Jane Kelly 03 - Ultraviolet

by Nancy Bush

  “Naturally,” Mom said.

  Renee gave her a swift look, as if sensing something wasn’t quite on the level but Mom gazed back, all innocence and interest.

  “Violet and Roland lived here for a while before they left for Portland,” I said, to put things back on track.

  “A long while,” Renee agreed.

  “When they left, Gigi and Sean went with them.”

  “I suppose you think I’m a terrible mother,” she said to me.

  “Things happen for a lot of reasons,” I responded vaguely.

  Renee plucked an olive with her fingernails, which were long and bloodred. “Roland wanted Gigi and Sean and I fought him on that. I figured Violet would be a terrible influence. But…Gigi was such a daddy’s girl, it became…problematic. And where Gigi went, Sean wanted to go, too. Believe me, it made everybody happier to have them all head to Portland together, except possibly Violet. Roland and I had a huge house in the valley with a swimming pool. We sold it and that’s when I bought this bungalow.”

  “You drove to Gigi’s wedding with a friend,” I said, changing the subject. I wanted to get to Violet’s background, but I sensed it wasn’t time yet. Interviews typically have a life of their own and it’s best to let them unfold on their own schedule. I’ve learned less by forcing questions than biding my time, even when I feel the clock ticking in my head, urging me to get going in all due haste.

  “Ah, Aaron.” She hesitated, seeming to have a debate with herself. In the end she shook her head and said, “He’s from some of my classes. I just couldn’t bear to go alone and he thought it would be a kick to drive up in the Ferrari. Actually, it was horrible. Drive a thousand miles to Portland, and another back? My tush still hurts. Should have taken my Caddy.” She gave a disparaging laugh. “We’ve scarcely spoken since we got back. Some bonding experience.”

  “What kind of classes?”

  “Pilates, spinning, low-impact aerobics.”

  “Are you an instructor?” Mom asked.

  I kept myself from giving my mom a “look,” but just barely. I’d begun to wonder how to ask Renee what she did careerwise, if anything, but Mom just popped up with a way to get the information.

  “Oh, sure, I help out sometimes. But I’m not really good with a schedule. Mostly I just take the classes to keep in shape.”

  I had this picture of Renee’s life: one fitness class after another. One plastic surgery after another. She’d as much as said she hadn’t been interested in another man since Roland. She seemed to only care about her appearance, such as it was.

  I asked her about Gigi’s wedding, which events she’d attended, how many days she’d been there, when she learned of Roland’s death.

  “You probably know I was disinvited to the wedding,” Renee said, her expression tightening with the first sign of annoyance I’d seen. Either that or her stretched face just couldn’t handle any nuances of emotion. “You know I loved that man, but Roland could be such a prig. He hated it that I was there with Aaron. Just hated it.” A tiny trill of triumph rang in her voice. “I called him that at the rehearsal dinner. A prig. I was kidding, really, but Roland never could take a joke. Well, he got all heated up. Before that he hadn’t cared a whit that I’d brought Aaron to the dinner, but all of a sudden—holy mother of God, I’ve committed the faux pas of all faux pas! He starts yelling at me. And Melinda…she’s so damn stupid. She gets all fluttery and anxious and tries to make nice with everybody. I ignored her. I mean, give me a friggin’ break. Aaron tried to talk reason to Roland and that didn’t work. Then Gigi started that whining thing.” She made a dismissive gesture and rolled her eyes. “I told them all they should change their diet. Less red meat, more whole grains and leafy green vegetables. It’s not rocket science, now, is it? Turn on the Food Channel, for Pete’s sake. Learn what a healthy diet is. Hello! But there they were, forks loaded with bloody meat.” She made a retching sound. “Gigi just freaked. Told me I was ruining everything. Oh, sure, she’s my daughter and all, but there’s no denying she’s a little bitch. Really, I was glad to have a reason to leave.” Lifting the lemonade pitcher, she looked at my mother. “A little more?”

  “Hit me,” Mom said.

  Surreptitiously, I glanced at my watch. “Was the rehearsal dinner your first event with the family?”

  “First and only, except when they called looking for Roland. At first I thought it was funny that they’d lost him, the Father of the Bride. I was still pretty hot about the way they’d treated us the night before. But Gigi was just sobbing, so Aaron and I drove to Cahill Winery. Gigi threw herself in my arms. Kind of surprised me, to be honest. Then Emmett called with the news….” She pulled her lips back in what I took to be a rueful expression.

  “Was there any indication that anyone thought Roland might be with Violet? That she was the reason for the delay?”

  Renee thought back. “Not really. I mean, Gigi was just shattered. Her wedding was ruined. She wasn’t thinking about what was keeping Roland. She just wanted him there.” She selected another olive, capturing it with her nails and dropping it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t think anybody really thought about Violet until Roland’s body was discovered. Then, of course, it all made sense. It’s the same thing that happened with Bart. She was the last one to see him alive, too.”

