by Anna Burke
There was also the little matter of a gentleman by the name of Paul Worthington. Despite her best efforts to stay away from men in the wake of Jim’s betrayal, there were two intriguing men in her life at the moment. Paul Worthington, a cool blue-eyed blond on the verge of middle age was, in some ways, Jim all grown up, but in a good way. Born to money, he was mature and intelligent. His good traits were many, a stand-up guy, unspoiled by the wealth and power he commanded as a senior associate with a Vault 100 law firm.
So handsome, too. The fragrance of bergamot and amber hung about him. That scent, Jessica had discovered, was some Casswell-Massey product he always wore. Not cologne, but shampoo, soap or gel or something like that. A light citrusy fragrance with an undercurrent of something richer, “like lemon meringue pie,” Jessica muttered as she slid toward sleep. Frank Fontana was a different story, “warm apple pie or maybe tiramisu.” Jessica giggled at the thought of characterizing the two men as delectable desserts. “I’d better see about getting those meds cut back!” That was her last thought before she drifted off for a nap until Nurse Andrews brought her dinner. Dessert stood at the foot of the bed with his blue eyes sparkling.
7 Lemon Meringue Pie
Jessica struggled to focus and drive ideas about men as desserts out of her mind. What to do about their relationship was troublesome enough when it came to Paul Worthington. Drooling over him as he sat there would not be helpful. Money issues were not a problem since Paul could hold his own with her on that front. No one would mock him for taking up with a wealthy woman as some of Frank’s buddies did. She and Paul had a lot more in common than their wealth. Not just the law. They shared a love of theater and cinema; in particular, film noir classics. There was also their love of opera, art, architecture, and travel, too. They both enjoyed many of the good things that money could buy, and with none of the awkwardness or embarrassment she sometimes felt around Frank. Not that Paul shared her spendthrift tendencies—he did not enjoy shopping, as she and her ex had done, and as Jessica continued to do, despite vows to stop.
Paul Worthington was kind, generous, and full of surprises. The dashing lawyer could dance. Jessica loved to dance, and early in their marriage, had forced Jim to go dancing with her. Paul did not need to be forced into anything. Light on his feet and great in the clinches, he could keep up with her at the foxtrot, waltz, samba and tango. Like Jessica, he had taken dance year after year, along with etiquette classes. Unlike many males in that situation, Paul had loved it. As Jessica soon learned, in dance, the sometimes reticent man gave himself over to the moment.
Those moments enthralled Jessica. Like that first night, dancing under the stars at the celebration for Hank, she found herself swept up in an exhilaration she had not experienced while dancing with Jim, or anyone else. There was more to Paul than met the eye, although that was plenty. As he gazed at her, his blue eyes filled with concern, she tried not to think about lemon meringue pie, or those moments spent in his arms. The two of them pressed together, moving in sync to the rhythms of whatever music was playing. Two things kept her from abandoning herself to those moments—the slashes of betrayal left by James Harper, and the fact that Paul Worthington was her boss. She also felt a little guilty about Frank.
“Hey, sleepy-head,” Paul said as she shook off the remnants of her nap. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, considering I fell off a mountain,” she said, still trying to make herself believe it. Jessica struggled to put up as much of a professional front as she could from a hospital bed, despite wearing bandages and a cast.
“You are so lucky to be alive, Jessica. Not just the fall, but that Libby had a gun. It sounds like she finally went off the deep end if you’ll pardon the expression under the circumstances. Her parents have been telling her for years she would eventually get herself into trouble they couldn’t help her fix. From what I’ve heard, this just might be it.”
“Not just Libby, Paul. Her charming shrink had a gun too. I can see how Dr. Carr might have ‘passed’ as sane to get his mitts on a hand gun, but Libby? I find it hard to believe she’d get through a background check.” Jessica shook her head. Then she spent the next few minutes telling the story, once again. She ended up back at the point Paul had made about a gun.
