A Dead Husband (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery)

by Anna Burke

  “Change, how?” Jessica asked hoping to keep him talking. Jeff’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Jessica as if trying to decide how much more to say.

  “Well I don’t know for sure. More like friends. It’s not like they were hanging all over each other or anything like that, but it sure seemed like something was going on between them.” He stopped again, putting down the knife he had been using to cut up limes. Jeff scooped up the lime wedges and put them in a bowl on the bar.

  “Who did you say you are again?” Jessica wasn’t sure exactly what to say but decided to stick to the truth.

  “Jessica Huntington-Harper. I’m a lawyer and a friend of Roger’s wife. She asked me to check up on who he’s been seeing lately. Meeting with MT was on his calendar for Thursday. Late Friday or early Saturday he was killed.” Jeff flinched, visibly disturbed.

  “No shit? He’s dead? Are you saying murdered?” Jessica nodded in confirmation and the barkeep continued. “So what happened to your face? Somebody try to kill you too?”

  Jessica thought about telling the truth but a little white lie seemed more convenient. “Accident a couple days ago. Nobody’s trying to kill me.” At least that last part was true, as far as she knew. Jeff didn’t seem convinced.

  “I don’t know what I’m talking about, really. Your friend’s husband wasn’t the main guy in Margarit Tilik’s life. Barbara Boehner at the spa can tell you more. You should go talk to her.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he mumbled “murdered.”

  Jessica was about to head on over to the spa when Jeff stopped her. “You might stick around and talk to the lady herself. Like I said she’s been in town all week and usually comes in for lunch about this time. She has a regular routine when she’s in town. The woman complains about it all the time: workout, spa treatments, lunch, visits the shops, and then heads back to her casita. Cry me a river.”

  My kind of woman, Jessica thought, maybe Roger’s too. That thought made her feel a little queasy. She didn’t relish having to tell Laura that Roger was seeing another woman before he was killed. Talking to the Tilik woman might clear things up before she jumped to a conclusion that would cause her friend more pain.

  “Okay, that’s a good idea” she said.

  “Have a drink, on me,” Jeff said. “What’ll it be?” Something to drink sounded like a good idea. It was so easy to become dehydrated in the desert heat. The high nineties and low humidity made getting from the air conditioning in her car to the air conditioning in the restaurant a mini-sauna experience.

  “Iced tea, please, the biggest one you’ve got. Ice water too, but I’m paying. You’ve helped me out enough already.” Jessica pulled out a couple twenties and placed them on the bar.

  She picked up the large glass of iced tea and the equally large glass of water and moved to a table with a view of the door. “Thanks again, Jeff.”

  “Thanks back at you!” he said. Picking up the twenties, he folded them and stuck them in his shirt pocket. He seemed to be feeling much better about talking to Jessica. Money may not buy happiness but it can sure brighten your day. Jessica sat down, getting comfortable as she began working her way through the reports.

  That had been maybe twenty minutes ago. And, here she was, an exotic looking beauty, tall and lithe with a flawless olive complexion. Her dark hair was long and hung down her back in a precision cut. Her taste in resort wear was similar to Jessica’s, but much more revealing. The sort of clothes worn by a woman who expected to be noticed. Jessica found herself admiring the white capris she wore which looked like they had been poured onto her body and the bright purple tank in a clingy knit fabric that added a glow to the skin on her face, shoulders and arms. The tank was cut low in front and the back was a lattice work of fabric that covered little. She wore a chunky necklace and matching bracelet made of a smoky crystal of some kind, and tall stiletto sandals that made Jessica feel dizzy just looking at them.

  Jessica wondered if she had bought the outfit at one of the shops here at the resort. A pleasant sense of anticipation rippled through her. It quickly morphed into urgency.

  “Down girl,” she said to the part of her that wanted to bolt for the door. She wanted to run away from this whole sordid scene and search for solace in the pursuit of overpriced, designer-labeled goods. This felt more like stalking than any sort of investigation. How did people do this for a living? Of course, a bit of investigating on her part might have saved her the humiliation of finding her own husband in the most compromising situation possible.

