Girl With a Past

by Sherri Leigh James

  I took a deep breathe of the clean mountain air before I asked the next question. “What about Tom?”

  “One time he and the other boys all got real bad food poisonin’, not from my cookin’ mind you––but now, that wasn’t around when Lexi died. That was months later.”

  “Who was at the farm the weekend before Lexi’s murder?” I leaned against the railing, stared at the lake without really seeing it. Below me, a cyclist got off his bike, walked it off the cycling path and cut through the evergreens.

  “Let me think: the four boys, not the usual girls. As I recall, it was gettin’ close ta finals, or midterms, or somethin’ where the girls all had studies. Girls that were usually around were all at school that weekend. ‘Course, your mother didn’t come around until much later.” She was quiet for a moment. “No, I think there was just the one girl that weekend.”

  “What girl was that?”

  “Oh, a very not nice girl,” she answered. “Honestly, a bad girl.”

  “Bad?” I held my breath awaiting her answer.

  “A slut, a real slut. Even in those days of that free love stuff, she was a sick one.”

  Wow. Mrs. Mac was usually so permissive. “Why do you say that?”

  “Cause she was. She was a . . . I gotta think of the word . . . I know, a nymphomaniac.”

  “What did she do that made you think that?”

  “Cause she made the rounds of the bedrooms. She seduced every one of those boys, one right after another, and maybe even more than one at a time,” Mrs. Mac said with a tsk, tsk.

  Yeah, like that would be real hard. “What did she look like?”

  “That was just it. She didn’t look like a whore, she didn’t wear much make up, she was only a little pretty, not like the other girls. Real curly, frizzy hair, dark auburn, kind of freckles, a pug nose.”

  “What was her name?”

  “I never knew her last name. Her first name was Jennifer.”

  “Where did she come from?”

  “One of the boys picked her up hitchhikin’. She needed a place ta stay, so he brought her home.”

  “How long was she there?”

  “Come ta think of it, she was the one that got sick,” Mrs. Mac said. “Then she got well and left all a sudden like.”

  “Please tell me what happened.” I watched a domestic cat stalk a bird in the grass peeking through the snow. The cyclist continued to walk between the trees, heading toward a neighboring condo. Something about his walk and physique was familiar, but his helmet hid his head and face.

  “She was there for ‘bout three––no four days––then the boys left ta go into the city, but told me that Jennifer was sick and ta leave her alone. They didn’t want me ta catch anythin’ from her. I thought that was funny, I made a joke about I wouldn’t be the one catchin’ something from her. You know in those days people were maybe less worried ‘bout social diseases, I mean the ones that the young people knew ‘bout then were easily treated with a shot of penicillin.” She sighed. “She locked herself in the master suite. I knocked on the door, asked if she needed anythin’, but she didn’t answer, and since one of the boys had already taken a tray inta her, well, I just left her be.”

  “When and how did she leave?”

  “I don’t know the how, ‘cause I went on my day off. When Mr. Mac and I got home, she was gone.”

  “What day of the week were you off?”

  “Wednesday. Always Wednesdays, so as I could get stuff ready for the weekend, and clean up after.”

  “Who brought her home?”

  “I don’t know as I ever knew that, she just was there in the livin’ room, and when I saw her behavior . . . well, I asked Elliott where she’d come from.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mac, you’ve been a big help, as usual.”

  I looked around for the cyclist but he had disappeared.

  When I turned to go back into the condo, I ran into Ron who had been right behind me.

  “Talking to Mrs. Mac?”

  I nodded.

  “How is she?”

  “Well.”

  “Hey, I loved that old dame. She still sharp?” he asked without his usual jovial attitude.

  “As a tack.”

  Did my answer make him nervous? I didn’t see any obvious change in his demeanor.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Sure.”

  He opened the door. We went inside and down the stairs to the garage.

  “I’ll drive,” Ron said pushing the remote lock and opening the door to his Highlander. “It’ll be easier since I know the way.”

