“Another good possibility,” Willie said.
“Except that the sex scandal was all on Kurt Spencer-Hall, not the other band members,” I noted. “And why take out Fox, if she wasn’t the main target? She’d been seduced by Kurt Spencer-Hall, but she’d been of legal age and had not been drugged by him that I remember or read about. It was when he and Oxman came to blows over Cydney Fox that the truth came out about Spencer-Hall’s criminal and skanky behavior with the younger women.”
“Someone harboring anger that long could also be linking Fox to the crime, since she was the catalyst for bringing it out in the open,” Willie said. “Maybe one of those girls thought Spencer-Hall was going to sweep her away and marry her, but the allegations of rape that came out of the fight between Oxman and Spencer-Hall destroyed her dreams.”
“And now that the group is together playing again, it would have given this crazy girl a way to find them,” Mom tossed out.
“So we don’t think Mona killed Fox anymore?” asked Lorraine.
Buzz got up off the floor and took Lorraine’s empty glass from her. He went into the kitchen and returned with it refilled. They exchanged smiles as he handed it to her. Instead of sitting back down next to her, he held out a hand and got her to her feet, resettling her on the sofa next to me. “Would anyone else like anything?” he asked the group. When we all shook our heads, he pulled up a kitchen chair and straddled it. I was really liking this kid, or at least his manners.
“Mona could still be the killer,” Willie said. “Is it possible she was one of the women Spencer-Hall drugged back in the day?”
“She could have been,” I said, “but Mona’s about my age. I was in college when the scandal hit. Except for his dalliance with Fox, he was more into barely legal types and almost-legal types. We might have been too old for him.”
“But it’s possible?” asked Buzz.
I nodded in his direction. “Anything is possible.” I fiddled with the end of my hair, something I did when nervous or thinking. “We need to find Art and Boaz. Boaz should be able to tell us a lot, even if he doesn’t know who the killer or killers are.” I looked at Mom. “Are you sure you have no idea where Art might have gone or taken Boaz? No favorite spots or hotels he liked to stay at while on his trips?”
“If I did,” she snapped, “I would have told you by now so we could check them out.” Mom looked troubled, her face overcast with a chance of rain.
“Are you okay, Mom?” I asked.
“I’m just thinking,” she answered. “There has to be a way to find Art without talking to the police or worrying Shelita more. If he’s helping Boaz, then Boaz must have a good reason for not going to the police.”
“Maybe,” Lorraine said, “it’s time we do call the police.”
“No!” went up from Willie, Mom, and me almost at the same time. Lorraine shrank back as if slapped, but I caught Buzz sending her a reassuring wink.
“Not yet, Lorraine,” Buzz said gently. “They’ll only muck everything up and might cause Boaz and Art more trouble, especially if they think Boaz is the killer. You’ve seen on TV how the cops often overreact.”
I patted my niece on the knee. “I’m sorry we shouted at you, but Buzz is right. We need to keep this away from the police until we’re sure.” I glanced around the room. “For everyone’s sake.”
We all sat in silence, each of us thinking about how best to move forward. Mom got up and headed down the hall to the guest bathroom. When she came back, she said, “What about credit cards? Has anyone checked those for activity?”
“That information is very difficult to get unless you’re the police,” Willie said. “Even my people have a tough time getting that. It’s easier to get someone’s blood type or fingerprints.”
“And I’m sure they’ve checked all of Shankleman’s by now,” I said.
“But what about Art’s?” Mom asked.
“The police would have had no reason to check that, Mom,” I told her. “Would Shelita have access to it?”
Mom shrugged. “I don’t know, but I do, at least if his phone is functional.”
Willie still held Art’s phone. He looked at it, then at Mom. “It is. Only the screen had been broken.”
“Give it here,” Mom said as she sat back down. “Art isn’t that tech savvy, but earlier this year I set up a banking app on his phone for him. He likes having that info at his fingertips, at least when he remembers to charge his phone. He has a computer but doesn’t like working on it very often.”
