by M. Z. Kelly
A half hour later, Charlie and I were headed for the parking lot when we ran into Jessica Barlow.
“Oh, shit,” he mumbled when he glanced up and saw her coming our way.
Jessica’s heavily shadowed eyes came up to him when we were about ten yards apart. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here, if you’ll remember,” Charlie said.
Jessica planted herself on the sidewalk directly in front of him. “You haven’t done an honest day’s work in years.”
“Why don’t you let it go?” I said.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Her gaze swung back to Charlie. “Just so you know, I’m going to lodge a complaint and file a lawsuit.”
“For what?”
“Sexual harassment, under pretense of false marital promises.”
Charlie laughed. “If you found a lawyer that will take that case, you’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
Jessica smiled and looked at me. “Actually, I think you might have heard of my lawyer. His name is Mean Gene.”
Not only did I know Mean Gene, he was a partner with the youthful attorney who managed to win our eviction case from the Starwood Mobile Home Park. The lawyer was on all the local TV stations, doing commercials and calling himself “Mean Gene, the Suing Machine”.
“Mean Gene’s just a big blowhard,” I said. “Good luck with your case.”
Jessica ignored what I said, snarling at Charlie, “Before we’re through, we’re going to take half of everything you own.”
Charlie managed to work his way past her, turning back to her as he went. “Give your lawyer a message for me. Tell him, ‘Go to hell.’”
When we were in the car, I asked him if he was worried about what Jessica had said, adding, “She can be very vindictive.”
“I’m the one who oughta be suing her for marital entrapment. The only reason I agreed to marry her was she said she’d pay off my gambling debts.”
He went on for several minutes, disparaging Jessica, Mean Gene, the legal profession, and the institution of marriage. By the time he was finished, he was red in the face and out of breath.
We rode most of the way to Malibu in silence before I remembered what Melissa Irving had said the last time we’d talked to her. “Irving said she was willing to meet with us about job stress. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her about that, and Jessica.”
Charlie glared at me and raised his voice. “The chances of that happening are about the same as me sprouting feathers, flapping my wings, and shitting donuts.”
I put a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. I decided to keep quiet, knowing that if there was anyone in this world who could cause my partner to have another heart attack, it was Jessica Barlow.
Charlie and I met up with Melissa Irving in the parking lot of Susan Callaway’s condo just after one. After meeting Bratton’s sister at her front door and introducing Irving, we met with Laura Bratton on the patio. The day was warm and clear, the harbinger of a perfect beach day, as Bernie settled into a corner and we accepted Callaway’s offer of iced tea.
We spent the first part of our meeting talking about the death of Carmen Todd, since her apparent suicide had been all over the news. We had previously made arrangements for Amy to work with a police sketch artist on a likeness of the woman who took her into the back yard, but it looked nothing like Todd. We’d also shown her a photograph of Carmen Todd, but she’d said it wasn’t the woman she’d seen. Her mother expressed shock and dismay over what happened and still had no explanation for her husband’s involvement with the television lawyer.
Melissa Irving then took over, spending an hour with Bratton, going over her family history, and talking about the death of her stepchildren and husband. It was an emotional session, with Bratton breaking down several times as she talked about feeling like her world had crumbled around her. She said the deaths of her children had left her with panic attacks and insomnia, and the only thing that was keeping her together was her concern for Amy.
Irving was compassionate, telling her about the effects of trauma and saying that, in time, she would begin to move forward again. I was struck by the psychologist’s genuine, caring demeanor and again thought about her offer to counsel Charlie and me. While I knew that my partner wasn’t ready to talk about his feelings, I decided that if the opportunity presented itself again, I might take her up on the offer.
“I’d like to spend a few minutes talking to Amy,” Irving said to Bratton, as the afternoon wore on. “There may be some memories that your daughter has repressed.”
“Repressed. What exactly do you mean?”
“Sometimes when bad things happen, we turn inward and seal ourselves off from our feelings. It’s possible that’s what happened to Amy, and she has memories about the events and people involved. I’d like to spend a few minutes exploring that possibility.”
Bratton took almost a full minute before responding. I wasn’t sure if it was indecision or hesitation because she feared for her daughter’s emotional well-being. She finally said, “I guess it’s okay, but I want to be here while you talk to her.”
“Of course,” Irving said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
After Amy was brought to the patio, Irving spent about twenty minutes trying to make her feel comfortable. Much of that time was spent talking about Amy’s school and her best friend Cecilia, who her mother had promised she could see later in the week. As the session wore on, Irving began to focus in on the events surrounding the death of her family.
“Amy, do you understand what happened to your daddy, Jared, and Carrie?”
The girl brushed the dark hair off her forehead. “They’re gone. Mommy explained they’re in heaven now.”
Irving nodded. “That’s right. I’m going to ask you for a favor. Would that be okay with you?”
“I guess so.”
“I want you to think very hard about what happened the day your family went to heaven. You said before that a woman arrived who took you into the back yard. Can you tell me where you were before that happened?”
“In my bedroom. I was playing with Itsy Bitsy.”
