by Anna Burke
Does she have children? Alexis wondered. Were they as likely as Jessica to get mixed up in mysterious, even dangerous, circumstances? Those questions sent a chill through Alexis that had nothing to do with the cool evening air in Malibu.
“I'm calling Jessica, before she gets on the wrong side of Eric Conroy,” Alexis declared, as she hit the speed dial on her cell phone. After 3 or 4 rings, the phone went to voice mail.
“Jessica, it’s Mom. I thought of someone you should speak to about Eric Conroy. Call me, please, before you do anything more about him. Love you!” Alexis ended the call, grabbed her dessert and headed next door. She stopped as she crossed the threshold and stepped out onto her patio, stunned to realize that she had gone all day without thinking about those pills in the lining of the bag in her room. The next time Jessica visited, that bag was going home with her. Why hadn’t Jessica picked up that phone?
27 Trouble at Tiffany’s
Jessica sat in the back of a police car that was parked on Rodeo Drive, in front of Tiffany’s. Darkness had fallen, and the shops had closed, but the legendary shopping mecca was lit up like a red carpet event was underway. The lighting was courtesy of Beverly Hills’ finest—cops and rescue squad vehicles. Bernadette sat beside her. Her other friends were standing around, being interviewed, or waiting to be interviewed, by the officers at the scene. Except for Peter, who was being tended by E.M.T.s. Jessica had already given her statement—short and to the point, considering how quick trouble had come and gone.
“How can this be happening to us, Bernadette?”
“I believe you about that trouble magnet idea of yours. It’s okay, Jessica. Try to relax. We’ll be done here soon. Then, we can all go back to the hotel and have dinner. Brien must be about ready to make a run for it. He was already putting the pressure on to get out of Tiffany’s so we wouldn’t lose our reservation at Spago. That was over an hour ago.”
Jessica tried to relax, as Bernadette suggested. She rested her head on the seat, closing her eyes. The images came rushing in on her. Their little group had stopped at Tiffany’s, on the way to Spago for dinner. The trip to Tiffany’s had been Tommy’s idea. When Jessica made that round of phone calls asking everyone to consider staying over at the hotel for another night, Tommy whooped with delight.
“Woohoo! I’ll stay here as long as you want, Jessica. Jerry won’t mind, either. We’re uh, celebrating, and uh, we might be late for dinner.” Those last few words rushed out of Tommy’s mouth.
“Okay, Tommy, what’s up?” There was a tone of excitement in his voice that Jessica recognized from all the years she had known him.
“We’re going to Tiffany’s in a few minutes. Thank God they’re open ‘til seven tonight... we’re looking for rings, Jessica!”
“Tommy, sweetie, does that mean what I think it means?” Jessica asked.
“Yes, Jessica—we’re getting engaged! Can you believe it? I'm going to be a married man. Not right away, but next year. I’m in love. We’re in love.” Tommy was breaking down as he spoke, overcome by emotion. Jessica felt herself tearing up. Just when you thought rot had overtaken the world in which you live, something wonderful happened. True love was a rare event, so why not celebrate like mad when it happened? Jessica was smiling ear-to-ear; a cloud lifted from her. Love lifts you up, she thought, remembering those words first spoken to her by Bernadette, years ago and repeated since.
“Tommy, I’m overjoyed. Can we meet you there and see what you two picked out? I mean, it’s okay, right? You’re ready to make this public, yes?”
“Oh hell, yes, Jessica, if I could get on Eye on the Desert, I’d let Patrick Evans break the news to all my friends.”
“Don’t do that, Tommy, you might get a fan following—I’m not sure you two want that, do you? I wish we could skip all the dark stuff tonight, altogether, and just celebrate. But I need to share what I found out today and get input from the rest of you.”
“Maybe you’re right about not needing to make a media splash. Don’t worry about dark stuff, though—I’m on cloud nine or ten or whatever. Nothing will get to me, tonight. I’m getting married, Jessica, can you believe it?”
