The Perfect Block

by Blake Pierce

  Jessie turned left on Beverly and right on Rossmore, where the guest parking lot for the club was situated. Once inside, she approached the reception desk and expressed her interest in joining the club. Could she get a quick tour, she wondered, and perhaps mill about to get a sense of the place?

  A hostess happily showed her around before giving her a ticket for a complimentary brunch, which, she noted, conveniently started in a few minutes. She told Jessie to make herself comfortable and returned to help greet the ladies who were just starting to arrive.

  Jessie sat down in the den-style main room, settling into a comfy easy chair near the fireplace with a view of the front door. She grabbed an old copy of Vanity Fair and pretended to read it as she peeked up occasionally to look at people as they walked through the doors.

  A server came by and offered her a mimosa. She declined but asked if she could get a seltzer and orange juice. That way, she could mix with the crowd without drawing suspicion because she wasn’t holding a beverage. Once it arrived, she got up and walked over near a particularly chatty group of three women. She pretended to study a painting on the wall nearby.

  After a few minutes of discussion about the dip in the quality of the club’s seafood over the last few months, the women seemed to feel they had waited a respectful period of time and, as Jessie expected, dived into discussing Victoria Missinger’s death. It was challenging to distinguish individuals among the cacophony of voices with her head turned the other way.

  “I heard they dragged Michael down to the police station in the middle of the night.”

  “Poor, sweet man.”

  “The medical examiner truck was there all night. That makes me think it must have been a bloody crime scene.”

  “I assume they’ll check security camera footage. It has to show something.”

  “But Andi, don’t you remember? There was that power outage yesterday. I wonder if there’s even anything to see.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out the pool boy came by hoping to get some action and got violent when she said no.”

  “Um, Marlene, how can you be sure she would have said no?”

  “You know how those guys are. A ‘no’ wouldn’t matter.”

  “Nice, Marlene. Any other stereotypes you’d like to toss out before brunch?”

  “Sure, Andi. Now that you mention it, maybe the maid got jealous and decided to take out the lady of the house. I know I’ve thought about it just so I could get my hands on that man’s body.”

  “Marlene, she’s not even cold yet.”

  “Yeah, how can you be so bad?”

  “Oh, don’t be so prudish, Cady. You all know you’d take that ride if you could.”

  “What do you think?”

  The conversation stopped and Jessie glanced up. All eyes were pointed in her direction and she realized she had been the focus of the question.

  “Are you talking to me?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes,” said the woman who’d taken issue with the stereotyping, a blonde mid-thirty-something apparently named Andi. “I couldn’t help but notice you listening in and thought you might have an opinion on the matter.”

  “Were you eavesdropping on us?” a pale, dark-haired woman wearing too much makeup demanded. Jessie recognized her voice as belonging to Marlene, the pool boy–suspecting one who wanted to get her hands on Michael’s body.

  “I was,” she admitted. “Can you blame me? Talk of bloody crime scenes and violent pool boys. You ladies are like catnip.”

  “Who are you?” Marlene asked, her face a mix of suspicion and borderline disgust.

  “My name’s Jessie,” she answered.

  For the first time, perhaps ever, she was glad for the months she’d spent living in the ritzy Orange County enclave of Westport Beach. While there, she’d been reluctantly initiated into a secret club comprised of women much like the ones in front of her now. Back then, she’d been vulnerable and uncertain. Now she was working with the LAPD to solve a murder. She was not intimidated by Marlene.

  “No, I mean who are you?” Marlene repeated. “Are you a member here or did you just wander in off the street for some free mid-morning food?”

  “Marlene, you are an unbelievable bitch,” Andi said before turning to Jessie. “I’m so sorry. Please ignore her. It’s just that you seemed interested in our conversation and we didn’t recognize you and…never mind, it’s not my business.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Jessie said. “I don’t want Marlene over here to stroke out. I’m happy to share. I work with the Los Angeles Police Department and I thought you ladies might be able to answer a few questions for me.”

  “Are you a detective?” the one who’d suspected a bloody crime scene asked, full of awe and trepidation. She was small, about five-foot-two, with long brown hair and a delicate frame that reminded Jessie of a baby bird that didn’t yet know how to fly.

  “No, I’m a consultant. I’m just trying to fill in some blanks. I saw in her calendar that Victoria spent a lot of time here and hoped that her friends here could be of assistance.”

  “So you came in here under false pretenses?” Marlene asked, only slightly tempering her vitriol.

  “False pretenses?” Jessie asked, plastering a pleasant a smile on her face. “I was just appreciating the art here at the club while I waited for the right moment to interrupt. Why so much animosity, Marlene?”

  The woman opened her mouth to respond when Andi jumped in.

  “Of course, we’ll help in any way we can,” she said, extending her hand. “My name is Andrea Robinson but everyone calls me Andi. You’ve met Marlene Port. That’s Cady Jessup. What would you like to know?”

  “You were all friends of Victoria’s?” Jessie asked, shaking her hand.

  “Acquaintances at the very least,” Andi replied. “I knew her and Michael casually. Marlene and Cady were closer, weren’t you ladies?”

