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

by Anna Burke

  “Okay, what does that mean?”

  “Manipulate is an interesting choice of words for a psychiatrist to use don’t you think?” Before the detective could answer, Jessica moved on.

  “When Libby Van Der Woert popped into my office, for no apparent reason other than to check me out, she got riled up by the time our meeting was over. I wanted to call somebody to come get her. Who does she suggest? Her shrink! She had Carr on speed dial and he picked up right away. Like he did that night when both women called him from Cat City after midnight. I don’t know about you, Detective, but I don’t get that kind of service from anyone except Peter. That’s because he’s a friend, not just a service provider. That's how I have a direct dial number for his cell.”

  “Yeah, and your friend Peter knows a call on his direct line means you’re up to your nosy neck in trouble so he'd better pick up, quick.”

  “Not true, okay well, true sometimes. But mostly when I call Peter on his cell I'm inviting him over here for dinner, or something like that—personal, not business. Jerry and Tommy checked, and Carr doesn’t have an office here in the desert, so meeting Libby for therapy in the desert, as she claimed, was odd.”

  “Okay, okay, are you saying Carr and the Van Der Woert woman had something going on besides therapy?”

  “That’s what Libby said at the top of the tram. A client-with-benefits arrangement, although Libby thought it was love. And, she may not have been the only one.”

  “Does that mean Shannon Donnelly, too?”

  “Could be. That would explain the late night calls to Carr from both women, right before Donnelly went missing. Libby was all over the place up there, loose and paranoid. She swore someone was after her. I wrote it off to disordered thinking until Carr showed up toting a gun.”

  “Why the gun? Was she threatening to rat him out about the affair? How bad could that get for the guy?”

  “Libby may well have been threatening him. I don’t like dwelling on what it might be, but Libby says she can prove she and Carr knew each other in the Biblical sense. Somebody needs to get a warrant to search Libby’s condo for a little blue suitcase where she's got the evidence stashed away. I agree that an affair doesn't warrant murder. If there was more than one indiscretion on Carr's part—like with Donnelly too—that might make the licensure board's sanctions more serious. But a reason to kill Libby? I'm dubious.”

  “I’ve seen dumber reasons to kill somebody, I guess.”

  “You might try talking to that skanky lawyer of hers. He’ll hide behind lawyer-client privilege, but it’s possible Libby was threatening to take Carr to court. Perhaps sue him for damages because of his breach of professionalism. That’s pure speculation but it could have caused more of a stink than filing a complaint against him with some board. Heck, Carr’s malpractice insurance fees might even have gone up if they had to defend him in court. Still hard to believe he'd commit murder and why would he try to kill me?”

  “Could be you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, courtesy of the kismet you love so much.”

  “I knew you’d get around to the curse of kismet, Detective. What if Libby and Shannon were on to Carr's scheme and planning to ‘out’ him?”

  “What kind of scheme?”

  “Extortion, wrapped in a layer of psychobabble about abuse. I'll remind you that this is off the record, and I won’t go into all the disgusting details. With her psychiatrist's backing, Libby went after family members with allegations of childhood sexual abuse. Then she tried to shake down her parents for hush money. At the top of the tram, Libby admitted the allegations were false, and claimed the good doctor came up with the idea to demand money. Murder makes more sense if he was trying to avoid criminal charges.”

  “It does,” Detective Hernandez said.

  “Worse for Carr if he was behind Shannon's disappearance. Too bad Libby wasn't more direct. She took responsibility, claiming Shannon’s gone because she told Carr her friend planned to squeal on him. Tell what to whom? I don't know. More important now is that Libby said she told ‘them’ about Shannon's plans. A conspiracy sounded like paranoia until that incident in the ICU. It might have been more believable, too, if Libby hadn't raved about a ‘red devil’ being behind it all.”

  “Ay, Dios mìo,” Bernadette gasped, making the sign of the cross as Jessica uttered those words.

  “That sounds out there, all right. A blue suitcase and a red devil, okay.” Detective Hernandez was shaking his head.

