.”

  “Hank is worried about you, that’s all. You’ll be safer not roaming the streets around here while they get a handle on what the heck is going on with Jimmy Dunn.”

  “Depending on how fast we get our sleuthing tasks done, I’ll talk to Neely about playing tourists. I’d love to see more of the area. Is there anything I should share with her in the way of updates?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” Charly responded. Wendy Ballard is dead. If it’s true that Allen Rogow was murdered in 1982, she didn’t outlive him by much. It probably won’t surprise you that she had a police record.”

  “As in drug violations?”

  “Yes. Wendy Ballard spent a few days in jail the second time she was arrested for possessing small amounts of barbiturates and marijuana.”

  “Not methamphetamines as Judith suspected?”

  “There’s no formal charge related to meth, but who knows what drugs she was taking? She did a stint in rehab as a guest of the county in an effort at diversion. That’s not unusual for a drug offender. What is interesting is that Wendy Ballard had a nasty temper. She’d refused treatment as an alternative to jail time on the drug charge, but agreed to go to rehab when she was later charged with assault.”

  “Who charged her with assault?”

  “Nick Martinique, the housemate Judith mentioned, took a bad blow to the head when he and Wendy got into a row while they were both under the influence of alcohol and other drugs. He didn’t call the police, but the neighbors did. They claimed it wasn’t the first time she and Nick had gone at it. On another occasion, Wendy had taken a swing at a neighbor who complained about how she’d parked, and another time someone saw her slap a man who walked with a limp. That could have been Allen Rogow.”

  “Aha! So, she could have killed him if she was angry and stoned enough.”

  “I’d say it’s entirely possible. I’m not sure how much she learned from her stint in drug treatment either. Not long after she completed rehab, she was picked up for a DUI. She served thirty days of a ninety-day jail sentence until someone paid her fine for her. Guess who?” Hearing the tone in her voice, an image of Charly as a cartoon cat that had swallowed the canary suddenly appeared.

  “Not Allen Rogow?”

  “No, his buddy, Mark Viceroy.”

  “Now, that’s very interesting. Why would he care one way or another if Wendy Ballard was in jail?” I wondered aloud.

  “That’s one of the first questions that popped into my head. And, I may have found someone who can tell us. Wendy Ballard died of a drug overdose two years after Allen disappeared. Her friend, Nick Martinique, is still alive though. He left the area shortly after Wendy died, but his name shows up again, years later, with an address in San Luis Obispo.”

  “Judith said she saw them at that remembrance service around that time. Wendy must have been as bad off as Judith thought she was. Does that seem odd to you that he left town? Was there anything suspicious about Wendy Ballard’s death?”

  “That’s a good question. I got the information about her from a death certificate completed by the Santa Barbara General Hospital. She died in their emergency room, so they may have done an autopsy, which should have reported any unusual findings to the police. If not, there may not be much more in the official records. Medical records are private, and California only requires that they are kept for seven years.”

  “I’m a little surprised Wendy Ballard didn’t die in a San Luis Obispo hospital. Midge is going to be in Santa Barbara tomorrow. Given how much she gets around, I bet she has contacts with hospital personnel who were around back then, even if they’re retired now. It’s a long shot, but maybe someone can recall if there were any unusual circumstances surrounding Wendy Ballard’s death.”

  “Long shot is right. Not only did her death occur eons ago, but addicts die in emergency rooms all the time. I need to touch base with Midge and share these updates with her. She may have some other strategies for finding a needle in a haystack.”

  “In the meantime, Neely and I will do our best to track down Nick Martinique. Let’s see what he can tell us about how his friend died. He might be able to tell us what she was doing in Santa Barbara.”

  “Good! The most recent address for him
is in Pismo Beach. That’s about fifteen minutes south of San Luis Obispo. If you can’t locate him there, you might try speaking to someone at his place of employment—The Maiden Inn. It’s an old historic inn where he’s a night manager.”

  “Isn’t he retired by now?”