“Yes, I can believe it—I want to believe it, Tommy. You deserve all the happiness in the world. You two head on over to Tiffany’s. I'll call everyone and spread the word. We won’t get there until right before closing time, to give you a little privacy. Then, we’ll all walk on over to Spago for dinner at eight, okay?”
“Sounds great, Jessica, I’ll go tell Jerry. He’s making himself look gorgeous—like he has to work at that. I am so lucky—he loves me, Jessica!” There was wonder in that breathless statement.
“Yes, you are lucky, Tommy. You know what?”
“What?”
“I love you, too,” Jessica said.
“Aww, that’s another reason I’m so lucky. What would I have done if you hadn’t loved me all these years, Jessica. After Kelly... without you, I... would have been lost, like she was.” Tommy choked up.
“Don’t think about that tonight, Tommy. We’re doing what we can to rid the world of sickos who prey on lost young women. Love is still the best antidote to all that sorrow—and you’ve found that, Tommy. Let’s get this party started, okay?”
“Okay, Jessica, my dream date is all ready to go. See you in a little while.”
The wheels in Jessica’s head were turning. First, she called everybody and asked that they meet in the lobby so they could walk over to Tiffany’s together. She didn’t tell them why—just that they should get ready for a big surprise. Next, Jessica called the store to make sure the rings got charged to her and not to the love birds. A small price to pay for the hope those few words from Tommy had brought her. She also made sure the shop would accommodate them if things weren’t all wrapped up by 7 p.m. on the dot. That was not a problem. Last, Jessica ordered little gifts for each of them, to mark the occasion—pendant necklaces with hearts for the women, and key rings for the men. Each would be engraved with Bernadette’s words “love lifts you up.”
When they all arrived at Tiffany’s and figured out what was going on, their mood was ebullient. Tommy and Jerry had narrowed down their choices to three. With a little feedback from the Cat Pack, they made their final selections—two sleek bands of white gold, each with a single diamond. It was after 7:30 by the time they all walked out of the shop. Apart from Brien’s concern about getting to Spago by 8:00, no one worried about a thing.
“It’s all so wonderful, Bernadette. I don’t get how life can change, in a split second, do you?” Jessica snapped her fingers.
“I know it happens, Jessica,” Bernadette replied. She did, too, having lost the love of her life at a young age. Bernadette knew well that life could be one way one day, and different the next. Remembering that moment while sitting in the police car, Jessica shut her eyes as though she could shield herself from the memory of what had happened next.
They had all stood outside Tiffany’s, thanking the security guard as he let them out of doors he had locked at closing time. Jessica had not noticed, but Peter had gone into security mode when they hit the street. He called out: “Gun! Back, inside the store, now!” The guard didn’t hesitate, and held the door open for them.
As Peter called out, he jumped in front of Jessica, pulling her a step closer to the doorway. They all scrambled to follow Peter’s orders. He was the last to retreat, still scanning the street as he backed through the doorway.
“It all happened so fast,” Jessica sighed, recalling an all-too-familiar sound—gunfire! As Peter took that last step through the doorway, he was hit. The impact, along with his own efforts to get inside, propelled him backward, and he fell hard onto the floor. As the door to Tiffany’s shut, a second bullet struck and pinged off of the overhang that sheltered the store entryway. The security guard had pulled a gun from his holster, and someone had triggered a silent alarm. Police must have responded instantly, perhaps fearing a robbery was underway at the legendary jewelry s
tore. Sirens could be heard in a matter of seconds.
The guard also called in medical help for Peter—not sure yet where the bullet hit. Jessica ventured to have a look, her heart pounding as she bent over Peter. He was lying motionless on the floor, his eyes closed. There had been an awful crack when the huge man struck the floor.
“No blood,” Jessica remembered saying, right before letting out a yelp. Several other Cat Pack members echoed with yelps of their own. Almost in unison, they jumped back, startled because Peter’s eyes had popped open, and he sat up. He was rubbing the back of his head.
“Whoa, it’s like seeing a dead body sit up in a morgue—like in a zombie or a vampire movie?” Brien said. “Awesome—are you okay, Bro?”
“I’m not dead and I’m not your bro, Brien. I am okay. Thanks for asking.”
