The images taunted her. As she rummaged through the photos, each one confirmed how gullible and naive she was when it came to men. Each one screamed “Fooled you, didn’t we?”
She dropped to her knees. Tiny bumps bristled against her terry robe, and she shivered. White noise hummed in her ears. She knew Paul’s parents were actors. She knew they were dead. She held the picture up to the light. The photo of the happy couple in later years shook in her hand. It was the same happy couple Jess introduced to her as his parents. How is this possible? Anger bubbled to her brain, and she leapt to her feet. She grabbed the box off the shelf and dropped it on the floor. “What else are you hiding from me?”
Grace dumped the photos and the rings on the floor and sifted through Paul’s service medals: Purple Heart, special services, medals for bravery, honors for length of service, medals Grace wasn’t even familiar with. She saw photos taken in Iraq, Algiers, and Albania dating back ten years. A pile of letters was bundled with care, some from his parents, others from Skip, and still others from a Raphael. His comrades? Morning coffee churned in her gut and burned in her chest. Suddenly, she knew nothing about her betrothed, his past, or his secret world.
Sneaky whined, bringing Grace back to her senses. “Sorry girl, bear with me.” Grace dropped her robe to the floor and hustled into warm clothing. She hung the robe on the hook, closed the closet door, and sat on the bed to put on her shoes. Despite her bleak mood, Sneaky’s tail swept the floor enthusiastically.
The chill that settled in her heart matched the temperature outside. She breathed deep, inhaling salt-laced air. She ran down the series of steps hoping to warm to a comfortable temperature, but the heaviness in her soul slowed her pace. Sneaky ran ahead, chasing herring gulls into the sky. Grace smiled to herself. At least her dog was happy. Like a deep cut that doesn’t bleed, Grace shed no tears. She had longed to experience the beach in summer and even considered relocating her practice once she and Paul were married. Now she wasn’t sure what to do. Confront him? She had no choice. I want the truth.
Sal warned her against moving too fast. She thought it was because Sal didn’t want to lose her. Who are you trying to kid? You’re the one who is afraid of losing Sal! Her sadness deepened.
* * *
John propped himself up on his elbow. Lying still, he watched Sal sleep. It wasn’t often he got to study her pasty face, sunken eyes, and withering form without sarcasm. Being sick made her feel ugly. You’re still a beauty to me. She wouldn’t have it. “Don’t sympathize and patronize. Don’t look at me like that.” Them’s the rules. Sal fought like a superwoman, denying her illness while trying to convince everyone she was fine. But John knew their time together was coming to a close. Despite her efforts, the cancer was winning. The doctors said, if she didn’t improve in the next couple of weeks, they would recommend hospice care.
A tear stained the pillow. John missed her already. He would never love another like he loved the little scrawny woman lying in his bed. She had been his rock, his best friend, and his lover for so long. He couldn’t imagine life without her.
Deep inside John was angry at the world. Sal was the best thing that ever happened to him. Why did God see fit to take her away? “Not fair,” was his daily mantra. And where the hell was Grace? Sal didn’t say much. She wanted to go to the office, a loyal friend to the end. Grace would regret not being there when Sal needed her most. John’s heavy sigh woke his sleeping beauty.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about, big guy?” Sal ran thin fingers through John’s chest hairs. “You’re not putting me in the grave again, are you?”
“No, babe. Just thinking how beautiful you are when you sleep. I want to savor every moment we have together. I know bowling has always been your competition, but no more. My ball remains in the closet from this day forward. Maybe I’ll sell it! Or donate it to the Boys Club.”
“Give it to me. I’ll make real good use of it.” She rose, sparks flying from her eyes. “I can wallop you up-side the head with it!”
“What did I say? I want to spend time with you. Is that so wrong?”
“Do you remember the movie Sweet November, the story about the woman who takes in a different man every month and helps them overcome a quirk they have?”
John’s jaw dropped. “You want to take in a new man every month?”