  “Apparently, not. It’s listed as his ‘current employer.’ He was barely out of his teens when he showed up at that memorial service for Allen with Wendy Ballard. Although from the way Judith described him, he may have appeared much older. If he and Wendy were addicted to methamphetamine, it wouldn’t be unusual if they both looked older than they were. He’s not sixty yet, so there’s a good chance he’s still on duty at The Maiden Inn.”

  “If you’re right, Neely and I might have a better chance of contacting him by just showing up there.”

  “It’s worth a try, Miriam. He’s probably at home sleeping if he’s on duty all night. Nick Martinique might prefer to speak to you at work rather than have his sleep interrupted during the daytime.”

  “Okay, I’m going to call Neely and share all this info with her. I’ll see if she’s willing to stay an extra day to make sure we have the time to do everything we’ve planned. If we get it all done without using the extra day, we’ll do the sightseeing you recommend.” I was about to say goodbye when I had another thought. “If Nick’s willing to talk, maybe he can tell us how to find Mark Viceroy—unless you already know where he is.”

  “Not yet. His record is even spottier than Nick Martinique’s is. Some of the gaps are related to jail time and a long prison stint—not in The Men’s Colony where Allen Rogow and Leonard Cohen spent time, but Calipatria State Prison in Blythe.”

  “Is there a reason he ended up there rather than in The Men’s Colony?”

  “Yes. Apparently, Mark Viceroy was something of an escape artist and managed to get out of jail twice before he was sent to prison. The second time he succeeded in getting away, he eluded police for almost ten years. He was originally sentenced to serve two years for selling drugs, and another year for having an unregistered handgun in his possession when he was arrested. When they finally caught up with him years later, they added more time for the escape and for assaulting a guard in the process.”

  “If he was hiding out from the authorities, it’s no wonder his public record is spotty. Even with all the time added on he must have been released years ago.”

  “But wait—there’s more! Mark Viceroy had trouble adjusting to prison life at Calipatria. After only serving a year of his eight-year sentence, he made another escape attempt. He and four other inmates stabbed eight prison guards in the process, nearly killing one of them. That added attempted murder to his record. He served the remainder of his sentence housed in maximum security, with few privileges, until he was finally released a year ago.” I still had goosebumps when I responded to Charly.

  “Go to the head of the class of suspects, Mark Viceroy!” I exclaimed. “He just shoved Wendy Ballard out of the way as my nominee for ‘most likely to have succeeded’ at murdering a friend. Allen Rogow sure knew how to pick them, didn’t he?”

  “I agree. Mark Viceroy strikes me as the kind of person whose troubles with authority could have started while he was a member of the armed forces. He gets a nomination from me as the person Allen was referring to when he let it slip that he was paying a price for trusting the wrong people.”

  “One of them maybe since, if Judith is remembering correctly, he did say people and not person.”

  “That’s a good point, Miriam. We should all keep that in mind. Call me if you find out why Hank and Darnell took off like that. Don’t wait if you and Neely come up with something that’s important. It’s going to be a few days before we can get together to debrief, so I’m going to try to play coordinator while you’re all out on assignment.”

  “Will do!” As I ended the call and dialed Neely, I was suddenly engulfed by a new wave of paranoia. Was Jimmy Dunn’s killer stalking me? What had caused Hank and Darnell to take off like that when that call came in? If Mark Viceroy was still alive, would he come after us if we started asking questions about him? What about Nick Martinique? Was it a coincidence that he left the area so soon after Wendy Ballard overdosed, or did he leave because he was somehow involved in her death?

  8 An Uncommon Man

  “If you can't get to be uncommon through going straight, you'll never get to do it through going crooked.” ~ Great Expectations

  ∞

  I had a restless night, dreaming about being spied on and stalked. The person doing the stalking switched from one person to another. A zombie version of Jimmy Dunn, who’d come back to life was creepy, but the gun-toting Deputy Devers wasn’t much better. Most unnerving of all was a shadowy figure with burning eyes peering from behind a bush. When I couldn’t go back to sleep, I gave up and got up before the alarm went off. Domino was delighted until I let her out into the backyard instead of taking the hint from the leash that she’d brought me.

