A Dead Husband (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery)

by Anna Burke

  “Sit back and relax, Jessica. We’re not going far, just to Santa Rosa Cove. It weel only take a couple minutes. Your friend weel be glad to see you. She’s the nervous type. Now, how about that SD card, you want to geeve it to me and we get this over with, yes?” Margarit took a big slug of something she had in a slim silver flask. It was then Jessica realized Margarit absolutely reeked of alcohol.

  “Yes, I want to get this over with. No, I won’t give you the SD card until I see that my friend is well and you let her go.”

  Margarit tapped her foot a little as Jessica had seen her do before. She was getting irritated but didn’t yet seem ready to snap. Jessica instinctively ran her finger through her hair tucked behind her ear and felt for the head of the hat pin that was hidden in her headband. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it but was grateful that it was there, especially since the self-defense scenarios she had run through in her mind before were all set in various parts of the spa. Not a good sign that Margarit had changed venues on them.

  “Suit yourself. What’s to stop me from just taking it from you?” She looked at Jessica with that predatory gleam in her eyes, dulled a little by a veil of inebriation. Drinking would certainly impact Margarit’s judgment and might make her behave more impulsively. Jessica hoped she wasn’t using the booze to deaden the last tatters of a conscience the woman might possess.

  “Because you don’t want to wrestle me in that gorgeous Donna Karan silk pant suit you have on. And, you don’t have to do that as long as you keep the deal you made. You let my friend go and I give you the SD card. I believed you when you said you’re not in this to hurt anyone and you just want to get away from Alan.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Like I said, I’m not the kind who enjoys keelling. But don’t keep me waiting. I can’t afford to change my iternerary, um my iteenerary.” She let out a little giggle, stumbling over the word itinerary. She was sloppy drunk or close to it.

  The driver had pulled through the gates of Santa Rosa Cove, next door to the resort. Moments later he was turning into the driveway of one of the stucco and tile bungalows built in the 80s and 90s. They could probably have walked to the place from the resort in the about the same time that it took to drive there. A garage door rose in front of them and the Mercedes pulled into a spacious, well-lit garage. As the car came to a stop, Jessica bolted from the car like a coiled spring. She didn’t wait for any further instructions from Margarit, who was getting out on the opposite side of the car. She reached the door that led from the garage into the house before Margarit or the driver. Jessica’s heart lurched as she recognized the driver. The goon in Bruno Maglis stood before her, having stepped out of the driver’s seat. He still had a small nick on his forehead where her high heel had hit him a couple days before. He lunged toward Jessica then drew up short as if hit by a bolt of lightning. Seeing he was in pain, Margarit let out a vicious cackle.

  “Let her go, Aiden. She’s eager to see her friend. Where’s she going to go with such a sleepy friend on her hands? Besides, you’re not in the best shape to tangle with Jessica after her cleaning lady shot you in the ass are you?” The nasty, guttural laugh that Jessica had heard over the phone issued from Margarit again.

  “Fix ush all a drink, Aiden. You have one too. You weel feel better where it hurts.” She was still chortling as Jessica let herself into the house. Jessica was sorely tempted to lock the door from the inside but figured that would only aggravate Margarit and Aiden. One or both of them probably had a key. Or they could shoot the damn lock off. It had not escaped Jessica’s notice that when Aiden lunged at her, his jacket fell open, exposing a gun in a shoulder holster. It sounded like Sara was in no shape to make a quick exit.

  “Sara, it’s Jessica. Sara, I’m here. Where are you?” Jessica heard a muffled response from somewhere in the house. She moved quickly in the direction of the sound and found Sara in a back bedroom, struggling to sit up. Jessica helped her into a sitting position, placing pillows behind her to prop her up. Sara struggled to speak. Her mouth was dry and she was having difficulty focusing her eyes.

  “Jessica, is it really you?” she asked, her head wobbling a little as she tried to maintain her focus. She smiled wanly, and closed her eyes, leaning back against the pillows and the upholstered headboard. “I don’t feel so good.”

