Rhythm & Clues

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “You mean Elliott, her fiancé?”

  “I think he’s an ex-fiancé now,” Mom noted. “I didn’t get the whole story, and Lorraine didn’t want to talk about it. She just asked if she could stay with me for a bit to think things through. We went out for dinner, and that’s when I told her about Boaz. I thought it might take her mind off of what’s-his-face.”

  “And just when did the topic of Lorraine hauling her ass through Shankleman’s window come up?”

  “Later, after we got home.”

  “So you just casually mentioned to Lorraine that it would be a favor for her Grandma, and she jumped to do it for you?” My voice had quieted but taken on a very snarky tone. I was really trying to hit a balance between simple concern and outrage, but I wasn’t succeeding.

  “I didn’t ask her to do it, Odelia.” Mom looked directly at me. “It just sort of happened. One minute we were in my living room and I was saying how I’d like to get a gander at what was going on at Boaz’s place. That’s when I remembered seeing the light in there the night before. I’d met some friends, who live at that big retirement place by your house, for cards. When I got back to Seaside, I swung my car by Boaz’s place on a whim, on the chance he might have returned. That’s when I thought I saw a light. I told all this to Lorraine while we were watching the late news. The next minute, she was asking for directions to his place and was out the door with a flashlight.”

  “Just like that?” I asked.

  “Well, alcohol might have been involved.”

  “Are you drinking again, Mom?” I asked with alarm. Mom had been sober for decades.

  “No, of course not,” she snapped. “But Lorraine had several glasses of wine with dinner. But don’t worry,” she hurriedly added, “I was driving.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Okay, so Lorraine was suggestible because of the booze, but you could have stopped her.”

  Instead of an answer, Mom looked at the closed door. For a minute I wondered if she was going to try to make a run for it, or more like a shuffle for it, considering her age. She looked back at me. “I know, Odelia. I should have tried to stop her, but I didn’t.” She started tearing up again. “If anything had happened to Lorraine, it would have killed me.” She mopped up new tears.

  Seeing Mom’s distress, I put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. She leaned into me for comfort, something she rarely did, so I knew her despair over what might have happened was genuine. “Lorraine’s okay, Mom. Scared and might be in a spot of trouble, but other than that, okay.”

  “Did they tell you who the poor woman was in the house?” Mom asked between soggy sniffs.

  “Yes,” I told her. “Her name was Cydney Fox. She knew Shankleman back during the band’s heyday and could have been working as his band’s current manager.” I pulled back and looked at Mom. “Did you ever see her with Shankleman?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes I saw him with a woman, not always the same one, but it’s not like he was a ladies’ man, with women running in and out of his place. You know what I mean?” I did and nodded. “But I never saw the body in the house,” Mom continued. “The police wouldn’t let me, so I don’t know if it’s one of the women I saw with Boaz.”

  nine

  The sun was up and morning rush hour just beginning by the time the police let Mom and Lorraine go. They’d both been soundly questioned by Detectives Mack and Gonzales, who knew about my past, especially the situation involving the body that had been found in the trunk of my car in February, since that happened in Long Beach. Neither were amused to be dealing with anyone in my family, and before letting us go, they admonished us to keep our noses out of Cydney Fox’s murder. As for being charged with breaking into Shankleman’s place, Fehring had worked some sort of magic. The police didn’t charge them but gave both Lorraine and Mom stiff warnings, with a footnote that Shankleman might decide to file a complaint against them himself, so they weren’t out of the woods yet.

  “What about Boaz Shankleman?” I asked Fehring when the other detectives had gone. She’d stuck around and must have witnessed the questioning from behind a two-way mirror or something because she showed up right before we left, knowing everything. Steele had headed home to properly clean up before going into the office, and Mom and Lorraine had gone to the restroom. Fehring and I were alone.

  “We’ll be locating him, Odelia,” she told me. “Looks like Grace is going to get her wish after all, so you folks just stay out of it, you hear?”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” I told her. “I’ve got better things to do, like get some sleep.”