  Steven looked at me. “We could follow you?”

  “Whatever for?”

  I knew Steven felt the same bad vibe I did, and was not so much a fan of getting in a car with this man. On the other hand, we had known him all our lives, and he was looking uncomfortable. I mean, he’d offered to help us. How awkward was this?

  “Okay, Steven, let’s go with Ron.” I climbed into the back seat behind Ron, leaving Steven to go around to the front seat.

  “Hey, what did you find out from Mrs. Mac?” Ron asked while Steven circled the car.

  “She has an amazing memory,” I said.

  “Yeah, she kept those old brain cells intact,” Ron answered. “Never could talk her into dropping acid.” He went on with a long story about an LSD trip, all of which was pretty unbelievable, filled with unlikely occurrences and a story I’d heard many times both in the sixties and in this century.

  I nodded and pretended to listen; glad I had distracted him from the subject of Mrs. Mac and her revelations. I didn’t know how much of our conversation I wanted to share with him.

  CHAPTER

  48

  Jamie wasn’t home.

  He worked in the Tuolumne County Court house, a masonry building with a distinctive clock tower that actually made it easy to find. Sonora hadn’t grown as dramatically as many other California towns.

  “Wow, he’s official. Is he really the district attorney?” Steven said.

  “Something like that, yeah,” Ron answered with his usual carelessness.

  Ron took us in a back entrance. Jamie’s secretary sat in a rotunda in front of a private office. “Mr. Gregg is not in the office today,” she said and refused to answer any further questions regarding Jamie’s schedule.

  Ron pulled a phone out of his pocket. “Yo, Jamie, I’ve got some people with me that’d like to see you. Sometime today man, or if you’re doing a deposition or somethin’, maybe this evening.” He winked at us. “Voicemail. Wanna grab lunch?”

  He called Jamie back and told him where we would be. Then he showed us around the corner to a wine and bistro place that looked like Tuscany on the inside. I ordered crabcakes on salad. I looked longingly at the wine list, but I was still taking pain meds.

  “What do you want to ask Jamie?”

  “Same stuff I asked you.” I toyed with the breadbasket, picked up a piece of focaccia bread.

  “Al’s got this idea––a theory I guess you’d call it––that for some reason somebody shooting her and Mom’s disappearance has something to do with Lexi’s murder," Steven said. "But it seems likely that the guy who killed Lexi is dead. Then again, we can’t figure out why someone would steal a file Dad had on Lexi’s murder. Or why they’d try to kill Al. So we are talking to Dad’s friends. Lexi’s friends.”

  Ron seemed to think over what Steven said before he asked, “Who have you talked to?”

  “Dave, the Macs, and Tom,” Steven said.

  “We tried to talk to Elliott, but ended up just talking with Nancy,” I said.

  “What about Carol? She was Lexi’s closest friend.”

  “We did talk to her, and definitely plan to do more of that. We’ll head back to the city when we finish here.”

  “Ya know, I could talk with Jamie.” Ron said. “ Tell me what you want to ask him.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather do it myself. I don’t really know exac
tly what to ask until I see how he answers,” I said.

  “Don’t suppose you considered doing this by phone?” Ron asked.

  Totally not workable, I thought, facial expressions and body language were important in these situations. I had learned a few things in my criminal anthro class, like signs that a person was lying. But I didn’t voice any of those thoughts, merely shook my head.

  I remembered that Ron had been quite the drinker in college. I wondered if he still was. Maybe beerboarding would work. You know, when you get someone drunk to get answers. “Steven,” I said, “Don’t you want a cocktail before lunch?”

  Steven gave me a blank look. He didn’t get it.

  “Maybe a martini?” I looked at Ron. “You like martinis Ron?”

  “Sure, but I gotta drive.” He shrugged. “Well, maybe one.” He grinned and waved down the waiter.

  We ordered three martinis with Steven glaring at me until I slid my untouched glass in front of Ron. By then Ron was chattering his way through college hero stories, more than half of which were bullshit. I let him rant on until he finished the second drink without seeming to notice it had miraculously appeared in front of him.