“Who knew she was packing heat—that has to violate her probation. What was she thinking?”
“Her probation ended a little while ago, Jessica. She didn’t wait long before getting into more trouble. The gun is not her only problem now, with kidnapping and maybe murder charges looming—that gun will put her on the fast track for maximum prison time if she’s convicted.”
“Using it to kidnap me was a spur of the moment thing. She was scared and convinced someone was following her, so I presume she brought it with her as protection. Until Carr showed up with that gun of his own, I thought she was delusional, paranoid or attention-seeking. Kidnapping and murder never entered my mind... not my conscious mind, anyway, when I agreed to meet her up there. On some level I thought it was a good idea to tell Detective Hernandez where I was going and who I was meeting. The odd thing—one of them anyway—is how surprised Libby was to see Carr when he turned up. Who did she imagine was stalking her if Carr's presence was a surprise?”
“That’s a good question, Jessica. What surprised her might have been the fact he had a gun. The paranoia and conspiracy could have been a cover if she had lured Carr up there to kill him. Jealousy is an all too common reason to kill. It could be she was angry enough about not being the only ‘psycho-tramp’ in the man’s life to kill him. That’s a new one—psycho-tramp’s a term I haven’t heard before. Maybe she planned a murder-suicide until Carr showed up with that gun. If it turns out the gunshot is what killed him there’s a case to be made for self-defense with the two of them wrestling over that gun as you described it.” The defense attorney wheels in his head were turning.
“I can vouch for the fact that Carr had murder on his mind, so the self-defense issue is legitimate. I think that surprised her, too. He wasn't just armed, but intent on killing her. In those moments her reactions seemed more unguarded than they had been in the hours before Dr. Demento stepped out of the shadows. Why tattle on Carr, and tell me she had evidence to nail him for malpractice, if she was just going to kill him anyway?”
“I hear what you’re saying. If she didn’t lure him up there and he wasn’t her stalker, how did he know where to find her?” Paul asked. A chill passed between them, perhaps both thinking about that red devil comment Libby had made.
“I’m not sold on the idea he was in league with a devil, but I suppose Carr could have had a partner following Libby. That doesn’t tell us why Carr was after her, himself, and with a gun. Another possibility Jerry and I talked about, earlier today, is that Libby knows something about Carr's role in Shannon Donnelly's disappearance. That's what she said she wanted to talk about when she called me, but she never got around to telling me much.”
“Too bad she wasn’t more forthcoming with specific information about what kind of trouble she caused for Shannon with Carr and his red devil sidekick. I wish we had news for her father. I saw Ned Donnelly at a holiday charity event, this week, for the LA Philharmonic. He looked grim, Jessica. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that he's gone through as much with his daughter as the Van Der Woerts have with Libby. It’s enough to make you never want to have children. Can there be that many deranged daughters roaming around?”
“You know the answer to that better than I do. I’m sure you’ve seen more than most, given your experience as a defense attorney for the rich and famous. I doubt the daughters have an edge though. Look at those Menendez brothers. Who knows if they’re deranged, spoiled, or bad seeds? You raise an interesting point, though, Paul. Both Libby and Shannon were seeing Dr. Carr—at his Beverly Hills office, and in more intimate settings, if Libby’s telling the truth. Carr bragged that his 90210 princesses were an easy lot to manipulate. Maybe that applied to Shannon Donnelly, and he was us
ing her to extort money from her parents, too. I don’t suppose her father would have disclosed that to the police investigating her disappearance. When Hernandez met with me and the Van Der Woerts he was focused on finding out what he could about Libby’s relationship with Shannon, and her whereabouts when Shannon went missing. He didn’t ask about the relationship between Libby and her parents, so the Van Der Woerts and I were tight-lipped about Libby’s accusations. It seemed unrelated. If Shannon Donnelly was Libby Van Der Woert’s psychic doppelganger, maybe her parents have been going through the same nightmare.”