  “Don’t you have to go to work?” she asked.

  “Steele told me I could take a couple days off.” When Fehring gave me an odd look, I added, “What can I say, he has a soft spot for Mom, and marriage has mellowed him. Not a lot, but a little around the edges.”

  When we got back to Seaside and pulled in front of Mom’s, my mother said, “Drive by Boaz’s before parking. I want to see what’s going on.”

  “Really?” I shot at her. “Spending all night at the police station wasn’t enough excitement for you?”

  “Please, Odelia,” Lorraine said from the back seat with the first note of life in her voice since being released. “I want to see it too.”

  “Really?” I repeated, but this time I was looking in the rearview mirror at my niece. “A few hours ago you were scared snotless.”

  “Just drive by, Odelia,” Mom ordered. “If you don’t, we’ll simply walk over and check it out for ourselves as soon as you leave.” It was more than a threat, so I caved and asked for directions to Shankleman’s. I figured it was close since they’d walked there in the late evening, but I was wrong. Shankleman’s place was on the other side of the complex, closer to Art’s townhouse than to Mom’s. Seeing the distance made me even angrier. Mom had had tons of time to talk Lorraine out of her boozy foolishness.

  When we got close, I didn’t need directions. The place looked like opening night of a blockbuster Hollywood movie, only early in the morning. The townhouse was surrounded by yellow crime tape, and on the sidewalk clusters of senior citizens, many in lightweight colorful track suits and knee-length shorts, had gathered to gawk and gossip. As we drove by, a few turned to look at the car. One woman pointed at us, causing most of the others to check us out. Instead of ducking, Mom gave them a slightly cupped wave, like a queen greeting the common folk of her realm. A tiny elderly woman holding a small white dog waved with enthusiasm.

  “Isn’t that Teri Thomson, the woman who does the lovely knitting?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Mom answered as she gave the woman a special wave.

  When we finally returned to Mom’s place, I parked curbside in front of it, behind a compact car. Mom’s assigned covered carport was across the street with a bank of other slots. We were almost to the front door when a white golf cart zipped up, made a sharp U-turn, and parked behind my car. Mom and I groaned in unison. Lorraine would have too, had she known it was Mona D’Angelo swooping down on us. Mona stomped up the walk, a clipboard clutched in one of her hands.

  “Hello, Mona,” my mother said in a flat tone. “Kind of early for you, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve been up all night, Grace, thanks to you,” the complex manager said. Mona D’Angelo was about my age, with a decent figure, lovely shoulder-length auburn hair, and a face that would have been considered very pretty if not for its perpetual pinched look, like her face had frozen after she’d tasted something rotten. She was dressed professionally in a pantsuit, but the dark circles under her eyes told me she hadn’t lied about being up all night.

  Mona turned to greet me. “Odelia.” She eyed Lorraine with the type of disdain usually reserved for the criminally insane. “Is this your granddaughter, Grace? The one who broke into Mr. Shankleman’s home last night?”

  “One and the same,” Mom answered,
her voice filled with challenge.

  I took a step forward. “This is my niece, Lorraine Littlejohn. She’ll be visiting Mom for a little while.”

  “Oh, no, she won’t,” announced Mona.

  “According to the rules and regulations of this place,” Mom countered, “I am allowed to have guests under the age of fifty-five for up to sixty days. Lorraine has only been here one day. She has fifty-nine days left to go.” Mom turned and put her key in the lock.

  “I’m not talking about length of stay, Grace Littlejohn,” Mona said, unwilling to be dismissed so easily. She shook the clipboard at us. Well, she shook it at Mom. Lorraine was starting to shrink into the shrubbery, and I was not Mona’s target. “According to these same rules and regulations, the management office of Seaside Retirement Community has the right to deem a guest unfit for occupation and expel him”—she stopped to give Lorraine a withering look—“or her from the premises. We feel breaking into another resident’s home is definitely grounds for expulsion.” She made it sound like Lorraine was being kicked out of school for smoking in the girls’ bathroom.