  As Jessica watched, Margarit put her expensive sunglasses on top of her head. She took a little mirrored compact from a clutch purse and checked her makeup. It must not have been a good session at the spa because she did not look happy or relaxed. Her makeup was flawless, as the mirror revealed, but there was grimness in the set of her jaw. Her mouth turned down at the corners and her hand trembled ever so slightly as she closed the compact and put it back in her purse. She glanced for a moment in Jessica’s direction, looking right through her. In her eyes was a fleeting play of emotions that Jessica tried to read. Maybe a spark of anger that could explain the set of her jaw, but that gave way to fear or dread.

  “Another woman in trouble,” Jessica thought. She had seen that panoply of emotions in her own eyes on many occasions in the last few months. In Laura’s eyes, too, during the past couple days.

  Jessica stashed the reports she had been reading in her oversized Marc Jacobs bag. She waited Margarit to place her order, something she did without looking at the menu. A waiter had already arrived with a glass of water and a champagne flute filled with some sparkling beverage, a raspberry at the bottom. Margarit took a sip of the drink, her hands a bit more steady after that.

  It was now or never. Picking up her nearly empty glass of tea, Jessica approached Margarit with a casual smile on her face. She hoped at this distance that her sunglasses and makeup were working better than they had up close with the barkeep.

  “Margarit, do you have a moment?” Jessica asked quietly. Apparently lost in thought, the question startled Margarit. She put her glass down abruptly, nearly spilling it in the process.

  “Do I know you? Are you with the resort?” she asked, suspicion in her accented voice. Not waiting for an invitation, Jessica sat down at the table next to Margarit. She slid the picture of Roger toward her.

  “My name is Jessica Huntington-Harper and I’m looking into the recent death of this man, Roger Stone. I understand you were seeing him.” Margarit uttered the smallest of gasps, then looked side to side before answering.

  “I wasn’t seeing heem,” she snapped. “He was my driver for the past couple months. My fiancé hired heem.” She took another sip from her drink. That tremble was back in her hands as she used both of them to grip the stem of the glass. She stared at the glass, not putting it down, before glancing sideways at Jessica.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  Lying for the second time that day, Jessica said, blithely, “I had an accident. It’s too long a story to tell right now. When did you last uh see, I mean, when did Roger last drive for you?”

  “I’ve had an accident or two like that myself,” she said. “You should go see Barb at the spa. She can work wonders.”

  “Sure, thanks,” Jessica responded hastily. “What about Roger? When did you last see him?”

  “He drove for me several days last week. Monday to Wednesday, I theenk, maybe Thursday too. I usually have a driver on call while I’m in town. My fiancé doesn’t like it when I get lost. I don’t like dodging all the lost toureests who do stupid things on the road, so I have a driver. You said he died. How did he die, and when?” Her voice betrayed an attempt to ask in a matter-of-fact way. Jessica was kind of relieved that she asked. She didn’t want to think of this woman as a murderer, but she hadn’t acted all that surprised when Jessica told her Roger was dead.

  “He was murdered sometime this weekend,” Jessica said, watching Margarit intently. That got a definite reaction
. A sick, terrified look removed the last vestiges of complacency from her face. Margarit looked up and was about to speak again when she froze. Following her gaze Jessica saw two men chatting with the seating hostess. One was an older man, maybe in his fifties with a craggy face and graying hair. Of medium build, he was well-dressed in an expensive suit that was out of place at a resort and way too hot for the desert in June. His companion was a bigger fellow, with dark hair and that discretely furtive demeanor of private security. Also dressed in a suit that was less expensive, but just as out of place. After pausing for a moment to say hello to Jeff, the older man headed toward them, his partner a few paces behind him.

  “My fiancé,” Margarit said under her breath. “I’m going to have to say goodbye for now. Do you have a card so I can call you?”