Willie gave her the phone and Mom started looking for the bank app. We all gathered around her to watch. When she found the right app, she tapped on the screen. The username was already filled in and just needed the password. Mom tapped something in, and Art’s banking information popped up.
“You have Art’s banking password?” I asked with surprise. “You don’t even have mine.”
“Oh, please,” Mom said. “Art’s bank password is 1-2-3-4 with a dollar sign before and after. I set it up for him, although I did suggest a more complicated one at the time.”
“We really need to educate this guy on passwords,” Buzz said.
“Good luck with that,” Mom said as she scrolled through the information. “It looks like Art made a $300 cash withdrawal this morning.”
“This morning?” I asked.
“Yep, about an hour ago. From a branch ATM in Beaumont.”
“Beaumont?” I asked.
Mom looked at me through her thick glasses. “You having hearing difficulties?” She went back to tapping at the screen.
I refrained from snapping back at her. Bigger issues were afoot. Beaumont was a small town about a hundred miles northeast from us. It was a rural town located in Riverside County. The only time I’d been to Beaumont was to pass through it on the 10 Freeway on my way to Palms Springs or Arizona.
“I checked his credit card. There are a few charges, also in Beaumont,” Mom said. “Restaurants and a motel charge.” Mom got up. “Sounds like we’re going on a road trip.”
“We don’t know if they’re still there, Mom,” I said. “If Art took out cash today, they might be heading someplace else.” I paused. “Tell you what,” I said. “Call the burner phone—see if Boaz or Art answers.”
“We probably should have done that earlier, don’t you think?” Lorraine said. No longer woozy, she was gaining an attitude—the family attitude.
“I did call it. I called this morning as soon as we got Art’s phone up and running,” Willie said, looking amused. “No one answered.”
“Did you leave a voicemail?” I asked.
“Yes,” Willie answered. “I told them I was a friend of your family and that Art needed to call Grace ASAP. Who knows, the call might have spooked them into leaving Beaumont.”
“Might as well try it again,” Mom said as she hit redial. She put the phone on speaker. When she got voicemail, she left a message telling Art to call her, that it was very important and that she knew he was with Boaz. She also said he should call Shelita because she was very worried about him. When she ended the call, Mom looked up. “Maybe if he hears my voice, he’ll call.”
While we waited I made some coffee for Mom and Willie. Lorraine and Buzz retreated to the patio with sodas. I could see them chatting and laughing while seated at the picnic table. I didn’t know what had happened in Chicago between Lorraine and Elliot, but she seemed to be recovering nicely under Buzz’s attention. I took the coffee into the living room, along with a tall glass of iced tea for myself. Then I got a legal pad and together the three of us went over the different scenarios again while I jotted down notes and drew diagrams.
It was clear to all of us that there was a good chance that whoever killed Cydney Fox probably knew her, the band, and Titan. More and more it didn’t look like her murder and Titan’s were unrelated. The slim possibility was still there, b
ut it was slim and too much of a coincidence. Mona could have been around then and had suffered at the hands of either the band’s breakup or Spencer-Hall’s indiscretions, but then I remembered Shelita Thomas saying that she had gone to college with Mona. And I also remembered that Shelita had told me once that she’d attended USC. Although not out of the realm of possibility, it seemed unlikely to me that a busy USC student would have had the time to be a band groupie. We were all in college about the same time, and I know I hadn’t had time to devote to such endeavors. I mentioned this to Mom and Willie, and they both agreed.
“It doesn’t mean she didn’t kill Fox out of jealousy,” Willie noted, returning to an earlier theory. “But it does put our idea about her being one of Spencer-Hall’s victims on the back burner.”
Almost twenty minutes after Mom had made the call to the burner phone, Art’s phone rang. The display showed that it was Shelita calling her dad.
“That’s his daughter,” Mom said to Willie. “Should I answer it?”