  “Ron, around the time that Lexi was killed, who was the girl staying at the farm?” I asked.

  His eyes widened. His mouth opened, then shut without a sound. He cleared his throat and said, “What the hell?”

  “The girl at the farm. Who was she?” I repeated the question.

  “No idea what you’re talking about.” He waved at a waiter and motioned at his empty glasses. In need of more alcohol, it seemed.

  “The guy that Tom met in the bar, at the Monk. Did you guys suspect he was the Zodiac?”

  Ron jerked his arm at the bartender. He stared at me for a quick minute, then got up and rushed to the bar.

  When he returned with a fresh martini, I pounced with a new question. “Did Tom worry that he might have led the Zodiac to Lexi?”

  “Look, Missy, I don’t know where you’re coming up with these wild ideas, but you’d better watch it.”

  “Watch what?”

  “Saying stuff you might regret.” No sign of his usual grin now.

  “Like Tom regretted getting the Zodiac involved in our––your lives?”

  Ron’s face glowed red. Was it anger? Embarrassment? Or both? He glared at me, looked away, then glanced back. His eyes glistened with tears. He downed the cocktail. “When awful shit happens to your friends, like when Lexi was killed, I’m sure we each and every one of us worried about what we might’ve done to . . .” he cleared his throat. “You can’t help but wonder if you could’ve done something to prevent what happened. We were so fucking careless in those days.”

  Over Ron’s shoulder, I saw Jamie walking toward us in his usual Armani suit. He ran a hand through longish hair, still thick, but gray at the temples. For a small town lawyer, he was quite the dresser and had lost none of the elegance in the photo I carried with me––or in my memories of him.

  Jamie had carried through on his professed dedication to building a better civilization. Carol had stolen a line from a song from Hair when she talked about Jamie, he “cares about strangers, evil and social injustice, more concerned about the bleeding crowd, than a needing friend.” That was before he accompanied her unconscious body to the Pebble Beach hospital. He could seem oblivious of his wealth, or his friend’s lack thereof until the occasion called for generosity.

  He didn’t seem all that surprised to see us even though Ron had described us as “some people.” Perhaps word had gotten around to expect us to show up. We exchanged hellos.

  “Well, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure––to see my niece and nephew?” He emphasized the niece and nephew bit although of all our “aunts” and “uncles” he was the least involved in our lives.

  “We’re looking for Mom.”

  “For Lauren?” He frowned as he pulled up a chair. From the hovering waiter, he ordered a merlot and a salad. “Is she missing?”

  “Yes.”

  “How may I help you?”

  “Tell us about the weekend before Lexi was killed. Who was Jennifer, the girl who was at the ranch? What happened to her?”

  “I am surprised you are interested in her.” He didn’t look surprised. His red face looked more like embarrassed. “What does she have to do with now, with your mother?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, but I think there’s a connection to what has been happening recently and what happened then.” I said.

  “Jennifer got some kind of flu. When the rest of us went back to Berkeley, she stayed behind.” He studied the napkin on his lap like it was the key to the world’s greatest mysteries, flipping it over, checking out the seams. “When we got back, she was gone.”

  “Did Tom catch the flu?”

  “Yes, I believe he did.” Still looking at the napkin.

  “And Mrs. Mac? Did she have the flu that week?”

  “Perhaps. Yes, as I recall she may have.” He squirmed in his chair, but didn’t look up from the napkin. His fingers went to his nose.

  Shit, they were all lying, well at least Tom, Ron and Jamie, all in this together. In my criminal anthro class I’d learned that when a person lies, a rush of adrenaline to the capillaries in the nose causes it to itch. Thus Jamie touched his nose when he lied about Mrs. Mac having the flu.

  I asked him more questions, about Lexi, about my mother, about the year spent on the farm, but I already knew what I was disappointed to learn.