“No. I want to live like a normal person until December or whatever month or year the good Lord takes me home. Until then, please go bowling and quit fawning over me like I’ve got one foot in the grave for Pete’s sake. You’re depressing me!” Sal swung her legs off the bed and stood up. She caught her balance in the middle of a sway.
John reached to steady her, but she slapped his hand.
“I got up too fast; that’s all.”
“Okay. Just trying to help.”
“I know baby, I know.” Sal came over to his side of the bed and slipped between his knees. “Hold me.” She smiled, easing his troubled mind. “How about making me two eggs over easy and a piece of dry toast? I’ll take a shower and meet you in the kitchen.” She cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “I love you, John. Remember that. That’s all I ask.” John crushed her in his arms. Together they held on.
* * *
Simone helped drag Blondie’s body down the stairs and into the garage where they lifted the body into the trunk. Jess suppressed a giggle.
“What is funny to you?” Simone dropped her end of the body and placed her hands on her hips. “Something I said?”
Jess placed his end of the body against the wheel well. “It’s like in the movies. Next thing I know, some cop will bust me for a broken tail light and discover a dead body in the trunk. Don’t you think that’s funny?”
“Hilarious.” She huffed. “You Americans.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All drama.”
“I’m a filmmaker for chrissakes. That’s the way my mind works!”
“Yeah, well I’m going to be late. That’s the way my mind works. Like a Swiss watch.”
“You’re a bitch. Go! Get on with your little lunch mate.”
“I need you to drop me off at the car rental place.”
“Are you going dressed like that?”
Simone assessed her black embossed slacks tucked into tall boots. An emerald green turtleneck complimented her black leather swing coat. She wondered if Sheppard was being deliberately insulting. His remarks were often double-edge, not that she had feelings to hurt, but she was getting annoyed with his presumption that she was a doormat to speak to in any way he wished. She flipped him off. “You can finish yourself.” She walked back into the house. Satisfaction lifted the corners of her mouth into a grin while imagining the look on his face when he realized the only woman he coveted would soon be her possession.
* * *
Despite the chilly morning, Paul rolled his window down. He down-shifted into second gear and merged into traffic. I hate lying to her. Shame crinkled his brow. Not a total lie. He did plan to stop and see how Russ Sweeney’s mare was faring, but he didn’t intend to stay long. He was meeting Frank Spiderelli at the police station at ten o’clock to go over the evidence found in Jess’s car.
Paul knew Spider was more interested in what he knew than vice versa, but he didn’t object to working with police. As long as they didn’t impede his search, he would cooperate. Bottom line? He didn’t give a pig’s nuts how Jess was caught as long as it was soon.
Skip’s name popped up on Paul’s phone screen. “Hey, buddy! You going psychic on me? I was going to call you as soon as I went through the toll gate. Hang on, I need to get my wallet out of my back pocket.”
“Surprised you can carry anything with that skinny ass of yours.”
“Yeah, well all that’s going to change once I’m married. I’ll be living the good life—a wife and real meals cooked at home.”
“Careful, you might end up a fluffy duck like me!”
“I’ll take my chance
s. You’re pretty damn happy from what I can tell.”
“Amen to that!” Skip’s gruff laughter diminished to a raspy cough, then silence.
Paul checked his rearview mirror out of habit. “Whatcha’ got for me?”
“The woman who was murdered, the one you saw in the newspaper, the one who looks like Grace?”
“I’m all ears.”
“She owned a restaurant. I checked with the employees. One guy said he actually let Jess crash at his pad. Get this: the guy said Jess could’ve passed for his twin, so I asked the dude to send me a photo. There is a similarity, more so if Jess changed his hair color, grew some facial hair, and picked up an accent. The guy said Jess took his place at work the night the woman was murdered. Our boy told the guy he had a crush on the woman and wanted to get to know her better. That Latin blood will get you in trouble every time!”
“Well, I’ll be a son-of-a—”
“Oh wait. There’s more.”
Paul put on his directional and moved over two lanes. He glanced at the sign announcing “Sacramento” and moved left. “Something tells me you’re going to make my day.”
