Lisa’s hair studio, a one-person affair, sat smack in the center of Scottsdale’s night scene. But considering she closed shop at four pm, it didn’t matter to her and it didn’t matter to me. Plus, it made for easy parking until the sun went down and dozens of night spots lit up.
I was back in my car and driving off way before two pm. She cut my hair a bit shorter than usual because it grew so fast. It still brushed my shoulders and I could wear it in a ponytail if necessary. I left Scottsdale behind and headed toward Paradise Valley Mall with specific shopping ideas in mind. Kay was an easy task. Things Remembered, tucked away in a forgotten mall corner thanks to the Costco addition, was my go-to place for anything personalized. I ordered a crystal and silver name plaque for her desk. It also said, Realtor and Mentor Extraordinaire. The idea was to have Brenda or Leta sneak the wrapped gift under Kay’s Christmas tree the night of the catered affair. An affair to which apparently no co-workers were invited. And that included me. Tristan’s, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated and still a work in progress. I turned the corner, planning on cutting through the food court to get back to the covered parking. My eyes were drawn to the brightly decorated windows and I nearly bumped into of all people, Lois Thomas gingerly pushing a wheel chair with a relaxed and contented-looking Angelique Dumont. You could have knocked me over with a sparrow feather.
I tried to play dumb, but Angelique called out to me. “Monica, what a pleasant surprise.”
And with that kind hello, I was trapped. Inside I squirmed like a gold fish flipped out of its tank, but I had my best smile on and a freshly cut head of hair. Bring it on.
After a few minutes of my changing foot dance, we ended up on the top level where the seating accommodations were cushy and didn’t include food. It turned out the two women were also gift shopping and the wheel chair was one of those light folding things people keep in the trunk of the car. Apparently, as Lois pointed out, Angelique’s health had been improving by leaps and bounds, probably due to Arizona’s favorable climate and easy access to attentive medical personnel. I felt as at ease as a Buckingham Palace Guard with poison ivy in his skivvies. Merci me. The two women had nothing but kind things to say about Brenda and me.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more awkward, Angelique said, “Why don’t you come visit us when Tristan is back from his trip? And bring your dog, the Great Dane. Tristan can’t stop talking about the way his Tache and your dog like each other.”
On my way to find the car, all I could think about was how badly I needed a drink or a shrink. So instead of heading home, I made a U-turn and took the road to the Desert Homes Real Estate office. Not sure why. Everyone had gone to an afternoon affair put on by the Scottsdale Association of Realtors, to which I might add, we all paid dues. But I chose to skip it and Kassandra wasn’t invited since she was a civilian. I always got her riled up when I said that. Well today was her lucky day. I would pay for happy hour in exchange for the pregnancy test kit she had sworn to bring to the office.
It was after four by the time I drove into the parking lot where the Kia sat in all her loneliness. My cell chimed. It was an agent from Homesmart requesting permission to show my walk-in tub listing in the morning. Yesssss!
If I could just get a negative on the test, I’d be the happiest girl on earth. Well, sort of. I kept wondering where Tristan was. Angelique mentioned a trip. Maybe he went to Vegas to get a divorce? Stop it, Monica. Besides, he may never speak to you again. I didn’t even lock my car. I figured I’d be out of the office and on my way to happy hour in a jiffy. That is, until I got to the front door of Desert Homes Real Estate and found it locked. What the h**l?
What was Kassandra up to now? Would she be so brazen as to have a man in there? Nah. I never knew her to be anything but professional at work. Okay, except for that time when she showed up braless. Not exactly the image I needed in my head; poor Miss Fortune. Why would J.S.’s dad kill her? Wait, no one called him the killer yet. He was ‘a person of interest.’
I tried the door again. There wasn’t a door bell to ring so I knocked. It would take a baseball bat to knock loud enough. The door was massive. So I dialed Kassandra’s cell first and when the call went directly to voice mail, I tried the office number with the same results.
The sudden stiffening of the hair on the back of my neck wasn’t exactly the result of an early evening breeze. I slowly backed away and returned to my car. Maybe Kassandra was in the bathroom. Or maybe she stepped out to run an errand. On foot? And why wasn’t she answering her phone? Where was her surveillance? Breathe, Monica, breathe.