  We ate; Jamie threw some money on the table without waiting for the bill, and excused himself. “I have to be in court.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek, shook Steven’s hand and dashed out of the restaurant.

  “Busy man,” Ron said. “Well, shall we head back?”

  “Sure,” Steven said standing up. “Can I drive?”

  Ron shrugged. “Why not?”

  CHAPTER

  49

  Steven pulled up next to Nancy’s car and we said good-bye to Ron.

  My brother and I were relieved to get out of his car, as relieved as I think he was to be rid of us. We couldn’t miss the effort he put into being his usual jovial self, acting as though he were sober enough to drive into his carport.

  I watched for the cyclist as we drove down the private road. I thought I caught a glimpse of his bike leaning against a tree halfway down the hill to the lake.

  “What do you think, bro?” I shook my head at Steven as soon as we cleared the front drive of Ron’s condo development.

  “Do you know what they are hiding?” he asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it has something to do with that girl who spent the weekend at the farm right before Lexi was killed. Maybe she turned out to be a high-class whore, like the Hollywood Madam, and they don’t want the world to know their connection to her, or something happened to her. Or . . . what do you think?”

  “Yeah, could be her. Or maybe they really did deal drugs, and don’t want that known. After all, they’re respectable professionals now.”

  I shrugged. “Carol’s next?”

  “Let’s call her. She won’t be hiding anything from us, and we’re taking a long time to do this. Every time I think of Mom, my heart skips a beat.”

  “Mine too.” I scrolled to Carol’s number on my cell. “Hey Carol, it’s Al.”

  “Oh sweetie, how are you?”

  “My head’s doing okay. I’m freaked about Mom.” I tried to calm down by watching the dark green trees lining the roadway.

  “I know what you mean. I wish I knew what we could do, that there was something I could do.”

  “Steven and I are trying. Look, I have this idea. Back in 1969––what do you know about a girl named Jennifer who stayed at the farm the week before Lexi was killed?”

  Carol was quiet for no longer than an instant.

  “That name doesn’t ring any bells. I was only at the farm one time before Lexi was killed. Midterms, papers––it was a hell of a time. You needed a g
as mask to get to class. Which was the main reason Lexi escaped to the farm some weekends.”

  “What about after Lexi was killed?”

  Carol was quiet for a minute. “There was this one strange thing, come to think of it. Nancy tried to take me to the farm to chill after the murder, but when we got there, we were sent away. Somebody was sick, or something. I’ve never forgotten because, honestly, it really hurt my feelings.” She sighed. “Nancy understood. She took me to the St. Francis for a few days instead. Oh, god, that was such a horrendous time. I can’t stand the thought of losing another––” She didn’t finish the sentence but she didn’t need to. She didn’t want to lose my mother.

  Nor did I.

  “Carol, can you think of anything, any reason why someone would kidnap or harm my mother?”

  “Unfortunately, reason doesn’t always have anything to do with such acts. I mean, the nut who killed Lexi had no reason, right?”

  “Got it. But look, it’s possible there’s a reason, so what could it be?” I asked.

  “To keep her from telling something. Or to keep somebody else from talking.”

  “Like who?”

  “You. Or your dad?”

  “Me? I don’t know anything.”

  “Maybe they just think you do,” she hesitated. “I mean look at it this way, either shooting you and kidnapping your mother were just random acts of violence, or . . . that’s just a little unlikely as a coincidence,” Carol said. “So maybe you do know something, or might know something that endangers someone. Possibly their reputation, or financial well-being.”

  “Hmm, gonna think about that for awhile,” I answered. “Please call me back if you come up with anything at all. Please.”

  “Absolutely. I love you, sweetie. Take care. Ciao.”

  “Steven, what could I know?” Suddenly, it hit me. How could I have been so slow?

  I turned to my brother and punched his shoulder. “Got it. It’s the file on the Zodiac. Look at all the trouble somebody went to, to get those papers. That was Dad’s file, not an official police file, but because of Dad’s connection to the justice department he was able to include stuff not available to everybody.”