  Mom looked from Mona to Lorraine, then to me, clearly stumped for words. But I wasn’t. “Lorraine is coming home with me,” I said. “My mother also.” Mom started to protest, but I held up a hand to stop her. “We’re just picking up a few things.”

  Deciding I might be the more reasonable of the family members, Mona turned to give me her attention. “Good. You might even consider thinking about relocating Grace. It might be best for all concerned.”

  I stepped forward again, closing up the short distance between Mona and me. “If my mother chooses to sell this place and move elsewhere, it’s her decision, and it will be for security reasons.”

  “But Seaside is completely secure,” Mona protested. “Your mother is the problem here.”

  “My mother did not kill Cydney Fox,” I pointed out. “Nor did Lorraine. That murder took place right under the nose of your security guard. Not to mention, what was a non-resident doing inside Shankleman’s home in the first place? Did the Fox woman have permission to be in there? Did Shankleman put her on your guard’s list to allow her access when he wasn’t around? Did she have the passcode to the security gate?”

  “We…um…we’re looking into all of those questions,” Mona sputtered. “We’re taking steps to make sure our security wasn’t breached.”

  Just then another golf cart drove up to the curb. In it was a guard named Milton. I didn’t know his last name, but I did know that Milton usually manned the guard shack on the graveyard shift, so I seldom saw him. He climbed out of the cart and shuffled up to us, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Milton was in his late sixties, medium height with a slight paunch and a shock of white hair that matched his short beard. He approached but didn’t say a word until Mona acknowledged him. He was wearing the uniform all the Seaside guards wore.

  “Yes, Milt,” Mona snapped at him with impatience, “what is it?”

  “Ms. D’Angelo,” he said slowly, “I was wondering if I could go home now. I’ve been here all night talking to the police, and I’m about done in.”

  “We were just talking about the front gate, Milton,” I said to the guard. “Maybe you can help. Do you recall if Cydney Fox had permission from Mr. Shankleman to be here or do you know if she had the code to the gate?”

  “He’s my employee,” Mona said, barely containing her anger. “You have no right to question him. I told you we were looking into it.”

  “Forgive me,” I said to her with a half snarl, “if I don’t exactly trust you to do a proper job of it.” She had attacked my family and I wasn’t going to stand for it, no matter how annoyed I was with them myself. “You’re looking into it, Mona, because the homicide detectives want to know what happened, and because your residents are nervous about a murder taking place just yards from the bocce ball court, especially since it happened a couple of days ago. If not for my mother and my niece, no one would have noticed until that body turned to stinky goo in this heat.”

  I turned back to Milton, crossing my arms to let him know I was waiting for his answer. Nearby, Mom and Lorraine were also waiting to hear what he had to say, but they both hung back.

  Avoiding Mona’s glare, Milton finally answered me. “The police asked me the same questions. I don’t recall seeing Ms. Fox come onto the property recently, but in the past when she’s visited, she’s always had the code for the gate.”

  “The code is digital, isn’t it?” I asked, my eyes moving between him and Mona. “I mean, it records whenever a resident’s code is used to open the gate, right?”

  Milton clearly deferred to Mona to answer. “Yes,” she said grudgingly. “It keeps a record of which codes are used and when. The police asked to see the records for the past few weeks.” She paused, then added with emphasis, “You, however, are not entitled to that information.”

  “And what about the security camera?” I asked, ignoring her dig. “Did it show anyone unauthorized entering the property recently?”

  “The camera’s been down,” Milton answered. “For a few days now.”

  Mona whipped around on him, outraged about the disclosure. “You can go home, Milton. Get your rest. We’ll expect you back at your post tonight.”

  With eyes cast down, Milton turned and headed down the walk to his cart. He might have shuffled from the cart to us, but for his retreat he picked up his step considerably. I would too if I worked for the dragon lady and I’d just been told to go home.