  “But there has to be more going on, Detective. The head-shrinker is dead, so who is trying to make sure Libby gets to meet up with him so soon? It must be important, too, to be stampeding the hospital como un elefante en una cristaleria,” Bernadette said, making stomping motions with her feet.

  “Libby's given us plenty of reason not to believe a word she says, but Bernadette’s asking the right question,” Jessica said. Bernadette nodded in solemn agreement.

  “More than you know,” the detective said. He was leaning forward, staring into the cup of coffee he held in both hands. “It turns out the guy who came after Libby was a pro. The Palm Springs PD identified him right away after that crash and burn incident on Ramon road. Don’t ask me how, but they got prints off the guy. He popped up in the system, with half a dozen aliases and wanted for questioning in a homicide-for-hire case. With a resume like his, it is reasonable to assume someone paid him to take out Libby Van Der Woert. She must know something someone doesn’t want her to share. It’s got to be more than the contents of that little blue suitcase, because the guy she could hurt with that evidence is dead. So, yes, who wants Libby dead is the right question, Bernadette.”

  “Right question, but not a good one, Detective,” Bernadette said with apprehension.

  “No. Not a good one at all, you two. There’s more. The ‘accident’ that took out Libby’s would-be assassin wasn’t an accident at all. They’ve gone over the footage from the chase and there’s a flash, as someone took a shot at the speeding car. Some shot, too! It hit a tire that triggered the wreck.”

  “No!” Jessica and Bernadette cried out in tandem.

  “Yes! It’s clear Libby's in way over her head. Whatever was going on with Carr and Donnelly and an unknown co-conspirator—more likely human than a devil—does not get the woman off the hook. If even part of what you’re saying turns out to be true, it points to a motive for Libby to be a murderer. In her twisted mind she had plenty of reason to kill Donnelly and Carr if the doctor was fooling around with her friend. I'll go back to Donnelly's poor parents and ask if their precious daughter was extorting them. Who wants Libby dead is another matter. Whatever the motive, you're right, Bernadette, too, that he's in a hurry to get the job done. He's got money to hire a pro, too. Could be, if he was Carr’s partner in that extortion racket, it has paid well. Anyway, it's time to sit back and count your blessings, Jessica. You're still alive. That could be more miraculous than we know, depending on what Libby's mixed up in. Oh, what a tangled web we weave...” he said as he sauntered out the door, a plate of biscochitos and the recipe in hand.

  “He's right about a tangled web.” Jessica said, dragging herself off the couch. It was time to shower and dress for her doctor’s appointment.

  “Maybe for Libby, but it’s not like you were her lawyer. I don’t see why anyone would have it in for you.”

  “Except that my name is splashed all over the media right along with hers. Carr blamed me for some change of heart on Libby’s part. Maybe his colleagues do too. Or maybe Carr thought Libby told me too much about whatever the hell is going on, including Shannon’s murder.” Jessica had wandered down the hallway to her bedroom, with Bernadette at her heels.

  “Un momento,” Bernadette ordered, taking charge. She pulled out a small pair of scissors from a pocket, clipped the tape and removed the bandage on Jessica’s right hand. “Mira, Chica, mejor, sì?”

  “Sì, mucho mejor,” Jessica agreed. Her palm was much better. The slash, closed with surgical glue, was a
tidy line. Darker than the original lifeline on her palm it crossed, a reminder of how close she had come to ending her life altogether.

  “Here,” Bernadette said, shoving a plastic bag into Jessica’s hand for her cast. Then Jessica slipped out of the sling, with Bernadette's help. “You’ll feel better after you shower. Holler if you get stuck,” Bernadette said as she dashed from the room.

  “I’m just going to climb back into bed and forget about all of this,” Jessica said taking a step toward her unmade bed. The soft sheets and silky duvet called to her.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Bernadette hollered from down the hall. “Get crackling!”

  “Cracking, Bernadette, get cracking,” she hollered to Bernadette.