  Of course not, Jessica thought, that would be way too professional. “Uh, no, but here’s my name and number if you want to reach me later,” she replied, slipping Margarit a cocktail napkin on which she had quickly written both after diving into her purse for a pen. Margarit wadded the napkin up into a ball in the palm of her hand then stuffed it into her purse. When she returned her hand to the table it contained a small black pack of cigarettes or cigars. She tapped the pack a couple times on the table before pulling one of the long thin black smokes out of the pack. A faint odor of clove issued from the unlit cigarette, making Jessica’s skin prickle. The odor and the sensation passed as quickly as they had come. Too fast for Jessica to fully process her reaction, under the circumstances.

  “Hello, dahleenk,” she said, the accent in her voice a little more pronounced. She held out her hand, which the older man grasped. He bent and kissed it lightly. No tremble in her hand now at all. She was remarkably more composed than she had been moments before.

  “Who’s your friend?” He looked at Jessica, giving her the once over, head to toe. He obviously did not mind what he saw, smiling pleasantly, until he took a second look at her face.

  “This is Jessica, dear. She’s had some work done. We met at the spa and she walked over with me for a cold drink. I asked her to stay and join us for lunch but she has other plans. I was getting ready to walk out with her and have a smoke since my lunch hasn’t arrived. Jessica, this is my fiancé Alan.” Turning to Jessica, she put the smoke back in the pack before speaking. “I hope I run into you again, Jessica, when you have more time.”

  Jessica knew this was her cue to take a bow. “Had some work done,” what a cover story. That could explain away all sorts of facial contusions and bruises. Playing right along, Jessica reached out and shook hands with the fiancé.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alan. I am so sorry I don’t have time to stay for lunch. Perhaps next week, Margarit. I’ll be here again on Monday and I’ll have the whole afternoon free.”

  “I’m not sure about my schedule next week, but perhaps. Ciao, Jessica.”

  “Bye for now,” Jessica said with a casual wave of her hand. Jeff the bartender was watching, obviously curious about what was going on. As she passed, Jessica gave him a little reassuring wink.

  “See you, Jeff.”

  “Later, Jessica,” he said moving to take an order from a waiter who had come up to the bar.

  Jessica wasn’t sure what to do next. She was amazed at how cool and collected Margarit had acted after her initial near-panic at the sight of her betrothed. It was probably not a good idea to be seen wandering around in the shops after claiming to have another appointment. She wanted to speak to Barbara Boehner at the spa and supposed that her imaginary appointment could have been another spa treatment. It wouldn’t be outlandish if they spotted her coming out of the spa later. And she should schedule something for next Monday, too, just in case the fiancé got curious and decided to check up on her a bit. Jessica had parked on the street near the spa earlier so all of this made sense. By the time she walked the couple hundred yards from the restaurant to the spa she was ready for a spa treatment, more water, and a bathroom.

  Barb Boehner was an esthetician with the spa. One of the blessings of the post-tourist season desert heat was that she had an opening for a walk-in. Jessica would have to wait about 20 minutes, but she could handle that. Sequestered in the inner sanctum of the spa, Jessica reclined, clad in a spa robe and slippers, her feet up on a plush ottoman. She sipped ice water laced with cucumbers and mint while ambient lighting and soft music soothed her body and soul. Maybe this sleuthing stuff wasn’t so bad after all.

  “Ms. Huntington-Harper, Jessica Huntington-Harper, ready for your facial?” The soft voice calling her name seemed to come from a distance.

  “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep. I’m ready.” The cup she had been drinking from was on its side in her lap. Good thing it was empty. She stood and winced as she got reacquainted with the parts of her body that were still sore from her tango with the thug wearing Laura’s pantyhose on his head.

  “Oh, ick, ick, ick,” she thought, more put out by that recollection than the pain.

  “I’m Barb Boehner. You’re here for a facial?”

  “Yes. I had, um, an accident yesterday. My face is a wreck. Margarit Tilik swears you can help.” Barb stood there sizing her up for a few seconds.

  “Follow me.”

  Jessica trailed after her to one of the treatment rooms. Normally, Barb would have left the room while Jessica disrobed and positioned herself on a massage table under a sheet.