  Mom had the door open, and I shuttled her and Lorraine inside. Right before I started to shut the door on Mona, I dug into my purse and pulled out one of my business cards. “If you have anything further to add, put it in writing and mail it to this address. My mother’s attorney will handle it. His name is Michael Steele. Like the police, he’s looking into the breakdown in security here.”

  Okay, that last part was a lie, but it felt good to say it.

  Once the door was closed, Mom said, “That was great, Odelia! You really called her bluff.”

  Lorraine was in the kitchen getting a drink of water. She drank down a glass, then refilled it and drank half of that one. Nothing like having a cottonmouth the day after too much hooch and a whole lot of police interrogation.

  “It wasn’t a bluff, Mom. You and Lorraine get your things. You’re coming home with me.”

  “But I don’t want to go to your house,” Mom whined, jutting her chin out at me.

  “Just for a day or two, Mom.” I looked toward Lorraine, but she’d disappeared. A minute later she came out from the hallway. She was still wearing Fehring’s workout clothes but was rolling a suitcase behind her. There was no question that Lorraine wanted to get out of Dodge as soon as possible.

  “I’m ready to go, Odelia.” She looked at Mom. “Come on, Grandma, just for a few days, until this cools down. Then you can come back.”

  Mom pursed her lips and remained silent for almost a full minute. Finally, she slapped her keys down on the table in the entry hall in surrender and went to pack a bag.

  On the way to my house, Mom fidgeted with her phone. “Dammit,” she cursed. “I keep calling and texting Art, but he doesn’t answer.”

  “After what’s happened,” I said as the light turned green, “his daughter probably changed his number. I didn’t tell you this, Mom, but yesterday morning I had coffee with Shelita Thomas. She told me she didn’t want you spending time with her father. She said you’re a bad influence.”

  “What?” Mom turned sharply in her seat to look at me. “We’re not kids. We can spend time with whomever we want.”

  “That’s exactly what I told her, but after last night she has a pretty strong argument for her position.”

  We arrived in Seal Beach in minutes. I checked the rearview mirror to make sure Lorraine, who was driving Mom’s car, was behind us. I didn’t want the two delin
quents to have their own wheels while staying with me, but it was the only way Mom would agree to go to my house. I asked Lorraine to follow us in Mom’s car because in spite of her bravado, Mom seemed a little shaky. It could be she was tired and hungry. Except for many cups of coffee, she hadn’t eaten a thing.

  Greg’s van was in the garage, but we had room for two cars in the carport. Originally our home was built as a duplex—two small homes built side by side, with a common wall. When Greg bought the place, he gutted it and turned it into one very spacious three- bedroom house outfitted with wide doorways, lower counters, and every other convenience for someone in a wheelchair. The bigger garage and large carport were also part of the renovation.

  We were barely through the back gate when Wainwright came through his doggie door and hopped around the backyard with excitement over seeing company. That, and he hadn’t had his breakfast yet either and was thrilled to see me. When we got inside, I directed Lorraine to our home office, where we also had a pull-out bed for guests. Mom could have the more comfortable bed in our guest room. While they got settled, I fed our cat and dog and started whipping up eggs, bacon, and toast for us. After breakfast, the three of us turned in for much-needed naps.

  When my cell phone woke me, I was doing a face plant in my pillow in the middle of a great dream. Still half asleep, I reached for the phone. It was Clark. Crap. “What?” I answered with a thick voice.

  “Did I wake you?” he sounded surprised.

  I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost ten thirty. “Just taking a little nap. I was dreaming that Ben & Jerry’s named an ice cream after me.”

  “What flavor?” he asked.

  “Burnt sugar vanilla with tiny chunks of English toffee, dark chocolate, and kitty kibble.”

  “Kitty kibble?” He was laughing—a good mood that was about to change.

  “Don’t knock it. It was delicious.” I was fully awake now and surprised that he was so calm. I figured somehow he would have gotten wind that his eldest daughter and mother had been dragged to the police station in cuffs.