A Dead Daughter (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery Book 3)

by Anna Burke

  “Yeah, falling off a mountain will not help fine tune your mojo! I don’t plan to do that soon. Nor am I starting a new job, like you. I haven’t tangoed with as many lowlifes as you have in the past year. Even if you count one or two of the realtors I ran across during my condo search, you’re at least half a dozen creeps ahead of me.” Laura shuddered a little, but laughed again.

  “You’ve had more than your fair share, Laura. I will definitely have to add creep attractor to my super powers. It’s right up there with calamity magnet. If there’s a fiasco out there somewhere, you can bet I’ll find it, especially if there’s a creep at the center of the melee. My specialty is attracting well-heeled heels, I might add—starting with James Harper, Esquire. I’m amazed, though, at how well you’re doing, Laura. You are one tough woman.” Laura smiled, but a more sober demeanor had settled upon her lovely countenance.

  “I still have nightmares about finding Roger like I did, but I’m sleeping better. I almost never cry myself to sleep anymore. There are fewer moments when I think I see him out of the corner of my eye, or catch myself thinking I’d better remember to tell Roger this or ask Roger that.”

  “I understand a little of what you’re going through. You have your own post-trauma calendar running, like the one I started in March after walking in on Hollywood ‘Barbie’ and two-timer ‘Ken’. Let’s hope there’s some truth in the notion that a year makes loss easier to bear.”

  “I hope so too. The women in my grief group keep reassuring me things will get better. And they are. At least the money stuff is better, thanks to that double indemnity payout. Who knows how many more creeps I would have had to deal with, though, if you hadn’t helped get me that check. You’ve been my angel, too, Jessica.”

  “Aw, stop it. You’re making me blush.”

  “Speaking of calamity and creeps, what’s going on with the missing and misguided girls of 90210? We haven’t had a Cat Pack get-together since you all came to my house-warming party, so I need updating. I guess Dr. Carr is the latest well-heeled creep at the center of an ongoing calamity. You thought he was up to no good.”

  “That’s for sure,” Jessica said, and gave Laura a brief rundown of what had occurred up on Mt. San Jacinto.

  “So what happens now?” Laura asked.

  “If I’m out of here by Friday, we'll have a cookout. Bernadette’s already planning the feast. Consider this an invitation. In the meantime, Jerry, Tommy and Kim are all looking into a few things while I’m being held captive here. Paul is running interference for me at the office, and will touch base with Libby’s parents so I don’t have to face them, yet, either. Frank’s holding off Uncle Don and his buddies at the Palm Springs police department while I sort out a few things that are still hazy. I guess I'm safe as long as I'm in the hospital. Sooner or later, though, I will have to run the gauntlet of stern-faced police officers, and spill my guts. While the police figure out what killed Car I want to get a better handle on what he and Libby were ranting about. Part of what he was ‘up to’ was getting Libby to extort money from her parents. When I chat with Detective Hernandez I'll see if he can ask Shannon's father a few more questions and see if he was being extorted by his daughter. The other thing I want to pursue is Libby's claim that was being screwed by her shrink, literally, as well as figuratively.”

  “No! She was sleeping with the man? Isn’t that illegal?” Laura was aghast.

  “It’s not illegal, but it is actionable—a breach of ethics. Most likely it would have meant a slap on the wrist unless he had been sanctioned before. Carr came up clean, but Tommy and Jerry are taking another look. He could have challenged her claim, unless she has evidence of a tryst, as she also claims.”

  “Oh, ick, ick, ick! What on earth does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure since we didn’t get that far along in the discussion before the man of her dreams turned up, gun in hand.”

  “I’m sorry to keep asking so many questions. That had to be terrifying.”

  “I wish I could say no, but, alas, I am still a wimp when facing gun-toting maniacs. Anyway, Libby mentioned Monica Lewinsky so I assume she has one or more touching mementos of cozy moments spent with Dr. Dick, as she so lovingly referred to him at one point.”

  “That also means she must have had doubts about his being Mr. Right—or Dr. Right, in this case.”