  “Bart…?”

  “Treadway. Violet’s first husband. You don’t know about him?” Her tawny brows arched.

  “Melinda mentioned something about it,” I murmured.

  Renee looked at me as if she was doubting my ability as an investigator. I could scarcely blame her. “You know it’s amazing Roland ever hooked up with Violet in the first place. I mean, he is a prig. And she’s so…ripe. Once upon a time, I guess I was like that, too. Good old Roland. He never changed much over the years.” She touched a hand to her cheek, looking mildly embarrassed. “We met at the same escort service, if you can believe that.”

  “You and Roland? The same one as…?”

  “Roland and Violet. I actually knew Violet first. We were both part of Landon Escort Services. Landon Ladies, that’s what we were called. Then that scandal stopped everything for a while, and they came back as something different. Something generic. Connections, I think it was called. Didn’t have the same ring.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “Violet joined Landon’s right after Bart’s death. I was already there and we struck up a friendship of sorts. She wasn’t there very long because she met her second husband right away. I cannot remember his name for the life of me. This is about the time Roland and I started seeing each other, so I wasn’t really paying much attention. He’d spent all that time in med school and it was like he’d never had time for a girlfriend. We met in January and were married by June. Sean and Gigi came along and I guess we were happy for a while, then things just sort of fell apart. You know how that goes.”

  “My husband left me for his secretary,” my mother said.

  “Bastard,” Renee said.

  “Jane’s father,” Mom reminded.

  “You can’t hurt me with that one,” I assured Renee. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

  My father took off when Booth and I were still toddlers. My mother helped support him through law school; then he left her for his secretary, whom he promptly married and started a new family with. I believe I have three half siblings; I probably have a lot more by now. To date that’s all I know about Richard Booth Kelly. My brother is Richard Booth Kelly Jr.

  The shadows had lengthened and I was done with the trip down my own personal memory lane. “So, you met Roland at Landon Ladies, where Violet met her second husband.”

  “That’s right. Then Roland went back to it after it became Connections, or whatever it was, and that’s where he and Violet found each other. Isn’t that just lovely?”

  “Violet worked for the same company twice,” I confirmed. “The one that had the scandal?” At Renee’s nod, I asked, “What was tha
t about?”

  “A couple of the Landon Ladies were selling more than their sparkling conversation. Lucrative, but it was illegal, of course, and well…” She shrugged. No judgment. “So Landon Services became Connections.”

  I hadn’t realized Violet had worked for the escort service more than once. She’d told me that she’d quit the job upon realizing her dates had expected more than a handshake at the end of the evening. It was a surprise to learn she’d gone back for a second try. It was also a surprise to learn that’s how she’d met Roland.

  “How did Violet’s first husband die?” I asked.

  “Bart Treadway was a hiker. One of those outdoorsy guys everybody just loves. I never met the man, personally. He was dead before Violet showed up at Landon Ladies, but she talked about him quite a bit in the beginning. She was upset that his family blamed her for his death. They had money, but everything was in trust for him, and it didn’t pass on to Violet. She got nothing, and I suppose that’s how come she was never indicted for his death.”

  “She was suspected of killing him?” Mom posed.

  “I got this from Bart’s sister, Patsy Treadway,” Renee revealed. “I was kind of crazy for a while, after Roland hooked up with Violet, and so I looked up Patsy and became friends with her. She was more than happy to rank on Violet, which I needed at the time. She told me Violet never went hiking with him. Never, never, never. That sounds just like Violet, right? She’s not a hiker. Then one day she decides to go with him and they take off together. But later that day she comes off the mountain alone. Says she left Bart to do more hiking. That she got tired. Two days later they find his body at the bottom of a ravine. He ‘fell’ from the trail above.”

  “He didn’t fall,” I guessed.

  “Well…” Renee spread her hands. “Everybody knew Bart and Violet were having problems. She was pretty young in those days. Probably thought she’d get the money, but oops. Didn’t happen. Bart’s family tried to get the D.A. to prosecute, but the case wasn’t strong enough. No money, no motive, was the way they saw it. Violet said she’d gone hiking with him because he’d asked, and she wanted to try and save their marriage. But she got whiny and he grew tired of her, so she walked back to where they’d left their car. She hung around awhile but finally took herself home. She called Patsy and said Bart might need a ride back, which pissed Patsy off but good. She went to collect him but he never came out.”

  “She still maintains that Bart’s death was Violet’s fault. What do you think?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past Violet.”

  “And you told Melinda this.”

  Renee smiled fleetingly. “Oh, you know…Melinda’s so easy to send over the edge.”

  It was interesting how Renee had stayed a part of Roland’s life all these years, and not just through her children. In fact, she scarcely seemed connected to her children by anything more than happenstance. It was like she didn’t know what to do with them.

  “You can talk to Patsy,” Renee encouraged. “I’ve got her address.”

  “What about Violet’s second husband?”

  “They divorced. That’s all I know.”