“‘Psychic doppelganger!’ Okay, that’s a new one, too. You’re right. It’s not the kind of thing the Donnellys will volunteer if the police don’t pry. These are women in their thirties, not minors who might have run away from home. You could ask Detective Hernandez to go back to Ned Donnelly and do a follow up, but then you would have to reveal more about what’s going on between Libby and her parents to interest him in the idea. Given Libby’s confession to you about making false allegations, and the tie-in to Carr, you have to include that in your statement to the police, anyway. Withholding that kind of information could impede the investigations involving both Libby Van Der Woert and Shannon Donnelly. You don’t have to go into the grimy details, but you have to say something about the allegations and extortion efforts by Libby and lover-boy-Carr. I’ll touch base with Nick and Nora and fill them in on what you’ve told me. That will save you the stress of telling your story all over again to them—although at some point they may have questions for you. I’ll explain that your statement to the police will include basic information about the latest round of b.s. with their daughter.” The level of emotion evident in Paul's remarks baffled Jessica.
“Sorry, Paul, I know you feel bad for them. This is another fine mess I’ve gotten us into, isn’t it? Not that I’m sure how I instigated a change of heart on Libby’s part as Carr claimed.”
“Sorry? What reason on earth do you have to apologize? This isn’t about anything you’ve done. A woman as mercurial as Libby might have had a change of heart for many reasons. Maybe she got up one morning and heard a particular song on the radio and missed her parents. Or, more likely, experienced a bout of self-pity about being alienated from parents she drove off, you know? Since when is a bout of remorse a bad thing? Good for you if you gave Libby a good jolt and evoked a shred of decency. I’m just glad you don’t blame me for putting you in the path of that psycho-tramp, or whatever label she prefers. You're right I've seen more ungrateful children than I care to think about. Most of the time they wait until the parents are older, on their deathbeds or in the grave, before they make their grab for the gold. It's diabolical.”
“Not to worry, Paul. My heart goes out to the Van Der Woerts, and I’m glad to be in their court—let’s hope it’s not a real court, though. Maybe it is diabolical and Libby is possessed. That makes about as much sense as any other explanation for her behavior. There were times when she was hissing like a snake, in between howling and other antics. No vomiting up green slime, or head spinning around backwards, like the girl in that old Exorcist movie.” Jessica shuddered, recalling the glint in Libby’s eyes as she waved that gun around with her hair blowing out around her, Medusa-like. Paul frowned as he let Jessica ramble on. This is getting to him, Jessica thought, wondering if there was something personal about it.
“Paul, I’m kidding about the whole Exorcist thing. I feel awful that you have to follow up with the Van Der Woerts—adding that to your ‘to do’ list. Please don't ask about the unfinished tasks waiting for me back at the office. This has been a setback, just when I was hoping I might make a run at matching your pace as a lawyer.”
“Jessica, don’t worry. You’ve already exceeded my expectations since we opened that office. I just got a call from Lesley Windsor. She was worried about you. She loves the house you helped her purchase out here, and the community it’s in, so much that she moved her mother out here to another country club. That hasn’t worked as well for Mom, and she’s in the middle of a brouhaha with members of her own homeowner’s association. Anyway, Lesley has referred her mother to you. So your hard work is still paying off while you’re here.”
“I’m just sorry she had to call you about the brouhaha... I...” Jessica struggled to hang on to a professional demeanor. Paul reached out and put a reassuring hand over hers. The tingle that ran through her did not help her feel more professional. Nor did the softness that had filled those blue eyes, the tender smile on the man’s sensuous lips, the curve of his chin, the wave in his hair, or the way his tie needed adjusting...Down girl! she commanded herself. There must be some kind of disinhibiting effect to the drugs she was on that had her emotions rampaging.