  “Yes and she also said that evidence is stashed in a little blue bag—a suitcase, maybe, a tote or an overnight bag. Who knows what, or where, it is? My thinking wasn't too clear or I would have asked more questions before taking that leap into the abyss.”

  “Falling like that must have been awful.”

  “It was. I don’t remember landing, thank goodness. I wouldn’t be worrying about any of this now if I’d missed that ledge and hadn't landed in a nice cushy spot. Libby's wasn't as lucky.”

  “Luckier than Dr. Dick! I’m sorry about Libby, Jessica. Even though you got pulled into this because of your relationship with her parents, I know you had hope for Libby. I’m sure that’s why she’s continued to contact you, like that day we were eating lunch. She sure didn't hide much from me. You were so kind to her. I bet that's why she called you, thinking you’d relay her confession to her parents in a sympathetic way.”

  “It could be, although I’ve tried to send her back to her own lawyer and keep the contact to a minimum until this latest incident. At least I have a better understanding of how those allegations toward her father and her uncle came about—mix one part malicious Libby with a conniving shrink, throw in a bunch of drugs and you get a toxic cocktail.”

  “No one would have taken her seriously, given her history as you’ve described it.” Laura had such a serious look on her face.

  “That’s true. She risked creating more trouble for herself, too. Depending on what she said, how, and to whom, she could have opened herself up to charges of libel or slander. She used those terms during her rant. Carr must have cautioned her against spreading the story around.”

  “I suppose extortion doesn’t work all that well if the allegations are already out."

  “True. Maybe one of the bottom feeders in my profession she’s hired to sue her parents, warned her early on to shut up.”

  “Sue her parents?” Dread arose on Laura's face.

  “Yeah, that’s another threat she’s made, with the shrink backing her up. She’s on her third lowlife lawyer aiming to use the courts to extort money. They could have told her you can’t sue for your inheritance early, in exchange for signing a nondisclosure clause, if you’ve already blabbed to everyone you know, or broadcast your story of woe on Facebook. Kim’s looking into that—she’s a whiz at the computer. If Libby’s left a trail on the Internet, that could mean more trouble for her when she comes out of the coma. It might also provide more clues about Libby's relationship with Dr. Dick, Shannon, or another daughter of woe in Carr's harem.”

  "More women..." Laura murmured as Jessica drifted away.

  Jessica had to stop herself from plunging into the pit that this case had opened up for her, again. What was wrong with people like Libby and Jim, or those fiends responsible for murdering Roger and Kelly? Jessica felt her anxiety rev up. Both her shrink and the priest had told her to stop it when her mind crawled too close to that well of darkness.

  “Let go, let God,” Father Martin had said when she lamented about the unfathomable nature of depravity. “You can't right every wrong in the world, Jessica. You’ve got your hands full getting your own life back on track.”

  “Duh,” was what Jessica had wanted to say in reply to the well-meaning cleric; “true,” was what she said instead. He then shifted the focus back to pondering her failed marriage and her shopping compulsion. She had put that black AMEX card away, but the numbers on that card were flashing through her mind. Shopping sounded enticing as she snapped back into the moment, draining the last of the coffee to bring her into the present and away from the urge to shop.

  “Nothing Libby said would hav
e stood up in a court of law. Not these days anyway. In the eighties there was a rash of court cases based on recovered memory of alleged abuse. A lot of those allegations later proved to be false because the accuser retracted them or some bit of evidence cleared the poor shmuck targeted by them. Police and courts have backed off pursuing charges based solely on recovered memories, some of them paying out hefty settlements. Memory is tricky. Even eyewitness testimony has proved unreliable. Throw in mind-warping wonder drugs and the line between lying, and believing the lie, gets thinner, I suppose. Anyway, if I can get out of here soon I intend to keep a date with an old friend. Do you remember Betsy Stark?”

  “I do. Who could forget Betsy Stark? She used to help out around your house when we were in high school. I remember her tagging along and towering over Bernadette.”

  “I was younger when Betsy turned up at the house one day. She must have been about 16 then. She was already closing in on 6 feet tall and big, too. I was scared of her, at first.”