  Mom and I left soon afterward. Renee pressed Patsy Treadway’s number and address upon me. I put in a call to her as we headed for the car and was sent, as ever, directly to voice mail. The communication age. Like, oh, sure. Not that I was exactly panting to talk to the woman as I felt I’d pretty much gotten the gist of what had taken place from Renee, and I had a feeling I would hear a lot more theory than fact from Patsy.

  Mom and I drove to our four-unit in Venice through heavy commuter traffic down Lincoln. It felt like we hit every light. Finally Mom eased onto Abbott-Kinney and then meandered through narrow beach streets until we turned on Baybridge. Venice is kind of a weird place. All this prime beachfront real estate yet everything has that musty, dank smell and peeling-paint appearance of an area gone to seed. There’s a carnival, Coney Island–type atmosphere about the place: surf shops; wind socks fluttering; roller skaters in shorts zigzagging along the sidewalk that cuts through the sand.

  My mother and I co-own a tan-colored rectangular box. Its front faces the ocean and if it weren’t for the buildings on the three blocks between it and the water, it would have an excellent view. As it is, it pretty much looks at walls, roofs and sprouting antennae, though the tiny balconies on both front units have teensy, peekaboo views if you hang over the rails. They were originally apartments; my mother was savvy enough to convert them into condominiums shortly after she managed to buy the building, yet she and I still maintain ownership of all four units. At the time of the purchase I was working at Sting Ray’s, a beach bar, as one of their bartenders. By my mother’s wheeling, dealing and stretching the boundaries of financial security, I became part owner in the project. My mother actually lives a couple of streets over in the little three-bedroom house Booth and I grew up in. Now, when it was clear she was heading directly toward the four-unit instead of her house, I made a sound of protest.

  “We’re not dropping off my bag first?”

  “I’ve moved to one of the units,” she said, causing my jaw to drop.

  “When?”

  “Mrs. Cassleway died and so the lower front unit was empty. I started redoing it. She had dogs. Big dogs, and cats. It reeked. And then someone wanted to buy my house.”

  “You sold the house?” I asked in horror.

  “No way.” Mom gave me a sideways look, silently chiding me. “But I started thinking about its value, and then I decided to rent it. It’s got a garage, you know. And a driveway. They’re paying me a small fortune.”

  This made me happy. “So you moved into the four-unit,” I repeated.

  “Yep.”

  We drove past our building and circled toward the parking spots in the rear. The upper front space is the “owner’s unit,” which means it’s slightly larger, and it’s been rented to the same couple for two decades. Its grander space cuts into that of the rear upper unit, so we get less rent for that one.

  Mom turned into the alley that leads to our building. There’s no garage, but there’s enough land behind the structure to allow for four parking spots covered by a shingled carport. Signage across the back of the building warns would-be parkers that their lives will be in jeopardy if they so much as edge a tire onto one of our spots. Mostly, we’re treated with respect by the beach people who come in droves on the weekends and circle the narrow streets in search of parking.

  A row of exterior lights, each one covered by a stainless steel grid with a nautical motif, lined the back of the fourplex. Each light offered a pool of illumination against the dark cobalt sky. Mom pulled into her spot and we stepped into a brisk wind. I grabbed my overnight bag, my hair flying around my face. I’d left it loose from its ubiquitous ponytail to fly down here and meet Renee. Now I grabbed it in one fist, hauling my bag with the other hand, my purse bumping my hip and threatening to slide from my shoulder.

  “Whew,” Mom said as she slammed the front door behind us and switched on the interior lights. The room snapped into bright focus. I dropped my bag on the hardwood floor and looked around with interest.

  I knew the property was valuable. I loved having an investment. If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t have anything to call my own, and I could turn religious when I remember how she talked me out of using my hard-earned money to buy a better car, or take a luxury vacation, or consider investing with my first boyfriend, a surfer dude guy who was all California blond good looks and ideas that never materialized. She made me put my money in the four-unit instead. Booth didn’t listen to her, though she tried to get him, too. He bought the car and took the vacation, though the only person I think he’s ever invested money with is Sharona, and believe me, she’s a sure bet. They have a house together in northwest Portland, so luckily Booth didn’t completely miss the investing opportunity, either.

  But his decision made it that Mom and I are in this together. Just the two of us. I said, meaning
it, “This is great.”

  “I thought I’d miss my house more than I do. Of course, I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Got the phone moved over and just settled in. I guess you can tell I redid the place.”

  The cabinets were painted a creamy, buttery color and the countertops were large blocks of a darker, taupe tile. The backsplash tile was another shade of cream, subway style, with a crackle finish. She’d put in a gas range, stainless steel, and a matching refrigerator with a freezer drawer on the bottom. She also had one of those two-drawer dishwashers, also stainless. The effect was contemporary yet warmer than Melinda’s unit. Two hanging lights with glowing dark amber-colored glass shades hung down over the eating peninsula that jutted from one wall.