  “Let’s take a look first, okay? Then decide what we can do.”

  Jessica stood there as Barb scrutinized her face, gently touching her around the eyes and on her cheek.

  “Have you had anyone look at that to make sure your eye’s alright?”

  Jessica nodded, yes.

  “What have you been doing to take care of this?”

  “Frozen peas,” Jessica replied, instantly. “And the EMTs gave me one of those gel ice packs that you put in the freezer. I used that right after the accident and last night when I got home.”

  “Well, they should have told you to repeat that every hour on the hour for a day or so. I’ve seen worse after this sort of accident.” The word accident was spoken in a sad, sorrowful tone.

  “Are you trying to heal this or hide it?” She asked rather abruptly.

  “Both, I guess,” Jessica replied, almost sheepishly.

  “We’ll start with an icepack of sorts, tea tree oil to sooth the areas around your eyes and I’ll work a little of my magic on the rest of your face. How about your neck and shoulders, are they sore too?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a couple good bruises and a knot on my head.” Barb Boehner, esthetician par excellence, looked as though she might start clucking like a mother hen any second now.

  “Okay we’ll go easy on the massage part of your facial. After the facial I’ll do your makeup. I’ve got a product used to cover scars that will really help. You get comfortable and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Barb patted Jessica on the arm, scooting out the door, shutting it behind her. Jessica had a better idea about how shameful it must feel to be hiding signs of domestic abuse. She also felt bad letting this woman believe that’s what had happened to her. It was worth it to learn more about Margarit and her “accidents,” courtesy of Alan or one of his beefy companions, no doubt.

  CHAPTER 19

  The facial was splendid. A carefully administered head, neck and shoulder massage loosened muscles tightened by wrestling with the intruder at Laura’s house. Jessica left the resort feeling refreshed and looking a whole lot better. Barb-the-wonder-woman esthetician had made good on the promise to cover up much of the damage.

  Jessica bought all the makeup Barb used and took it home, hoping she could do a creditable job on her own. She had that lunch scheduled for the next day with Paul and wanted to look as good as she could under the circumstances. Why looking good mattered so much wasn’t clear. Perhaps a matter of pride, even defiance, given the shambles her life was in at the moment.

  In addition to a rejuvenated and patch
ed up face, Jessica obtained some valuable information about Margarit and Alan. Barb had assumed Jessica and Margarit were friends and Jessica allowed that assumption to stand. Barb had indeed provided similar facial restoration assistance to Margarit after a run-in or two with her sugar-daddy.

  Alan was the jealous type. Hired hands were used as drivers to keep an eye on Margarit. They were gone the moment Alan got it into his head that Margarit was flirting, or otherwise becoming too comfy, with the help. According to Margarit, she didn’t always get the worst of it. Alan was an equal opportunity brute, in person, or by proxy. He’d routinely sic one hireling on another when it came to doling out consequences for coveting thy neighbor’s wife, or fiancé, in this case. More than one of her previous drivers had been beaten even when Margarit swore there was nothing going on between her and the target of Alan’s savagery.

  Jessica wondered out loud what sort of guy would hire men to guard his wife-to-be and then pay someone else to beat them up on a routine basis.

  In a hushed tone Barb had said, “Somebody who’s connected, if you know what I mean?”

  “Connected, as in the Godfather connected?” Jessica asked. “I thought our local wise guys were geriatric ex-mob members who had figured out how to get the ‘firm’ to let them retire.”

  “Well he’s not mafia, but Russian or Armenian mob or something like that. Margarit didn’t say exactly. She’s an interpreter and courier for Alan and his business partners on a lot of sensitive matters. What I think is weird is that he’s crazy jealous, but then likes her to let it all hang out when he drags her around as ‘arm candy’. You’d think a guy that jealous wouldn’t want her to dress in a way that invites men to gawk. Margarit says she’s careful to wear less revealing clothing and dark sunglasses when she’s working. She doesn’t even want to make eye contact that could be misinterpreted by Alan, or the other guy, when she’s translating or running errands. Hasn’t she told you all of this already?”