  Marlene stared stone-faced but Cady answered.

  “I’d say we were friendly, if not friends,” she said. “Victoria wasn’t the most outgoing person in the world. But she was nice and genuinely committed to the causes the club supports. But we didn’t go for drinks together, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Okay,” Jessie pressed, “then what makes you think she was involved with the pool boy?”

  “Oh, that’s just talk,” Cady said dismissively.

  “Not really,” Marlene said, finally engaging in the conversation. “There really is a pool cleaning service that has some boys who offer extra services. And I know the Missingers use that company. Whether she partook of what they were willing to provide, I have no idea.”

  “And you think that even if Victoria wasn’t interested, the technician might be aggressive?” Jessie asked.

  “Look, police consultant,” Marlene said derisively, lowering her voice. “I know it’s not proper to say this. But most of the ‘technicians,’ as you call them, are of Latin American derivation. And we all know that those kinds of men can be very forceful when they want something.”

  “Do we know that, Marlene?” Andi asked disdainfully. “Because it seems like you’re painting with a pretty broad brush there.”

  “Here we go again,” Marlene replied, rolling her eyes, “always standing up for the little guy, this one. Guardian of morality. Sometimes I wonder if you’re Andi Robinson or Andy Griffith.”

  “I’m just not a fan of assuming everyone with skin darker than ours is prone to criminal activity,” Andi whispered back.

  Jessie noted to herself that just about everybody on the planet had darker skin than the ivory-toned Marlene.

  “Look, the police consultant woman asked what the pool guy thing was about. I’m telling her. She can do what she wants with the information. Right, Jessie?”

  “Sure,” Jessie said, not taking the bait. “Better to have too much info than not enough. Any other service providers in the area that might not make the official list?”

  “You mean the lis
t of men that rich women pay to satisfy them while their husbands are off playing Masters of the Universe or golf?” Marlene nearly spat.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “There’s a personal trainer some girls use,” Cady offered. “His name’s Dan Romano. But I think Victoria only used him once. So either she wasn’t interested or she wasn’t satisfied.”

  “I can assure you it wouldn’t have been the latter,” Marlene piped in.

  “Listen, Jessie,” Andi said quietly. “I didn’t know Victoria that well. But I never got that kind of vibe from her. She never really expressed an interest in that sort of thing, at least to my recollection. I never saw her give a hot guy a second glance. I think her passions were of the more philanthropic variety. The only times I ever truly saw her get… zealous was when she talked about helping sick or homeless kids.”

  “She didn’t have any of her own though?” Jessie asked, though she knew the answer.

  “Barren as the Sahara,” Marlene cracked.

  “Jesus!” Cady muttered

  “What?” Marlene retorted. “It’s not like it was a secret. She said it had something to do with her form of diabetes; too risky or something.”

  “She wasn’t interested in adoption?” Jessie asked, pretending not to notice that none of the women seemed surprised to hear of Victoria’s diabetes. Apparently it was common knowledge, which increased the number of potential suspects substantially.

  “I think she was. But Michael wasn’t,” Cady said. “So until she could change his mind on that, she considered the kids she worked with her children.”

  “Frickin’ Mother Teresa,” Marlene muttered under her breath.

  Andi glanced over at Jessie, clearly mortified.

  “And the comment about the maid, Marlene?” Jessie asked. “Were you serious about that?”

  “What? That she might have murdered her boss so that she could have Michael all to herself? Obviously I was kidding. But if I was around that man every day, the thought would occur to me. He’s yummy.”

  “She’s just being catty,” Andi said apologetically.

  “Last question,” Jessie said, wondering if that really was all there was to it. “What was this about a power outage yesterday?”

  “Oh yeah,” Cady said. “A transformer blew out some time in the early afternoon. It affected all of Larchmont Village. They didn’t get things up and running again until after four p.m.”

  “Good thing it wasn’t summer,” Marlene said. “Or we’d have all boiled.”

  “And you think it might have affected the security cameras?” Jessie asked, trying to keep them all on task.

  “I know when I got home the backup battery for our system was beeping,” Cady said. “We had to reset the whole thing to get it operational again. I don’t know what that does to video footage and that sort of thing.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it fried everything,” Andi said. “That happened to my computer once.”

  “Listen,” Marlene said, “I’d like to help you some more. But I need to find one of those hardworking, law-abiding Hispanic workers and get a mimosa refresh. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” Jessie said, stepping back. “Thanks for your time, Marlene. And don’t forget to pick up your white robe and hood from the cleaners later.”

  Marlene stared at her for a second before breaking into a smile.

  “I kind of like you, police consultant. You’ve got some fire in your belly.”

  Then she turned and headed off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “It was nice to meet you,” Cady said before scurrying off after her.

  That left only Andi.

  “I’d apologize again,” she said, shrugging. “But I feel like it’s getting old.”

  Jessie nodded. She noted that Andi seemed conflicted, as if she wanted to say more but wasn’t sure that she should. Jessie decided to give her the opportunity.

  “I have to head back to the office now,” she said. “Care to walk me out?”