“Everyone faces a setback once in a while—more likely from the flu than a shove off of a mountain, I’ll give you that. It’s the holidays and everyone’s preoccupied with the season. Our office is scheduled to be closed for a few days. When you’re feeling better you’ll have time to get caught up. You have about the best bad luck I’ve ever seen,” he said shaking his head. “Trust me, I’ve seen plenty of wrong-place-wrong-time scenarios, and you are so lucky to have landed where you did, when you did.” He smiled. That smile was reassuring and helped her regain her composure.
“Don’t let Detective Hernandez hear you say that. He’ll lecture me on the dark side of kismet. I once made the mistake of using that term around him and he has not let me forget it. I’m sure I will get another visit from him any minute now, too.” Paul gave her hand a squeeze, sending her into lemon meringue pie territory again.
“My point is, Jessica, that things at the office will be just fine. Amy’s got your back. She’s rescheduled your meetings already. You two make a crack team, and Kim Reed has turned out to be a Phenom, according to Amy. Kim will keep working on the routine things you’ve assigned her to do. If you’re not out of here in another day or two, Amy will stop by and go over everything with you here. Do as you are told so you can get back on your feet. We’ve got more dancing to do, you know? Much more, I hope.”
“Okay, boss,” Jessica said, gulping as she spoke.
“I won’t always be your boss. In fact, as soon as this office is up and running, in another year or so, my plan is to step out of the role.” Jessica must have looked alarmed or shocked.
“What? I’m not leaving the firm, Jessica. I just won’t be your boss anymore. Heck, by then, you could run the place. It will be up to the firm to decide who to put in my place though. It’s part of my overall plan to bring balance into my life, Jessica. I want more room for other things—for people.” The blue in his eyes deepened, pulling her into them. She realized how sad it would be not to have him around. Granted, he wasn’t at the office every day, but at least two or three times each week. The place came alive with the force of his presence. Jessica fought that teary sensation as Paul spoke again.
“It’s too soon to retire, but not too soon to dream about it and plan for it. I’m thinking of buying something out here in the desert. And that’s another reason to get back up on your feet. After the holidays are over, I want to check out places. I could use your help if you don't mind. You know so much more about the area and have some idea of my taste in architecture and style. Will you give me a hand?” Jessica’s fingers, almost on their own accord, linked with his that were still resting on her free hand. She let go as soon as she realized what she had done.
“Of course, I will, Paul,” she said as the man stood up to leave.
“Here’s looking at you, kid.” He chucked her on the chin as he uttered that line from Casablanca, one of their favorite old films they had watched together. So, lemon meringue pie or tiramisu, what was it going to be? Whoa baby, I had better figure this out before someone gets hurt.
8 A Crutch
Alexis lay on her bed in the glamorous master bedroom that had once been the room she shared with Hank Huntington. It was a strange, but familiar sensation being back in this house with him
in a guest room nearby. They had relied on such an arrangement before, many times. Then, as now, it had been the way they coped with shared parenting duties as their marriage deteriorated, and then dissolved. Here again, reunited under one roof, because of Jessica.
Her head still hurt, even after taking Xanax to relax and Oxycontin to kill the pain. She should cut back, had vowed she would. The doctors wanted to schedule surgery for a hysterectomy and had put it off several times when her blood work came back loaded with the kind of drugs that make a general anesthetic risky. Especially for a woman in her sixties as her gynecologist pointed out.
“Alexis, you’re not a young woman anymore. The drugs are taking a toll: weight loss, elevated blood pressure and an irregular heartbeat. Your liver’s not looking so good, either.” Her gynecologist, the one female in the portfolio of doctors managing Alexis’ health care, had been gently reproachful. She was one of the first doctors Alexis consulted after the routine pap exam in L.A. revealed trouble. In August, Dr. Kate Mendel confirmed the diagnosis of early stage cervical cancer. Then, like the physician in Beverly Hills, she reassured Alexis it was a cancer that could be contained. Her gynecologist recommended surgery and set up consults with local surgeons and an oncologist.