“More like your week! A woman turned up dead in an alley near that restaurant we stopped in for breakfast, remember that?”
“Yeah, we drove that couple to the police station. Their car was stolen.”
“Right. Turns out the murdered woman was a nurse who did follow-up care for a plastic surgeon.”
“Really?”
“Oh buddy, it gets better.”
Paul pictured Skip tugging at six weeks of growth on his chin while he shared this coveted information. “Give it to me, baby.”
“While checking into the woman’s death, Raphael discovers there’s an open bash-n-slash investigation on a plastic surgeon who just so happens to have been her boss. Whaddaya think of them apples?”
“Who has possession of the doctor’s files?”
Skip chuckled, “Raphael has the best connections, I swear. He must owe the guy upstairs big time for all the good shit he’s blessed with.”
“Are you saying Raphael has the files?” This time, Paul heard Skip’s laughter rumble from deep down before it escaped his lips with a wheeze. Skip’s laugh was contagious, and Paul caught on. “Well, I’ll be damned. How soon can I get—” Just then, Paul heard a beep on his phone. “You’re killing me, man. Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep!”
Paul glanced at the photos popping into his screen while keeping an eye on the road. “This is huge, Skip. We can finally nail this son-of-a-bitch to the wall.”
* * *
Sneaky raced along the shore, head turned, and jaw extended, ready to fetch the stick with her teeth. Grace stood with her hands on her head, waiting with anticipation. She knew when it came to stick-throwing, she lacked aim. The stick didn’t travel very far. Most of the time, it came crashing down on the dog. Yet, she persevered. After an hour of trying to perfect her moves, she gave up. When the sun warmed the air, she loosened the scarf around her neck and unbuttoned her jacket. Sneaky was happy, nudging sand crabs with her nose. Grace forced a laugh when a crab latched onto Sneaky’s snout. The dog yelped and shook her head, sending the crab flying through the air.
Grace stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and walked along the shore. Her melancholy mood sucked the joy out Sneaky’s playful antics. The dog heeled behind her matching her pace.
* * *
Paul merged onto Interstate 5 south and headed toward downtown. He exited at J Street and caught the red light. He felt the urge to call Grace to see how her morning was going, but felt it would be hard to hide the angst edging his good-natured demeanor. When Paul went to war, he struggled with his conscience: kill or be killed. That was long ago. Now he was out for blood, Jess’s blood. He would kill him with his bare hands if given the opportunity. I’m getting closer.
* * *
Simone exited on Bear Avenue, turned right, and followed the winding road down toward the waterfront. At the end of Beacon Drive, she turned left. Half a mile down the road, she turned into a private driveway. She stopped, and checked the address on the calendar against the address on the stone pillar. This is it. She wound her way along the treed path until the clearing revealed a spectacular residence.
She parked the rental car in front of a stone wall retaining tiers of tiny cascading white flowers. The sun shined in patches between tall pines. She turned off the motor, closed the car door quietly, and listened to waves crash upon the shore. Laughter echoed in the distance. A dog barked.
Simone’s heart synced to the pounding surf.
* * *
Grace climbed the winding, wooden stairway with heavy-hearted steps. Sneaky wagged behind her, stopping on occasion to sniff. Unease stiffened tiny hairs beneath Grace’s jacket. Even the dog sensed something was wrong. Her ears perked. Her snout twitched. Her stance went rigid. Grace surveyed her surroundings. No one in sight. Waves crashing on the shore issued a warning. Violence. She sprinted to the top of the steps, ran through the door, and slammed it behind her. Her fingers, stiff from the cold, fumbled the lock. Sneaky padded to the front door and waited, a growl rumbling in her throat. Grace grabbed her phone from the charging pedestal in the kitchen. Thirty percent is better than nothing. She checked her signal strength: two bars. Shit.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and her heart leaped in her chest. Shit. Sneaky’s growl became a vicious bark as Grace tiptoed through the entryway with the phone glued to her trembling hand. She peeked through the glass panel flanking the doorway. Thick bevels obscured her view. All she could make out was a long black coat, boots with heels, and a small handbag. She reached for the door handle, but Sneaky intervened, stepping between her and the door. The dog barked incessantly. Grace retreated.