  “That’s what I said. Call Peter and get a shower! I’m fixing us a salad.” Full of biscochitos, Jessica didn't see how she could eat a salad, but Bernadette was too far away to hear her objections. Bernadette wouldn’t have listened anyway. Jessica pulled out her cell phone and confirmed that she had an escort for the short jaunt to the medical center. It was reassuring to talk to Peter. He and his crew had skills, too. If anyone could keep a sniper from shooting out the tires on the huge Escalade that the petite Bernadette would drive, it would be Peter and his team.

  The shower was wonderful, except the part where she had to raise an arm over her head to shampoo her hair. Her ribs objected, so she did the minimum to mix the shampoo through. Bending over to scrub her legs and feet was out too. She just stood there letting the water blast away from all eight sprayers set on gentle, aiming at her from different points in the enormous shower. It cleared her head. While she was at the medical center she would pay a visit to the ICU. Maybe Libby was coming around and had more to say that might help make sense out of this mess. At the least, she could find out when, and if, Libby would ever have more to say about anything.

  17 Thor and Uber-Thor

  Jessica’s trip to the medical center brought good news and bad news. A quick x-ray revealed her broken arm was on the mend. Swelling around her shoulder joint was almost gone, and the bruising around her ribs was better too. She left with a new sling, a small band aid on the injured right hand, and a prescription for more pain pills.

  “As long as I’m careful, Dr. Ziegler, I can get through the day with aspirin and use the pain pills to sleep at night.”

  “That’s great, Jessica. You’re young and a fast healer, but there’s no reason to play the martyr. If you need the pills use them.”

  “I hear you,” was what she said. “No way in hell,” was what she thought. That set off a flurry of worry about her mother. How was she doing in that Malibu treatment facility? Could they help her? How uncomfortable was she in detox, given the mix of drugs and alcohol she had given up? It would be another day before Jessica could call or visit. Good news from her doctor meant a road trip was in her future. Saturday or Sunday she was Malibu bound!

  The first bout of bad news came even before Jessica could report the good news about her checkup to Bernadette. When Jessica returned to the waiting room where Bernadette sat, a woman approached.

  “Hey, aren’t you the one who fell off Mt. San Jacinto? Earl, get over here, quick,” she said to an older man sitting in the corner staring at the television. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere. “Earl, it’s her I tell you. It’s the angel heiress. Can I get your autograph? Hang on a minute. Let me get a pen and paper.” Jessica did not know what to say. Two women sitting in another corner of the waiting room whispered to each other.

  “Can you give me a hand here, Earl? I need a pen.” Earl took his eyes off the T.V. for a second and clapped a few times. “That’s not funny, Earl.” Then with a burst of speed she took off and knocked on the nurse’s window. “Can I borrow a pen, please? It’s the angel heiress. I want her to sign something for me. Thanks!” She grabbed the pin and dashed back over to where Jessica had stepped closer to the exit, motioning for Bernadette to follow. Bernadette stood up, but could not hide her amusement at Jessica’s plight.

  “It is you, isn’t it?” The woman asked. How on earth did you respond to a question like that? Jessica wondered as she decided the simplest thing was to keep mum and oblige the request. Jessica accepted the pen the woman offered her. Writing would be no problem now without the cumbersome bandage on her hand. What the heck was she supposed to do? Sign it, like it was a receipt? Jessica must have looked as flummoxed as she felt.

  “Just say, ‘To Ellie, with blessings,’ E-L-L-I-E, and sign your name. Your full name,” she said. “Oh, and add, ‘angel heiress,’ okay?” Jessica did as asked. Ellie ripped the top page from the notepad.

  “This one is for Earl,” Ellie said. “That’s E-A-R-L.” While Jessica scrawled, To Earl with blessings, Jessica Huntington, on a new sheet of paper, Ellie perused Jessica’s handiwork on the first. Writing with that pen had been harder than Jessica expected.

  “You’re not good at this, are you?” She asked. “You sure you’re you?”

  “Oh, I’m me,” Jessica responded. Who else could get into a situation like this in the playground of presidents, moguls, and movie stars? The Coachella Valley, known for being rather nonchalant about celebrities, was not living up to its reputation at the moment. Bernadette looked at the floor. Jessica hoped for a place where the carpet was loose enough that Jessica could crawl under it. That wasn’t likely, since Bernadette was laughing.