There was a card that allowed agents to open the door after hours, except I never asked for mine. Damn. I could have slid the thing in and voilà, open sesame.
I needed to clear my head and try Kassandra’s phone again. I started the engine and went around the block, paying close attention to parked cars, looking for trucks and campers. Any clue. Nothing looked familiar and my phone calls all ended up in voicemail. When I returned to the parking lot, the outside lights of the building were lit, but they were set to come on at dusk automatically. No lights at all inside. I sat there, like a pile of laundry waiting to be sorted. When my cell chimed I jumped.
“Hey,” Brenda said.
I sighed. “Brenda, something weird is going on.” Then I spilled the beans, leaving out the part about the pregnancy kit.
“Monica, listen and listen good. Get yourself out of there now. Promise me. I’m calling somebody, but you need to get out of there. Okay?”
“OK.” I said, fingers crossed as I just lied to her. I had an idea. As soon as she hung up I got out of my car and walked over to the Kia. Please, please god, let the car to be unlocked. It must have been a light work day in heaven because Kassandra’s car wasn’t locked. I prayed some more, in case she had some silent alarm or something. Then again, this was Kassandra’s car. No alarm. I rummaged through her console, the glove compartment and then I checked behind her sun visor. Bingo. Although I’d never really handled one of those magnetic cards, something told me that was the one. I got out of the Kia, closed the door quietly and walked over to the front door of the office to Desert Homes.
I heard a click. It worked. The door was now unlocked. My hand on the handle shook. Not a sound came from inside. The shaking spread, from my hands, through my body, to my legs. Must do this. Now. The beat of my heart would awake even Sleeping Beauty on horse tranquillizers. Must do this. I pushed the door open.
NINETEEN
I CLOSED THE front door slowly, trying to avoid making noises. I couldn’t see or hear a thing. As my eyes became accustomed to the quickly disappearing daylight, I noticed things. Like Kassandra’s desk, without Kassandra. I moved closer. So tense, I worried about stumbling and falling. The first oddity was Kassandra’s chair, sideways on the floor, next to her desk. The sweater she kept draped on the back of the chair still partly hooked on it, but dragging on the floor. That was the only visible proof of Kassandra’s presence.
The purse kept under the desk? Gone.
I tiptoed around, looking for her personal cell: missing. However, the office phone had an orangey light, blinking. I kept tiptoeing toward the back of the room, too frightened to check the kitchen because it only had one way in and out.
Oddly, I remembered some of the cop shows pointing out how you should always have an alternate escape route. Just in case.
I skipped the kitchen.
The whole time I thought, whoever didn’t belong here was probably watching my every move. Maybe I should be brave and call out Kassandra’s name. But being brave didn’t feel like a smart thing to do.
Then I stepped on something that didn’t belong on the floor. Broken glass, and not like a lens from reading glasses. Nope, a sea of shards. I held on tight to my cell phone, as if it would save me should someone jump out of nowhere. I kept moving carefully, but there was no way I could avoid all the broken glass. Where did it come from?
Wait, what if someone
called me. On the phone. No, no. Can’t happen. That would certainly give me away. I fumbled to put my cell on vibrate. Not easy with sweaty palms and shaky hands. I crunched glass at every step, bypassed my cubicle, the bullpen, and saw it. Someone had thrown my old chair through the glass door of Sunny’s office. That whole front wall of glass had come tumbling down. The inside of the office looked like a bomb had exploded. Fading light from the large window cast dancing shadows on the papers and files dotting the floor. Even the drawers had been pulled out and dumped in disarray. The only sign of life, just as at the front desk, was the blinking light on Sunny’s desk phone.
I turned to peek outside the only window. It opened onto the parking lot, and I could clearly see my pink Fiat sitting under the street light. Maybe that was my cue. Get the hell out of there and call 911. I quickened my pace. Hey, I was no hero, and for all I knew Kassandra might have left with a friend way before some creep, high on illegal stuff, broke in here. If only we had a security system.