  With that, Sara sort of slid sideways and dry-heaved off the side of the bed. Jessica caught her, growing angrier by the second. She shifted Sara back onto the pillow.

  “What have you done to her, Margarit? I promise if you’ve hurt her you’ll never get that SD card. She needs water, now.” Jessica was shouting and there was no need to do that. Margarit was standing in the doorway holding a tray with two drinks on it. Playing the part of the hostess from hell did not make Jessica less angry. Her fury mounting, she dashed into the bathroom that was part of the en suite in which Sara was being held. She filled a glass she found, in a tray on the sink, using water from the tap. She also dampened a wash cloth, wringing it out before returning to Sara’s bedside.

  “There’s nuffing wrong weeth your friend that food and sleep won’t feex. I tol’ you she is the nervous type so we helped her relax a leetle.” Margarit was downing one of the drinks, holding the tray in one hand.

  Sara took a few sips of water. Jessica wiped Sara’s face with a damp cloth. Despite what Margarit said, Sara did not look well. They needed to get out of there and get Sara to a hospital.

  “If we don’t get our beezinus done Alan might make her feel a whole lot worse. He wants that card back. So do I, now! Where eez it?” She stomped her foot, and that was enough to make the tray wobble, sending the other drink on the tray tumbling to the floor. The glass broke into pieces and the smell of gin filled the room. Aiden was at the door to the bedroom in an instant.

  “What’s going on? She giving you trouble?” Aiden had bounded into the room with his gun drawn. As he entered the room, he bumped into Margarit who was not only drunk, but wearing ridiculously high heels. She lost her balance. Margarit tried to recover, hit the spot on the floor where the booze had spilled and slid. Reaching for Aiden, she pulled him off balance. The gun wavered and then fell to the floor, skidding on the tile around the foot of the bed. Aiden struggled to free himself from the drunken albatross. Like a drowning woman, she was flailing about, making it impossible for him to free himself or retrieve the gun. He hit the ground, his hand landing on a large nasty looking shard of glass. He yowled in pain. For whatever reason, that riled Margarit, who was on her knees facing him. She smiled that cruel little smile of hers and then slapped him.

  “You eedeeot. What are you doing screaming like that? There’s notheeng wrong weef you. Shut the fuck up or I tell Alan what you been doing and he keell you for sure.”

  Blood was pouring from a gash in the palm of his hand where the glass shard had pierced it clean through. Jessica tried not to take satisfaction knowing all too well how much a cut like that could hurt after that recent incident in the parking lot. He did not say anything but punched Margarit, hard. So hard, she fell and hit her head on the corner of the end table nearby. Her eyes opened wide in stunned surprise before she crumpled into a heap on the floor. Still on his knees in a mix of alcohol and blood, Aiden scrambled for the gun.

  Jessica wasn’t sure what she would do with the gun, but she wasn’t going to let that asshole get to it. She was pissed off enough to shoot him, and Margarit, if she moved a muscle. Aiden was as angry as she was. When he reached for the gun, Jessica launched the glass of water from the bedside table next to Sara. The glass clocked Aiden on the side of his head, a glancing blow that sent him sprawling. He did a sort of belly flop as he lost his balance and the one arm supporting him slid out from under him. Jessica grabbed the gun and pointed it at him.

  “Move again and I will shoot you. The pants to your suit are ruined but you might be able to save the jacket if I don’t put a couple bullet holes in it.” That would be a shame if it was an Armani.

  “Now that wouldn�
��t be a nice thing to do at all Ms. Huntington-Harper.” Jessica turned slightly, still aiming the gun at Aiden. Alan Bedrossian stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. He was accompanied by a couple of his security guys in suits similar to the one she had just threatened to ruin. They both had guns drawn, one pointed directly at Sara, the other at Jessica. She looked over at Sara, thankful that she had passed out again. Jessica had no idea what to do.