“But you got shot, Dude.” Brien persisted.
“Yeah, that’s too bad. Messed up the leather, I will have to get it fixed,” Peter said, taking a look at the front of his jacket. “Kevlar worked, though. Stopped the bullet, but it knocked me on my ass.”
“Uh, Peter that wasn’t your ass that made that cracking sound when you hit the floor,” Brien said.
“You had better stay put until the EMTs get here and take a look,” the security guard admonished Peter, placing his weapon back in its holster. In almost the same instant, there was a pounding on the door; the first responders had arrived.
Once it had become clear there was no robbery in progress, the store had gone back to closing up or the night. Police fanned out and searched the area for a shooter. EMTs moved Peter to the back of a rescue vehicle while they checked him out. He would have a nasty bump on his head, but other than that he was unharmed. They had all joined Peter as a police officer took his statement.
“My guess is, the shooter had you in mind as the target, Jessica,” Peter had said.
“You think it’s the sniper that’s been on the loose?” Bernadette asked.
“That was no sniper,” Peter told them all, and the police. “A sniper would not have waved a hand gun around like that for me to see. And a sniper would have aimed higher.” As Peter told the police, he had spotted a figure standing across the street, “wearing a baseball cap and dark, baggy clothes—sweats. Short, maybe 5’5” inches tall, maybe too small to be a man.”
“Are you saying it was a woman?” A police officer asked.
“Was she an enormously pregnant, platinum blond?” Jessica had asked. The only woman Jessica could imagine gunning for her was Cassie Harper. It wouldn’t be the first time, either, that their paths had crossed on Rodeo Drive.
“Dressed as she was, it’s hard to say, but I don’t think the clothes were baggy enough to hide an enormously pregnant woman. Cassie’s taller than that, too. I could be wrong about it being a woman, but that bullet is from a low caliber handgun—a girlie gun. Whoever did this was out of here quick, too. It doesn’t sound like your ex-husband’s wife is in any shape to make a getaway like that, Jessica.” The officer was staring, like he was trying to figure out what to write down.
“Hang on,” he said. I'll call in the description you just gave me.” He stepped away for a moment while they continued to stand, mulling over events.
“Even if it wasn’t her, you might be in Cassie’s cross hairs now, though. When this gets out, she will hate you even more for upstaging her again... and on holy ground, Rodeo Drive,” Laura had said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Great, Laura, that’s just what I need. Two angry women trying to shoot me,” Jessica said.
“What if it’s one of those fans of yours turned stalker, already?” Tommy asked. Tommy was moving into prankster mode. They all headed in that direction as stress from the strange turn of events took hold.
“Let’s not forget that the sniper is still out there,” Kim added. They all looked at Kim, trying to figure out why she had brought that up. “So maybe three shooters after you. ...I’m just sayin’,” she added, giving her shoulders a little shrug.
“Tommy, I’m sorry about this. I feel horrible about ruining your wonderful evening—missing our reservation at Spago and oh yeah, putting your life at risk from a stray bullet.”
“Oh my God, Jessica, please don’t say you’re sorry. First, this is not your fault. Second, we can do Spago another time, and third, this has to be one of the most memorable engagement events on record. Am I right, Jerry?”
“You’ll get no argument from me about any of that, Tommy. This is one for the grandkids,” Jerry smiled as he reached out and put his arm around Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy turned to mush, right before Jessica’s eyes.
“Uh, let’s not forget we haven’t had dinner yet. There’s still time to celebrate, right?” That was Brien making sure they all kept their priorities—in other words, his stomach—right. “Officer, how long is it going to take to wrap this up? We’re hungry.” The police officer, who had rejoined them, just stared at Brien for a few seconds, shook his head, and went back to making notes.
“Once I’m done with Mr. March, here, I’ll let each of you tell your story, for the record. Then you can go. It doesn’t sound like we have much to go on here. Maybe we’ll pick up somebody in the area, thanks to that description, but I wouldn’t count on it. Keep an eye on your friend here, who just happens to be wearing Kevlar. Just in case that bump on the head turns out to be worse than it seems at the moment.” He eyed the motley little band with wariness. “I’m not sure what you all are mixed up in, but I think it’s time to back off.”