There was one more place I neglected to check. Kay’s office. Only one way in and out, the little voice in my head whispered. True, but no need to go into the closet-size office; all I had to do was open the door and stick my head in. I veered that way. Obviously, whoever the vandal or vandals were, they had also walked this way. More than one of the bullpen computers rested scattered on the floor. I paused. Kay’s door only feet from me. Do the right thing. Why? “You know why,” my grandmother’s voice proclaimed from the grave.
Screw this. Two steps and my right hand reached out in defiance and twisted the doorknob with all my might. And — it came lose, fell out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud that sounded to me like a volcano eruption. Obviously, someone had already made it into Kay’s office.
I turned around and took off running — forget tiptoeing and the silent treatment. I had to get out of there. I felt my cell vibrate in my hand — a call coming in. I slowed for a nanosecond to swipe the screen. I could hear a faint voice calling my name just as a large shadow came rushing at me from the kitchen. It came to a stop, then bolted to intercept my exit. I felt trapped, but kept moving. Now the man, as I had no doubt it was a man, stood squarely between me and the front door. And he looked familiar. In a threateningly familiar way. So much for an alternate escape route.
Bill Smith, J.S.’s estranged father, stood looking at me looking at him. Damn. There we were, both panting, adrenaline rushing. Assessing our chances? Funny Monica, real funny. He moved a little to take command of the whole doorframe. Then the phone on Kassandra’s desk rang and I almost jumped out of my skin. Meanwhile, the monologue on my cell continued. I had no clue who had called me except that the voice was male. I faked a sudden move toward the desk and Bill Smith fell for it. He leaped in that direction and I rushed toward the front door.
Didn’t make it. He grabbed my hair and yanked so hard, I fell backward, still holding my cell as a lifebuoy. I hit the hard floor and the room began to spin. I heard a crash coming from somewhere. The kitchen? Just then his boot hit my right ribs. I screamed, rolling on the floor anticipating his next kick when suddenly the lights came on.
Someone had opened the front door. Everything changed. Flashing lights. Police sirens? Help must have arrived, I told myself. My phone had gone quiet. So did I. I closed my eyes, the aching from my body so intense I couldn’t breathe and hundreds of stabbing, throbbing pains were shooting into my legs. Things came in waves. The scuffle next to me, someone apprehending Smith, EMTs rushing in and out. Pushing a gurney? No, please, not Kassandra. I wanted to yell, but no sound came, only warm tears washing over my cheeks. Where was she? In the kitchen? I should have gone in there; it was my fault.
Someone was talking to me, in person talking to me, not on my phone. Where was my phone? Ouch, ouch. Hands lifted me off the floor and laid me on something soft. Was I dying? I couldn’t be, I had things to do. Christmas cards to send to Mom. People to say goodbye to... slowly nothing mattered and darkness and silence lulled me away.
“Look at this as your glory day,” Brenda, in all her fond sarcasm, declared. I sat in the hospital bed, my back propped up by so many pillows, I figured one wrong move and I’d suffocate in all that fluffiness. Visitors had been coming and going. Sunny, weepy because she felt partly responsible due to the lack of a security system. Kay, telling me not to worry about my real estate deals because she had my back. Officer Clarke? Oh, Bob to his friends was there, too, proud as a peacock because he was the voice on my phone who, according to his version of the facts, guided me to the front door and to salvation. The one I really wanted to see, didn’t come around.
Eventually I was ready to go home, but first I insisted on Brenda taking me to see Kassandra. I learned she was in the same hospital, but on a different floor, in ICU. Everyone assured me she would pull through with flying colors, and it was only a matter of a day or so and she would be moved to a regular ward. Still, I had to see her with my own eyes.
The afternoon of my release I wore clean clothes Brenda brought from home. A dozen band aids dotted my arms and legs where I’d cut myself on the broken glass while rolling on the floor. Brenda and Bob piloted my wheel chair, per hospital rules, to Kassandra’s room.