Irving smiled. “Is that a toy?”
Amy nodded. “She’s a Bratz girl.”
“A doll?” After another nod, Irving continued. “Okay, good. Before the woman arrived, did you hear anything outside your room?”
Amy took a moment to respond. “Just some voices.”
“Whose voices did you hear?”
“The woman who took me into the back yard, and a man.”
“Did you recognize the man’s voice?”
She shook her head.
“Were the voices coming from inside the house?”
“No. They were in the back yard.”
“How do you know that?”
“I moved my curtain back and saw them.”
“Could you tell what they were saying?”
Another head shake.
“What about the man, Amy? Did you recognize him?”
“No. I never saw him before.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?”
“Not really. I don’t remember.”
“This is important, Amy. Please take a moment and try to remember anything you can about him, the color of his hair, what he was wearing, anything would be helpful.”
She sniffed, glanced at her mother, then said, “His hair was dark, like his clothes, and...”
When she didn’t go on, Irving asked, “And what else?”
Amy looked at her mother. “He looked kinda like the president.”
Her mother said, “You mean he was a black man?”
Amy shook her head. “The one we saw when we went to the museum.”
Bratton’s eyes brightened as she looked at Irving. “We went to the Reagan Presidential Library in Simi Valley a couple of months ago.” She looked back at her daughter. “Do you mean he looked like Mr. Reagan?”
Amy nodd
ed. “Only when he was younger.”
Irving spent another half hour with Amy, walking her through the events before she was taken into her back yard and put to sleep. She remembered nothing else that seemed worthwhile.
As Charlie and I walked to our car with Bernie, my partner summed up the day’s frustration. “It looks like we just need to put out a statement to the press, telling them that we’re looking for Ronald Reagan’s younger brother.”
TWENTY-ONE
We got back to the station late that afternoon and waited around for Leo and Darby to return from the coroner’s office. When we didn’t hear from them, I texted Leo, who told me that Earl Mumford had gotten a late start on Carmen Todd’s autopsy, and they didn’t expect to get back to Hollywood Station until after six. I told him we’d get with them in the morning, and we called it a day.
On my way home, I decided that I’d put off going by Mom’s long enough. We hadn’t spoken in the last couple weeks, despite efforts to patch things up and move on in our relationship. Mom had a history of emotional instability, and, as Bernie and I walked through the front door, I wondered which mother I would be dealing with. As luck or circumstance would have it, Mom was in a good mood because she was in her spirit room with several friends.
“Kate, come in,” Mom said. “We’re just about to start a séance.”
After saying hello to her friends, including a couple women from Mom’s college days, I made my excuses. “I just stopped by to take a look at my old room. Then I’ve got to run.”
“Your room,” Mom said. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”
I chuckled. “Maybe I’m trying to get in touch with my inner child. I’ll just be a minute.”
After a weak protest, I said my goodbyes and left them to get in touch with the spirit world.
My room was at the end of a hallway. As I made my way toward it, memories of my childhood began to surface. Despite having a sister and brother, I’d spent much of my time alone as a child, maybe because I’d witnessed the murder of my father at such a young age.
I tried to shrug off those childhood feelings as Bernie and I entered my bedroom. I realized I hadn’t been in the room in years, but it was remarkably like I remembered it. There was a double bed against one wall, with a nearby white nightstand and dresser. A full-length mirror in the corner of the room was where I’d spent much of my childhood, watching the years pass as I grew up and engaged in all the typical childhood fantasies.
I took a breath and moved to the window where, either in my dreams or my imagination, I’d seen myself as a child hiding some paperwork behind the casement there. I felt along the window ledge for a couple minutes, not finding any boards that were loose. I then felt along the left edge of the window, where a board moved. It took a couple minutes, but, as Bernie studied my movements, I was able to move the board up, where I found an envelope wedged between it and the interior wall.
I pushed the board back into place, went over and sat on the edge of my bed. I now realized what I’d dreamt or imagined had been real, I really had hidden something in my room more than two decades earlier. My hands trembled as I ran my fingers along the top of the sealed envelope. Was this really a message from my long dead adoptive father, maybe telling me the truth about what happened to him and my biological father?
A tear slipped down my cheek and fell onto the envelope, the emotion of the moment overwhelming me. I carefully opened the envelope and a half sheet of paper fell out. I held onto it, studying the contents and the handwritten numbers for several seconds, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
The piece of paper that had waited over two decades to find me while I searched for the truth about my life had a key taped to it with three numbers: 26-11-19.
TWENTY-TWO
“Is that a mask?” Natalie asked, before reaching over and trying to yank off Nana’s face.
“Owww!” Nana pushed Natalie’s hand away. “No. It’s real. It’s the new me.”
After leaving Mom’s house, I’d felt a migraine surfacing. I’d gone home, and planned to go to bed, but was forced to go next door when Natalie stopped by and said Nana needed our help. I was still trying to come to terms with what I’d found in my childhood bedroom as my friends confronted Nana about her recent makeover.