  “Well, I could get more on eBay for it if it was neater. Oh well, let me see the one for Earl,” Ellie clucked as she looked at Jessica’s second attempt. She pushed it back toward Jessica and shook her head in disdain.

  “You forgot angel heiress. That’s the best part! Just put it in right there,” she said pointing to the spot where she wanted it. Earl had stirred. The guy had to be in his eighties, and was making his way to Ellie’s side, using his walker.

  The two whispering women in the corner rose to their feet. One held a magazine she had picked up off the table near her seat. The other was digging through her purse and came out with a notepad of her own. They headed Jessica’s way, pens at the ready.

  A flash went off. Another patient-in-waiting must have decided a photo would be a better memento of the occasion than an autograph. Several others, still seated in the crowded room, whipped out smart phones and took photos or video.

  “Are you really an heiress?” someone asked from behind Jessica. She jumped out of her skin. Her ribs made her pay. Her heart raced as the person behind her reached out and rubbed her cast like it was a genie’s lamp. A line had formed. No, it was more a ring than a line, and they were closing in on her, walkers and all. They don’t call Palm Springs God’s waiting room for nothing, she thought, as a hoard of octogenarians descended upon her. An orthopedics waiting room in the Palms Springs area was a foyer to the pearly gates.

  Jessica glanced again at Bernadette. Her eyes were still downcast, and her shoulders shimmied with laughter! Jessica tried to sign the things being shoved her way. There had to be a dozen people around her now, and another half dozen ambling her way.

  “She saved that other girl. She’s an heiress, all right, and an angel,” someone else said, reaching out. This one did a little knock-knock on Jessica’s cast. “That’s for luck,” the smiling cast-knocker said. “It’s a miracle she’s alive,” the cast-knocker asserted. “You’re lucky you’re not dead, aren’t you?” Jessica had no time to reply.

  “You’re right, she has to be an angel,” another member of the crowd added as she moved a step closer to Jessica. The entire crowd was closing in around her, the circle growing smaller.

  “If she’s an angel, she’s an awful foxy one. Sign this, baby,” a young man said, as he approached her with his shirt raised and his abs exposed. Not bad, but no way was she going to sign his exposed six pack.

  “Bernadette, we have an appointment elsewhere, do we not?” Jessica asked.

  “Do we not? Will you listen to that? That’s rich woman talk if I ever heard it,” someone hooted.

&
nbsp; “That proves the heiress part,” another said, “that's the money talking.”

  “Cordelia Watson,” a nurse announced, calling the next person to the back for her appointment. “What is going on out here?” the nurse asked, as she stepped into the fray. Answers came in a jumble as the level of noise increased. Jessica used the momentary distraction, by the nurse, to slip through an opening and step toward the door. That drew fire from the crowd.

  “Hey, she’s trying to leave without giving us her autograph,” one member complained.

  “She has an appointment elsewhere,” another mocked. Bernadette had stopped laughing.

  “And is there a problem with that?” The crowd went silent as that question boomed above the hubbub. Peter stood inside the doorway, hands on his hips. Like the jolly green giant, only not green and not jolly. That flash went off again, along with the clicks of smart phones snapping photos.

  “Are you ready to go, Ms. Huntington? We’re running behind schedule,” he said, glaring at the crowd as he stepped aside so Jessica could pass.

  “It’s Thor and Uber-Thor,” someone in the crowd snickered. Right behind Peter was Brien, his shock of surfer-boy blond hair a striking contrast to the black t-shirt he wore, plastered over bulging muscles. He and Peter were quite the pair in their look-alike security-company clothing.

  “Shut up, you idiot. Either one of them could snap your scrawny neck like a toothpick.” Murmurs of “bodyguards” passed through the crowd as they all left.

  “Ready to get out of here?” Peter inquired as they headed down the hall leading away from the waiting room crowd. She could hear the cry of the nurse trying to restore order.