  “I could see how you might be wary of the woman. Model tall, but not model thin, she makes quite an impression. That’s not all I remember though. You seemed more than a little jealous, as I recall.” Laura had an amused look on her face. “You were a snotty little beast around her on more than one occasion.”

  “Stop it please. I’m mortified thinking about that now. Let's blame it on the divorce and all the chaos that went on before that—right about the time Betsy showed up. I was through most of the trauma-drama when I met you, but I hadn’t gotten over my feelings of insecurity. It bothered me to share Bernadette with Betsy—sibling rivalry between two strays adopted by Bernadette.”

  “I’m sorry you felt like a stray, Jessica. Betsy was smart though, right? She enrolled in community college while we were at St. Theresa’s. What has she got to do with any of this?”

  “She’s a social worker, licensed and with a master’s degree. According to Bernadette, Betsy has training in behavioral health from UCLA or USC or someplace like that. She’s also had case management experience with people who have serious mental health problems, and she knows the ins and outs of the disability system. I’m hoping she can help me get a better handle on what's going on with Libby and Carr. I will apologize to her too.”

  “Gosh, I haven’t thought about her in years, but who could forget Betsy Stark, the titan?” Laura paused as the door to the hospital room burst open. “Speaking of giants, Jessica, look who’s here.”

  “Yo, Jessica, we brought you lunch,” Brien, the pool-boy-cum-bodyguard, announced as he entered the room carrying bags of take-out food in both hands.

  “Brien, did Nurse Andrews say this was okay?” Jessica asked as he set the food down on the windowsill.

  Behind him was the giant Laura referred to. Peter March was carrying drinks. Both Brien and Peter were muscular, but Peter was huge. At 6'6” he resembled one of those guys striking a pose on the cover of a body building magazine, even when standing at ease. Brien, at 5’7” was Peter’s ‘mini-me;’ a shorter, more compact version of the man. An alter ego, too, Brien’s loquaciousness counterpoint to Peter’s reticence. Both men had come to Jessica’s aid as members, in good standing, of the Cat Pack.

  “Hey, who will stop them, Jessica? Brien has that ‘don’t mess with me, it’s feeding time,’ look on his face.” Brien beamed, taking Laura’s statement as a compliment.

  “I suppose you’re right, Laura. I doubt anybody in this wing of the hospital would get in your way, eh Peter?”

  “Let them try to stop me! I’m a man on a mission.” Peter laughed. The head of a high-profile security firm in the desert area, he was more than capable of finishing any mission he set upon. That broad smile he wore never quite seemed right on his face shaped by years of special ops training and life experience Jessica didn’t want to know about.

  Jessica looked down for a few seconds, digging into a bin of French fries Brien had handed her. When she looked up again, Kim Reed was standing at the foot of the bed. The young woman had appeared out of nowhere as she so often did. She was no longer wearing an outfit befitting a member of the secretarial pool on an episode of Mad Men. Her previous employer had insisted she dress that way to please him. She had an edge about her, though, and it was more than the vibrant tattoo of the Hindu goddess Saraswati that ran shoulder to elbow. Kim now wore her jet black hair in a short, asymmetrical bob. Her coal black eyes were dramatic, with thick lashes and dark eyeliner adding to the drama. The dark hair and eyes sat in contrast to pale skin and bright red lips. She wore a simple straight black skirt and a gray chunky cardigan with cap sleeves and small, ribbed pockets. A high collar and offset panels gave it flare that had qualified it to go into the “buy” pile when Jessica had fitted Kim out with a wardrobe for work. There was an interior stillness about her that went with the silent movements—a cloak of invisibility cultivated to enhance her survival while working for a very bad man.

  “I brought dessert,” Kim added, expressionless, “cookies.”

  “Not just any cookies,” Peter announced. “Those are vegan, peanut butter, chocolate chip, oatmeal cookies.” Peter the giant was an enthusiastic vegan.

  “Don’t worry, Jessica, I tested them on the way here. They’re righteous, even if they are good for you,” Brien said while stuffing French fries into his mouth.