Willie shook his head. “No. If you do, it will only get her more concerned or raise more questions.”
“I agree,” I told her.
We all listened while the phone rang six times before kicking into voicemail. I know it was six because I counted them while I held my breath. Mine goes to voicemail after four rings. When the ringing stopped, we went back to waiting.
“I almost wished we’d just hit the road for Beaumont,” Mom said. “This waiting is killing me.”
“Me too, Mom,” I told her. “But we could be halfway to Beaumont while Art’s halfway to Santa Barbara. We need to find out where they are.”
Another grueling ten minutes passed. Muffin had hopped up on the sofa and was making a nest in Willie’s lap. He stroked her and told her what a pretty girl she was, which elicited loud purrs from the tiny animal and reminded me of Teri and Lucy.
We’d been waiting over thirty-five minutes when Art’s phone rang again. This time the display showed the burner phone’s number. After getting a nod from Willie, Mom answered it and put it on speaker. We held our breath.
“Grace, is that you?” came a familiar voice from the phone. Collectively the three of us relaxed.
“Yes, Art, it’s me,” Mom said. “I’m here with Odelia and a friend of ours. Where are you? Everyone is worried sick, especially Shelita.”
“I’m with Boaz and Ringo,” he told us. “They needed my help. How did you get my phone?”
“Our friend found it in the bushes by your place,” Mom explained.
“Boaz told me to do that,” Art said, “so we couldn’t be tracked. We’re sure glad it was you who found it.”
“The police are looking for Boaz, Art,” I said into the phone. “For questioning. A woman was found dead in his home.”
“Boaz knows that, Odelia. He came back and saw the body, and that’s when he asked me to help him. People are after him—bad people.”
“The Armenian gang?” asked Mom.
“Yes,” came a different voice from the phone. I recognized it from the earlier voicemail. It was Boaz Shankleman—Bo Shank himself.
“This is Willie, a friend of Odelia and Grace’s,” Willie said toward the phone in Mom’s hand. “I have it on good authority that the Armenian gang is not looking for you, but they did kill Titan.”
“I know. I saw that on the news,” Shankleman said, “but Titan said they would come after us.”
“When did you speak to Titan about this?” I asked.
“A day or two ago,” Shankleman said. “He called Dave and Simon and told them to get the hell out of town. He left me a voicemail about it. Dave called me all spooked out, wondering if we should believe Titan since we knew him to be a lying little weasel in the past. I told him we should believe Titan about this. I knew that Titan was in deep to that gang years ago, but he swore that was over when we signed up with him again. Then several months ago I learned he was laundering money for those criminals. The other guys knew nothing about it, unless Titan told them when he told them to leave.”
“That’s why you fired Titan and hired Cydney Fox, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Shankleman said. “I didn’t want the band involved with that mess in any way. Cyd and I had kept in touch over the years. She was smart, and when she returned to California she needed a job. I knew I could teach her how to handle the bookings, and I had all of the same contacts Titan had. In fact, a lot of the promoters told me they didn’t want to deal with Titan anymore. He was always squeezing them for more money, money outside of our contracts. That really made up my mind to leave him for good. He’s lucky we didn’t sue his ass.”
“Was Titan skimming the money he managed to get out of those promoters?” asked Willie.
“Yeah, he was. Just as we found out he was skimming from us all those years ago. It all came out when the band went belly-side up. I told Dave and Simon the skimming was the reason for making the change. I didn’t mention the money laundering.” We could hear a deep breath being taken on the other side. “I shouldn’t have given him a second chance, and I’ve kicked myself at least once a week for doing it.”
twenty-two
Crestline is a very small town in Southern California located in the San Bernardino Mountains. I’d never been there, but Willie said he had a friend who could provide a safe house for Shankleman and Art and get them off the grid until things cooled down. I drove in my car with Mom and Lorraine. After giving me the address, Willie said he’d meet us there, then he and Buzz took off in their SUV. The last thing Willie told us was to call Greg and Clark and let them know we were okay, but to be careful what we said in case anyone was listening, and then to leave our phones home so we couldn’t be tracked. He went out to his vehicle and returned with a burner phone for our use. It reminded me of Mother the hit woman and how she communicated with me. The manufacturers of burner phones must be making a killing off of the criminal community.