  “Later, girl. Momma’s got herself into another mess. Neely gave us very specific guidelines to follow this morning, and we’re going to do it.” That included making sure Domino had her playtime in the back yard. If anyone was keeping an eye on me, she wanted to make sure they caught a good look at the spirited spotted dog I’d had with me at Dickens’ Dune.

  “If someone was following him while he was following you, Domino had to be a standout. Let’s make sure they see her, know which cottage you live in, and what car you drive.” That had seemed odd until she’d spilled the beans.

  “Hank’s going to send a woman police officer to play decoy for you tomorrow. Once you get to my cottage, she’s going to drive out of here in your car, dressed like you, and accompanied by a gorgeous Dalmatian.”

  “How will she get Domino back to me?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. Domino’s going to have a decoy, too. Officer Clemons has borrowed a Dalmatian from a Dalmatian rescue shelter. If Jimmy Dunn’s killer takes the bait, she should have someone tailing her in no time. Hank suggested it might be a good idea to prepare for the eventuality that she’ll stay at your house for a night or two.”

  After a breakfast that included extra coffee, I showered and dressed as I’d been instructed. When I recalled more of my conversation with Neely from the evening before, a strange flush stole over me. I’d been flattered and irked at the same time as Neely filled me in on the scheme she and Hank had discussed.

  “Hank sure has a good memory,” I’d said. “I’ve only worn the outfit he’s describing once, and he’s remembered every detail.”

  “The man’s a detective, and he’s taken a special interest in the latest entanglement for a woman whose neck he’s trying to save. It’s lucky for you he has such vivid recall of the outfit you had on since those details are important in transforming your doppelganger into a convincing copy of you.”

  “Well, I’m sorry he’s put you to so much trouble.” Neely had chuckled when I said that. My irritation had won out. Why hadn’t Hank just called me? She read my mind.

  “In case you were wondering, Hank would have called and told you all about this himself, but he needed to read me in as his co-conspirator. Besides, he didn’t want to give you any chance to object, and I agreed.” I hadn’t bothered to argue with her at that point.

  In the clear light of day, I could see she and Hank were right. I spent the morning readying my house for a guest, which included cooking and baking to soothe my frazzled nerves. Then I packed as I’d been instructed to do. Mid-afternoon, I loaded the car and added a red baseball cap and sunglasses to my ensemble. By then, I was eager to meet my twin and get on with their scheme.

  “Let’s go meet Momma’s doppelganger, Domino. Yours too!” She cocked her head to one side and then the other before hopping into the back seat for me to strap her into her harness.

  The drive to Neely’s house was a short one, but I kept checking my rearview mirror in case I was being followed. I didn’t see a soul on the s
treet in a car or on foot. The HOA discourages residents from parking on the street, so there weren’t more than a couple of cars parked along the blocks I covered. A golf cart or two, as well, but that was it.

  “Maybe Detective Miller has become as paranoid as me, Domino,” I muttered as I pulled into Neely’s driveway. As I sat there, a white hatchback drove by and appeared to slow down a bit. I was on the verge of panic when Neely’s garage door rose. When I looked in my rearview mirror, the car was gone.

  In addition to dressing in a specific way and bringing Domino with me, I’d been instructed to pack my belongings for our travels in nondescript boxes and bags rather than luggage. I loaded the items onto the little wheeled cart I’d used the few times I’d catered events. I rolled everything in through the garage door Neely had opened which she shut as soon as Domino and I were inside.

  “I hope the hotel in Pismo Beach doesn’t mind a bag lady checking in!”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. You’ll have to repack, but it won’t take long to transfer what you’ve brought into my extra suitcases. I have a set I received as swag at a Hollywood movie party, and I’ve never even used them. Come in and meet Miriam Webster and Domino, Version 2.0.”

  I walked into Neely’s kitchen and stopped in my tracks when I came face-to-face with my double. The resemblance was uncanny, as she stood there wearing my outfit with a Dalmatian at her side. Then Officer Clemons shoved the dark glasses she wore up on top of her head and spoke. She was half my age and had the distinctive lilt to her voice I’d heard often even before arriving on the West Coast. Her “Valley Girl” accent wasn’t as exaggerated as some used by actresses in movies, but it was impossible to miss.