“What about them boobs and your butt?” Mo asked. “Are they real?”
“I’m genuine Grade A beef,” Nana said, beaming a smile. “It was just a matter of Dr. Theodore redistributing my assets.”
I was still mystified by what I was seeing, again struck by Nana’s resemblance to the actress Natalie had mentioned a couple nights ago. Nana looked like a woman half her age. Even her skin was tight and bronzed.
“How did they get your skin to look like that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Dr. Theodore has a new technique. After surgery, he dips you in something that looks like baby batter, then glazes you with a hot sauce.”
“I still don’t believe what I’m seeing,” Mo said.
Nana lowered her voice. “Even my va-jay-jay is brand new. Boris says it feels like a fur-lined glove.”
Mo grimaced like she was at the scene of an accident, then made a huffing sound. She looked at me and Natalie and said, “I think I might hurl that pizza I had for lunch.”
Natalie also made a face, then looked at me. “Maybe we should go see Dr. T for a tune-up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told her. “You’re about as close to perfection as you can get.”
“Kate needs more than a tune-up,” Nana said. She looked at me. “You’re due for a fifty- thousand-mile overhaul.”
I took exception to what she said, before Mo chimed in. “Maybe I should go in for a little lipo.” She looked at Natalie and me, then regarded her hip. “Do you think I’m gettin’ saddle bags?”
“You don’t got bags,” Natalie assured her before looking at me for confirmation.
Mo also looked at me as I tried to come up with something positive to say. “I think your bags are...” Inspiration struck. “...packed just right.”
“I’ve decided I need a new name to go with my new bod,” Nana said after Mo calmed down. “I’m going to call myself Ha-Na. Get it?”
Nana’s first name was Hannah, but she pronounced the name with soft a’s like Natalie might, using her British accent.
“Maybe with a name like that you should become a rock star,” Natalie suggested. “You could go on tour with J-Bo.”
Nana let out a long breath and sat down on the sofa. “That’s the reason I’m here. I don’t think Boris and me are a match anymore.”
“’Cause you now look like a woman half his age?” Mo asked.
“I think it’s more than that. Boris has some old-school ideas. He thinks a woman should stay home, cook and clean.”
“What a bunch of rubbish,” Natalie said. “Women are made to go out in the world and make it a better place.”
“There’s a reason God invented chefs and domestic help,” Mo agreed. “So that women could try to fix the mess men have created in the world.”
“What you gonna do ‘bout Boris?” Natalie asked Nana.
“He’s going to the curb. I just have to find a way to do it gently, since we’re technically sharing the same space.” She looked at me. “That’s where you come in.”
“My mobile home isn’t big enough for Boris,” I said. “And I’m not living with a ghoul.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.” Nana’s collagen filled lips turned up. “I think there’s someone who you know that would be a good match for Boris.”
I glanced over, seeing a panicked expression on Mo’s face as she said to Nana, “Just ‘cause Larry and me are history, it doesn’t mean I’m gonna date a monster. I seen better meat than Boris in a butcher shop.”
Nana shook her head. “I’m not talking about you.” She looked at me. “I’ve got one of Kate’s friends in mind.”
I thought about my friends, who were all at least a
couple decades younger than Boris. “Who are you talking about?”
“That woman your partner almost married.”
“Jessica Barlow?”
Nana nodded. “That’s the one. Boris likes a woman with lots of makeup, and she looks like she fell into a cosmetic tray at Macy’s.”
Natalie and Mo burst out laughing. When they finally recovered, Natalie said, “Maybe this would work.” She looked at me. “And, it could be the ultimate payback.”
“Why don’t you set ‘em up?” Mo said to me. “You could even use Charlie as a go between.”
I remembered Jessica’s ugly confrontation earlier in the day. “I don’t think that would work.” I looked at Nana. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m hosting a high tea this weekend and I thought you could bring Jessica with you. I know she’s someone who likes to be seen in certain social circles. There will be lots of wealthy, prominent people in attendance.”
I had no idea how I would even begin to broach the subject with her. Despite that, I was in no mood to argue with her. I shrugged and said, “I’ll mention it to her and let you know.”
Nana rose. “Good enough. I’ve got to go home and put on my night cream. Dr. Theodore told me unless I keep moisturized, I could begin to revert to my former state.”
When she was out the door, Mo said, “I hope Ha-Na’s got herself a bathtub full of moisturizer.”
“Betcha the old Nana is in there somewhere, just waiting to bust through her new skin,” Natalie agreed.
When I didn’t join in the conversation, Mo came over to me. “What gives? You still down ‘bout thinking Harlan Ryland could be your daddy?”
I slumped down on the sofa, but didn’t respond.
Mo looked at Natalie. “Maybe it’s that Bratton case.” She looked at me. “We heard that Todd woman offed herself after she took care of the family. Is that what’s got you down?”
I shook my head. “I went by Mom’s place tonight and found this behind the wall in my bedroom.”
I handed over the envelope. Natalie came over and examined the contents with Mo. “That’s it?” she said. “There was nuthin’ else inside but the key and those numbers?”