That’s a record, Jessica thought. A police warning to back off, issued like a citation, in under fifteen minutes. “Thanks officer, we’ll take that under advisement,” Jessica had responded.
“Sounds like lawyer lingo, Ms. Huntington, is it?” He asked, checking the list of names he had made. Before she could respond, he went on. “Huntington, Jessica Huntington, why does that name sound so familiar?” Then it hit him. “You're the angel heiress, right?” he asked, shaking his head again. “Wait ‘til the guys hear about this. You’re next, Ms. Huntington.”
Jessica had little to tell the officer about what had happened that night. When he asked who might have it in for her, about her buddy in Kevlar, and their comments that it might not be “the sniper” who had targeted her that night, she was too tired to explain it all. She suggested, if he wanted to know more, that he speak to officers in another of the jurisdictions involved, referring him to George Hernandez and both Fontanas.
Later, when he dropped them at the hotel, he spoke to Jessica. “We may have more questions for you all, after we check with the Cathedral City PD, the Palm Springs PD, and the Riverside County Sheriff’s department.” He shook his head again, took the business card Jessica handed him, and helped her out of the back of that police car, as she struggled with one arm in that sling. “You are one lucky lady, Jessica Huntington,” was the last thing he said to her. The next person who tells me how lucky I am is in for a dose of bad luck—of my making, she thought as she joined her friends in the lobby. That's all she wanted to hear—another cop telling her how lucky she was. Enough already! It’s almost as annoying as being told to back off, Jessica thought, as she thanked the man for the ride. The police officer had insisted they be driven to the hotel even though they were only a couple of blocks away. As he had pulled up at the hotel entrance, Jessica checked the time, using her smart phone. It was after nine o’clock. She had received phone calls during the melee and had voice mail messages, several of them from her mother.
“Oh no,” she said, after listening to the voice mails. Her mom had become more anxious with each call. Jessica stopped in the lobby to call her mother. She decided to keep the latest bad news to herself. “Sorry, Mom, I had the phone off for a while. It’s been a wild night. Tommy and Jerry are getting married.” Her friends were standing a short distance away, waiting for her. When she finished that call, they all moved toward the hotel restaurant that was still open for dinner.
“Okay, we
ll I planned to tell you this over dinner, but Mom has helped us figure out who Libby’s red devil might be. His name is Eric Conroy. He has, or had, a woman friend we need to talk to about him. She might just be the key to figuring out this whole scheme. I had a plan I wanted to run by you about who to talk to next, but Sally Winchester has just gone to the top of my to-be-interviewed list.” Laura Stone stopped in her tracks.
“Well, that will be hard to do, Jessica. She’s dead.” They all stood there for a moment before Brien went into fearless leader mode.
“We need food. Follow me,” Brien said, making a beeline for the restaurant.
28 More Women
Saturday evening, before the debacle on Rodeo Drive, Jessica had decided that she would visit Pinnacle. She planned to track down Carla Fergusson in person Monday morning. She’d make an appointment with the woman if she could get one. If that didn’t work, she intended to lie in wait and confront the woman if she spotted her at lunch or at the end of the day. Basically, Jessica’s strategy was to stalk the Fergusson woman until she agreed to speak to her. Cornering her, while the pressure was on with the impending IPO, felt like the best chance to find out what was going on.
As exhausted as they were, there was nevertheless a palpable sense of anticipation in their little group as they sat down for their belated dinner. Seated in the posh restaurant at the Beverly Wilshire hotel, late on a Sunday night, there wasn’t much of a crowd. Thankfully, for Brien’s sake, they ordered food right away—getting bread and crudité into Brien’s hands before he passed out. The staff served champagne right away too, and they toasted Tommy and Jerry’s engagement as well as their good fortune that no one was seriously hurt.
“To Kevlar,” Peter offered, after they had said cheers to Tommy and Jerry. Jessica, throwing caution to the wind, raised her own sparkling crystal glass of bubbly. Then Peter turned to Laura and Jessica. “Okay, what gives, you two?”