Outside, Simone controlled her ire. Fucking dog. She knocked on the door. “Hello?” She knocked again. “My car, something is wrong with my car. Can you help me?”
Torn, Grace considered opening the door, but Sneaky nudged her away from the door, barking louder. Grace stepped back. If the woman were truly in need of help, she could make a call for her without compromising her safety behind the thick mahogany door. Grace looked at her phone: one bar. The woman was probably having difficulty getting a signal in this area. Her humanitarian nature wrestled her good sense. The woman knocked again. Grace heard the desperation in the woman’s voice.
“Please help me!” I took a wrong turn. I’m lost. My car is sputtering. I think my alternator is kaput. I can’t get a signal. Hello?” Banging on the door, “Is someone there?”
Grace watched the woman pace beyond the side panel. Her conscience nagged. She wanted to help, but fear paralyzed her— and with good cause. In the next moment, her eyes grew large. The woman reached into her bag and pulled out an object shaped like a gun.
With no time to consider her options, Grace tore through the house to the bedroom where she kept her purse. Once the .22 was in her grip, her hand began to shake. She checked the safety lock. She checked her phone. “Please, please, please,” she begged. Three bars. Awesome. She dialed 911.
Once the 911 call was dispatched, Grace returned to her lookout near the front door. The dog stopped barking. Curious, she peeked outside. The woman was gone.
* * *
Paul sat on the edge of detective Spiderelli’s desk. Across the aisle, three officers clustered in front of a computer monitor. “I told you. She never pulls shit like this. When we fight, she goes home.”
“Maybe this time she got fed up with your sorry ass.”
“She wouldn’t do that. I’m all she’s got.”
Two men roared while the third looked miserable. “Go ahead laugh. I know something happened to her. She’s never disappeared for this long.”
“Christ, Tony. It’s only been twelve hours!”
“A lot can happen in twelve hours.”
“Yeah, like she could have an epiphany and find another sugar daddy?”
Paul wa
sn’t one to butt in, but knowing Jess was in town made it impossible for him to remain tight-lipped. “Excuse me. What does your girlfriend look like?”
“You some wise ass?” Tony stood tall, puffing out his chest to seem more intimidating.
“No. The name’s Paul Fortier.”
Spider entered the room and intervened. “These goombas givin’ you grief?”
“Not at all. In fact, I interrupted their conversation. I overheard them talking about a missing girl.”
Spider glanced sideways at his men. Concern was written all over Tony’s face. “What’s up, Tony?”
“Kimmy didn’t make it home last night.”
“And?” Spider moved closer deflating Tony’s machismo.
“We had a fi— An argument. I kicked her outta the car. She didn’t make it home.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t know, ‘bout eleven.”
Spider turned to Paul. “What are your thoughts?”
“I’m curious what she looked like, that’s all.”
“She’s blond. Twenty-two. Five-feet-five. Rockin’ bod. Cute.”
Paul and Spider’s eyes connected briefly. Spider turned to Tony. “Where did you last see her?”
* * *
Simone followed the stone pathway leading to the back gate. Locked. She moved toward the other end of the house. The steep embankment would be treacherous in the heels she wore. The wind picked up. The air was brisk. She felt a sneeze tickle her nose. She wasn’t one to act sloppy. Sloppy got you caught. Sloppy threatened your mortality. She returned the gun’s safety to a locked position. I need a better plan.
Her timing, impeccable, Simone pulled onto Bear Avenue just as flashing lights zipped past her. She turned the knob controlling the heat toward cool. She opened the top button to her coat, her neck damp to the touch. She wasn’t exactly disheartened. It gave her a minuscule thrill knowing she frightened Grace. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.
The Black Dress Page 26