  Sensing her panic, Alan Bedrossian spoke in a soothing tone, “Why don’t you hand that gun to me. I’m not sure how good a shot you are but my guys don’t miss.” Jessica was still trying to decide what to do when, reacting to the slightest nod from Bedrossian, one of his men took a step toward her. In a blur he snatched the gun from Jessica then used it to pistol whip Aiden, who had struggled back onto his knees and was making a move to get the pistol from Jessica.

  She had no idea if Aiden was playing the hero in front of his boss, or if he had something more sinister in mind. Stupid and sinister if he imagined he could get the jump on Alan and his men. The pistol had been used with brutal efficiency. A part of Aiden’s skull was crushed and blood was pouring from the wound. Jessica was spellbound by the gruesome sight. She looked up at the man who had delivered the blow. He had returned to Alan Bedrossian’s side, looking as though nothing had happened. Splatters of blood on his suit said otherwise. There wasn’t a gun anywhere to be seen. Crisis over, problem solved. Now what? One misstep and they’d dispatch her as deftly as they had Aiden, who was lying in a pool of his own blood.

  “Now how about you give me that SD card Ms. Huntington-Harper? I had my doubts about you, but Margarit assured me you knew where it was and that you’d bring it to her. The stupid bitch thought I believed she was going to give it back to me. Not for one minute did I take her at her word after she stole from me. Her boyfriend, Aiden, did us all a favor by shutting her up, don’t you agree?”

  Jessica, who was standing on the other side of the bed, was pretty sure she and Sara were done for as soon as Bedrossian had that card back. Where was Peter March? He must have heard Margarit tell her they were going to Santa Rosa Cove. Also hidden in her headband along with the hat pin was a tiny device that he could use to monitor her interactions to make sure she was okay. It would have taken them a few minutes to regroup and make their way to the Cove after them. Even if they had to negotiate a way in through the gates with Detective Hernandez and other police officers in their party that should have happened quickly. Surely they were outside waiting for the cue that she was not okay and that it was time to act. Just then Sara moaned and all eyes shifted in her direction.

  “Let me check on my friend, please. Then I’ll give you what you want.” With that Jessica moved along the side of the bed toward Sara. As she did so she nudged her bag that contained the SD card under the bed. Giving up that card was the last thing she intended to do. Jessica leaned over and placed a wet cloth on Sara’s brow. She sat down on the bed beside her, murmuring as she leaned over close to Sara, speaking almost in a whisper.

  “It’s okay, Sara, I’m here. They’ve put the guns away. It’s okay, it’s not okay.” That was the signal for Peter March, which they had agreed would get instant action. She had no sooner uttered those words when she heard a couple shots, then crashing sounds at the front door. Bedrossian must have had more men at the front of the house. One of the two henchmen in the room turned, heading down the hall back toward the upheaval. The other reached for the gun in his pocket.

  Jessica wrapped her arms around Sara and rolled with her off the bed. They both landed soundly on the floor beside the bed. Jessica thought she heard something crack in her wrist as she landed awkwardly on the ground with Sara’s weight added to her own. She stifled a cry of pain. Sara’s eyes fluttered open for a moment and she moaned again. Before Jessica could do anything else she heard commotion on both sides of the room.

  “So you theenk I’m a stupid beetch, Alan. Not so stupid as you think.” Gunfire exploded around them. More crashing sounds were followed by a hail of glass as someone bounded into the room through the sliders. At the same time, others burst through the doorway into the bedroom. Jessica managed to roll Sara over and shoved her as close to the underside of the bed as she could. During the melee she saw Margarit land hard on the ground on the opposite side of the bed, a bullet hole in her wrinkle-free brow. “What a waste,” Jessica thought in that instant, “all that Botox down the drain.”

  The next thing Jessica knew, someone was grabbing at her shoulders. Adrenalin pumping, Jessica’s elbow flew back as she lurched, trying to free herself. He let go. In an instant she reached up and pulled the hat pin from her headband, rolled onto her back prepared to kick and stab the s.o.b. in the same instant. A fresh wave of pain from her damaged wrist stopped her in her tracks for an instant. Sitting back on his haunches, still within kicking range, was Peter March.