The ICU floor seemed so much quieter, all hushed voices, closed doors. Kassandra, the fearless, badass girl, looked so small and defenseless in the hospital bed. The room smelled of sanitizers and cough medicine. The bandages covered her whole head, including her cinnamon mane, and framed her swollen, bruised face. What had Smith done to her? She must have put up a hell of a fight. I couldn’t see her body, but tubes, probably IVs, were visible. And so were Kassandra’s hands. Skinned knuckles and all.
In all that misery, her eyes burned bright. I sensed that Kassandra wanted to talk, but probably couldn’t. Using my feet I pushed the wheel chair as close to the bed as possible and then placed my ear up to Kassandra’s lips.
“Thank you.”
More hiss than words, but what else is needed between best friends? I patted Kassandra’s hand lightly, then bent close to her face again and whispered, “Hey, I owe you one. In all that excitement I got my period.”
A little hiccup under the blankets told me Kassandra was trying to laugh.
We drove home in Brenda’s Honda. Bob had brought my Fiat back to the house that very morning. “Does anyone know what this creep wanted from Kassandra?” I asked.
“The investigation is still ongoing.” Bob spoke as if the future of the world hinged on his words. Mercy.
“This is crazy. Are we sure he killed Miss Fortune? What for?” It dawned on me no one even mentioned his daughter, J.S. Ah!
Brenda was driving and I could see her looking at me in the rear view mirror. “He claims it was all a misunderstanding, an accident.”
“Seriously, Brenda? That’s his defense? Good luck with that.” My voice was shaking with anger. I ran my hands over the stiff bandages covering my torso, hidden by my sweater. “I hope he rots in jail.”
Neither answered me. I sat quietly for the rest of the ride and, once home, I made it clear I was sleeping in my own bed. No babysitting needed, thank you very much. To my surprise no one objected. After Bob helped me out of the SUV and Brenda handed me my belongings the hospital nurses had packed, they watched me walk into my place and slam the door shut. How is that for gratitude? It didn’t ease my conscience finding the refrigerator stocked with food and drinks, fresh linens on the bed and in the bath, and my cell sitting on the charger. Still, I stewed. Why?
My anger left me as quickly as it found me. Fatigue settled in. I lined up the few medications I’d been instructed to take. Then I sat on the bed and turned on the television.
One of the local channels had a special report on Bill Smith and the dead psychic. Seriously? Can’t a girl catch a break? But instead of changing channels I turned up the volume.
The TV reporter stood in front of a construction site. Hmmm, Miss Fortune was found floating in the canal. I heard her say, “The old apartment
building was demolished months ago to make room for a new condo complex...” and a light bulb went off over my poor, aching head.
OMG! That must be Kassandra’s old address, the one she never changed with the Department of Motor Vehicles. Now I paid attention.
Miss Fortune had planned on spending the night at Kassandra’s place, except Kassandra was a no show at the séance. Enter Bill Smith, by then homeless and living in the camper. He offered to drive the psychic to Kassandra’s home, he said. In reality he intended to rob both women. Miss Fortune tried to call Kassandra, but had no luck. And since she didn’t know Kassandra had moved, she gave Smith the address listed on the séance roster. Smith claimed that by the time they arrived at the Scottsdale site and realized there was no Kassandra, he got upset and argued with Miss Fortune. She stumbled and fell, hitting her head.
After loading the body into his camper, he drove west on Indian School Road and got the idea of discarding the dead woman in the canal that runs along the street. He had Kassandra’s bra in the camper and tightened it around Miss Fortune’s neck in hopes the authorities would suspect Kassandra. Well, he got that right. But why hurt Kassandra?
Apparently, Smith had kept Miss Fortune’s phone. The detectives found it and discovered several calls she’d made to Kassandra. Two of them were after she had accepted the ride from Smith. He had no idea Miss Fortune never reached Kassandra. Instead, he must have thought she would be the only one who could rat him out, telling the detectives that the victim had been in his truck when she called.
I could only imagine how giddy he felt when he spotted Kassandra’s Kia, only to find me in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out that we worked together. He put two and two together after our second unfortunate encounter, when he ran into J.S. and her van from R.E. Assist, and saw me with the For Sale sign with Desert Homes Real Estate. I wondered how long he had been casing the office to find Kassandra alone at closing time.
Foods, Fools and a Dead Psychic Page 12