  “That’s why I’m holding the bag. Brien’s testing was getting out of hand. We wanted to make sure there would be some for the rest of us when we got here.” Kim’s lips twitched upward for a split second—the hint of a smile.

  “I made them stop and get Double-Doubles for us, Jessica. Bringing you a fake burger didn't seem right with all the bogus stuff that’s been going on around you. That’s what they’re eating.” He jerked his head toward Peter and Kim who were pulling burgers out of a different bag. A lock of surfer-boy, bleached blond hair fell back into place with that jerk of his head. “You can thank me for getting you real food.”

  “What about me?” Laura asked.

  “I’ll share mine with you, Laura,” Jessica offered.

  “No sweat, Laura. We’ve got you covered. Brien here got three Double-Doubles for himself. He won’t mind giving you one, right, Brien?” Peter locked eyes with Brien as he spoke.

  “Dude...” Brien said as though he might protest. Then, digging into a bag, he pulled out two burgers, handing one to Jessica and another to Laura. He reached across Jessica, rather than walking around the bed where Laura sat in one of two chairs in the room. “That’s cool. I can stop for something on the way home. I need to score some basics, like beer and chips, before I go home anyway.”

  “Thanks, Brien.” When Laura smiled at him, Brien-the-eating-machine paused a moment before diving back into the fries he had been demolishing three or four at a time.

  “No problem,” he said, pausing again, with a big grin on his face.

  “Kim, you want to sit over here next to me?” Laura asked.

  “Sure,” Kim responded. She smiled a genuine smile, fleeting though it was, as she took a seat near Laura. Kim Reed was a puzzle. Smart as a whip and a hard worker, she was distant and skittish, yet vulnerable despite the sharp edges. The rest of the Cat Pack members had recognized that, welcoming her into their quirky little group with open arms, but giving her space. Kim was the most feral cat among them. It was real progress that she sat among them, content to be in the same room, even if long spells went by with little comment from her. It was the same way at the law office on El Paseo, where she kept to herself unless she felt she had something worthwhile to contribute. Amy Klein, the office manager, was a quiet soul, too. Jessica often felt like the odd duck as the most gregarious member of her work group. That was true unless the charming Attorney Worthington was in the building.

  “This is wonderful, you guys. Real coffee and real food! Do I know how to pick my friends or what? I can’t believe Nurse Andrews is letting us get away with this.” She was talking with her mouth half-full. Who knew when Nurse Andrews might pop in and
spoil their little party? Jessica took another big bite of the scrumptious burger, not wanting to risk giving it up if there was a raid.

  “What’s that,” Peter asked moments later. Their heads swiveled in Laura’s direction. In the distance a wailing sound could be heard.

  “Maybe Nurse Andrews is on to us,” Jessica murmured, before taking another bite of the Double-Double from In-N-Out Burger.

  “It sounds like a fire alarm. But it must be in another wing or building on the medical campus. Don’t worry; if it had anything to do with us we’d get a code or I’d have a text message.” Laura pulled her cell phone out of her pocked and checked it, just in case.

  “Nothing,” she said, setting the phone down on the bedside table next to where she sat. She went back to devouring her burger, too.

  Several minutes passed before a calm, but insistent, voice sent out a message over the loud speakers.

  Code Silver, ICU. Repeat. Code Silver, ICU.

  Shelter In Place. Repeat. Shelter in Place.

  Code Silver, ICU. Repeat. Code Silver, ICU.

  Laura and Peter both stopped eating and went into action. Laura moved to turn the lights off in the room. Then she opened the door, pulled out a key and locked it from the outside before shutting the door again. Peter closed the drapes and went to work securing the door from the inside. He made a wedge of magazines and jammed it into the corner of the door. He moved the chair Laura had been sitting in and adjusted the angle to add another wedge, this one under the door handle.

  “What is it? What’s going on?” Brien asked. He didn’t stop eating that second burger he was working on, but he slowed down.

  “Code Silver means there’s an emergency in the building—the ICU in this case, according to that announcement.” Laura answered as she checked her phone for text messages sent out with emergency codes. “It says the same thing here, Code Silver, shelter in place until further notice.”