  He seemed poised to move if he needed to, but put his open hands were up in the air, “Jessica, it’s okay. It’s me, it’s over. You’re safe. The EMTs are on their way to take care of you and your friend.”

  Standing behind him was Detective Hernandez and a couple guys wearing what looked like SWAT team gear, still hanging on to guns that looked about the size of her Porsche. Jessica was hyperventilating and fighting to regain control before she blacked out. Too late.

  EPILOGUE

  Her arm in a sling, Jessica sat on the back patio, alone, basking in the late afternoon heat. Her wrist was badly sprained but not broken. In time, her wrist would be as good as new. She wasn’t sure about the rest of her. Jessica’s already damaged sense of security had been dealt another blow. Several of them, in fact. In less than a week, she had seen things that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  Vile pictures intruded upon her, waking or sleeping, worse even than the recurring image of Jim in their bed with the silicone-breasted blond bouncing on top of him. Jessica now had a veritable photo album of revolting snapshots in her head. If she sat long enough in the incendiary desert heat perhaps it would burn them from her brain.

  Jessica fought against the intrusive images. She practiced her breathing, used thought-stopping, and all the other tools she had accumulated to manage rumination and worry. No way was she going to let recent events leave her floundering in a sea of panic. She took heart from the fact that when confronted with real rather than imagined calamities she had actually done quite well. Perhaps then, in time, her mind, like her wrist, would heal.

  The ‘cat pack’ had been there late the night before, wound up for hours after Detective Hernandez filled them in on what the police knew, or thought they knew about Roger’s murder. They were piecing things together from a variety of sources, but much of their information was coming from the one surviving member of Bedrossian’s team with him at the condo on Thursday. Serj Dorian had been taken alive as he fled down the hall from the bedroom when all hell broke loose, right into the waiting arms of the police. He was being very cooperative, to say the least. They were still trying to discern how much of what Serj had to say was based on what he knew rather than what he surmised, guessed or made up.

  Margarit was dead. She was felled by a single shot to the head from one of the police sharp-shooters that had made his way into the backyard of her condo, and then burst into the room where Sara was being held. She had been killed, but not before putting a couple bullets into Alan Bedrossian from a .38 stashed in a pocket of the exquisite silk jacket she wore. Apparently, the hit on the head she suffered when she fell, after Aiden punched her, had knocked her out, but not killed her. No one knew for certain when she had come to, but she obviously heard Bedrossian’s premature eulogy and had not taken kindly to his characterization of her as a stupid bitch.

  Bedrossian was still alive but it wasn’t clear yet if he was going to make it. If he did live, he wasn’t ever going to be the same. Margarit had shot him at close range in the face. One of the bullets had made a permanent mess of his jaw but would have left him otherwise unharmed.
It was the second bullet that tore a jagged path through his brain, giving him such an uncertain future. The thug who had so dispassionately ended Aiden’s life, right before Jessica’s eyes, had also been downed by a police bullet moments after Margarit was shot. He had drawn his gun, but never had a chance to fire.

  According to Serj, the last man standing after the showdown at Santa Rosa Cove, Margarit was behind much of the murder and mayhem. She had stolen files from Alan Bedrossian’s computer—sensitive material for sure. In her ignorance and haste she had, indeed, not only copied, but moved some key files from the computer in his office in Los Angeles to that little SD card. Among the missing files was account information, along with user I.D.s and passcodes Bedrossian needed in order to access money stashed offshore. Some of the money in those accounts belonged to “clients” that were every bit as ruthless as Alan Bedrossian. He had just changed all the passcodes and that information had not yet been backed up by the automated system he used.

  It wasn’t just the money, though. Some of the encrypted files contained information about clients and schemes including money laundering, arms dealing, trafficking in humans and drugs, as well as other criminal ventures. The partners revealed by the information in those files would not have forgiven such a breach if they had caught wind of it. He had to get that card back and end the potential for any further leaks.

  Authorities in a number of jurisdictions were having a field day with the information found on that little SD card. They expected to find much more once they went through materials obtained from a raid of Bedrossian’s home and office Friday morning. one week after Roger’s murder.