We couldn’t convince Boaz to come to us. He was afraid he’d be spotted and taken into custody for Fox’s murder. His plan was to wait it all out until her killer was caught, and it seemed that Art was totally dedicated to helping him. Willie did manage to convince Shankleman that the Armenians weren’t after him, but he was still concerned about someone wanting him dead. Couldn’t say I blamed him.
Just as Willie had suspected, his earlier call to the burner phone had caused them to bolt, and the bank withdrawal was so they could travel without credit cards. They had left the hotel in Beaumont and were on the move when Mom called. Now they were heading to Crestline. Willie’s friend would meet them and take them to the safe house.
To get to Crestline from Seal Beach, I had to take the 605 Freeway north to the 210 Freeway east, then turn north on Highway 18, which was also known as the Rim of the World Highway. Highway 18 got pretty twisty and hugged the hills, with steep dropoffs on the other side.
“Isn’t this pretty,” Mom said. “Look how lovely it is, Odelia.”
“Mom, I need to be driving, not rubbernecking.”
Mom turned to look at Lorraine in the back. “You think it’s pretty, don’t you, honey?” From the back came a groan.
Mom turned to me. “At the first turnout you see, Odelia, pull off.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Lorraine’s green. I think she’s carsick.”
Another half mile ahead, I saw a wide shoulder and eased into it, my tires leaving the smooth blacktop and crunching over gravel. Before the car came to a stop, Lorraine dashed out and bent over. I could hear retching loud and clear and was glad it wasn’t happening in my car.
“Yep,” Mom said as she got out to help Lorraine, “there’s this morning’s eggs and bacon.”
I got out and retrieved a couple bottles of water from the trunk. After twisting the top off of one, I handed it to Lorraine. She took a big swig, swished it in her mouth, and
spat it out on the scraggly roadside weeds. She did that a few times before cautiously sipping and swallowing some of the water. Fifteen minutes later we were back on the road, with Lorraine stretched out on the back seat, one arm thrown over her face.
“The poor kid has had a rough few days,” I said. Checking the GPS, I could see we still had several miles before the turnoff to the address Willie had provided.
“You don’t think she’s pregnant, do you?” Mom said in a whisper.
“I’m not pregnant, Grandma!” came a surprisingly loud but shaky voice from the back.
Mom twisted around in her seat. “No need to get touchy, little lady. It’s just that you have tossed your cookies a few times since you’ve been here. I thought maybe that’s why you and what’s-his-name had a fight.”
In the rearview mirror I could see Lorraine sit up, think better of it, and fall back down. “His name is Elliot, Grandma,” she said, “and you know that. Why do you keep calling Elliot what’s-his-name?”
“Because I don’t like him,” Mom answered honestly. “Never have. But I’ve never called him that to his face, have I?”
“So if we had married, you were going to keep calling him that forever?”
“Not forever,” Mom snapped. “Just for the first ten or so years.”
I kept my eyes on the road but my ears on the conversation, happy to be simply a bystander.
“So,” Mom said, unable to stop poking the green snake in the back seat, “why did you leave what’s-his-name?”
There was a heavy silence, then Lorraine said, “He left me. You happy now, Grandma? You got the truth out of me. Now leave me alone.” In the rearview mirror I saw Lorraine turn her face toward the back. My heart was breaking for her, and had we not been in a moving car, I would have stopped to give her a hug.
Mom, on the other hand, wasn’t through poking the snake. “Why would he leave you, Lorraine? You’re a gem. Him, not so much.”
“Mom,” I warned in a low voice.
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