  “Sure,” Andi said, obviously glad not to have to share what she wanted to say in the confines of the club.

  “Lead the way,” Jessie said. “You’re the member.”

  Andi did just that. As they headed out the front door, Jessie studied her more closely.

  Now that her attention wasn’t split among three women, she was able to take in more detail and she realize that Andi was younger than she’d thought at first, closer to thirty than thirty-five. Her blonde hair was shoulder-length and far less fussy than either of her club mates’. She was attractive in a nondescript sort of way and clearly tried to stay in shape. About five-foot-five and 125 pounds, she was unremarkable in almost every way. That is, except for her eyes.

  They were a deep blue and twinkled with a playful sharpness that was at odds with the rest of her conventional bearing. Jessie got the distinct sense that the woman was appalled, or at least unenthusiastic, about her social circle. She couldn’t help but like her.

  “So what was it you couldn’t tell me in there?” she asked when they were outside.

  “I just wanted to make sure that you had a little context on the neighborhood before you went back to your colleagues and started suggesting lines of inquiry,” Andi said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “All right,” Andi said. “Well, Marlene gave the impression that this community is teeming with blue collar workers just itching to commit crimes on residents. But that’s not been my experience.”

  “Wait, did you come out here with me to tell me that your friend is kind of racist? Because I figured that one out on my own.”

  “No,” Andi said. “Clearly you don’t need to be a police consultant to pick up on that. I wanted to make clear that in addition to her overt racism, Marlene is also wrong. I don’t have statistics at my fingertips. But I can’t remember the last time someone from Hancock Park, especially the Larchmont Village area, was murdered by a worker of some kind. And I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  “So you don’t think it was some pool boy slash gigolo?”

  “I don’t have any idea. I just don’t want someone getting railroaded because they fit some preconception of what a criminal might look like.”

  “Well, Ms. Robinson, I can assure that we won’t be railroading anybody. We’ll go where the evidence takes us. But as long as we’re on the subject, exactly how many murders do you remember in your neighborhood?”

  “First of all, please call me Andi. That is, if you’re allowed. To answer your question, I don’t know. I’d be guessing but… less than a half dozen. And they were almost always crimes of passion or drug-related. Jealous spouse or a local kid high on something.”

  “So do you think Michael Missinger was the jealous spouse type?” Jessie asked.

  “I don’t know about that,” Andi said. “I wasn’t super tight with them. But he seemed pretty happy with his life to me. He didn’t strike me as the sort of guy to get riled enough about anything to kill someone, much less Victoria. She didn’t engender a lot of venom. The harshest thing I could say about her was that she was really intense about helping underprivileged children. Is that something that’s going to make someone want to kill them? Seems hard to fathom.”

  “It’s true,” Jessie said, failing in her attempt to stay totally professional. “Enthusiastic philanthropy isn’t often a motive for murder. But we can’t rule anything out just yet.”

  “Well, here’s my number,” Andi said, handing over a card. “Don’t hesitate to call if you have other questions. I may not be especially useful when it comes to the details of the Missingers’ lives but I can probably give you some solid background on the neighborhood more generally if you need it.”

  “I appreciate that,” Jessie said, handing over her card in return. “I may actually take you up on that.”

  Andi smiled warmly and returned to the club. Jessie watched her go before getting in her car. It occurred to her that she didn’t really have many go
od female friends. There was Lacy, but she’d known her since college. Most of her other friends from those days had faded away as she and Kyle focused on couple-dom.

  She’d gotten friendly with one of the wives down in Orange County, who was married to Kyle’s high school buddy, Teddy. Unfortunately, things had gotten awkward with Mel once Kyle tried to kill all three of them in the same night.

  She had confided the truth about her dad to Kat Gentry, the head of security at NRD, where the serial killer Bolton Crutchfield was being held. Other than Dr. Lemmon and Crutchfield himself, Kat was the only person in Los Angeles who knew the truth. Did that make them friends? If so, it was the weirdest friendship ever.

  Once this Missinger case was resolved, Jessie resolved to see if Andi Robinson might like to get a drink. In her current circumstances, it was rare to find someone worth hanging out with. And if that meant having to find friends during a murder investigation, then so be it.

  My life is weird.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “So just to be clear,” Hernandez said, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable, “the ladies who lunch think we should be looking exclusively at pool boys, trainers, and maids as our primary suspects.”

  “Well, the other two were less definitive,” Jessie clarified. “But the racist one definitely thought that was a good start.”

  “Sadly, she’s far from the only one. As a dark-skinned guy, I was just waiting for someone to call me out.”

  “You are a little sketchy,” Jessie poked.

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” conceded Hernandez, grinning. “As to those other folks, we’ve already run some of them down. Her trainer was from Florida and moved back there a month ago, so he’s out. You’ll recall the maid had a vacation in Palm Springs. We’re locking that alibi down. In the meantime, she’s returning to town right now so we should be able to interview her this afternoon. The pool boy, whose name is Raul Reyes, has gone missing. So maybe your friend from the club was on to something there. Let’s not rule him out just yet. Any other leads?”