by Anna Burke
“You poor bastard, she’s cussing like a sailor and threatening to kill you! All you do is stand there and take it. Oh no, look out, look out!” Eric said, as a clip featured the wailing woman taking swings at restaurant staff trying to help her. Food was flying and patrons were scrambling. “Help her get the hell out of that restaurant! You could sure use my services to put the right spin on this disaster,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry to say, I won’t be around to help you. Salud!” Eric raised his glass with that salute. He hit the off button on the TV just as the network reran footage of the EMTs joining the circus. The press was on their heels.
“Hear this,” he announced, making a vow as he refilled his glass. “My future won't be dictated by some crazy bitch like that. You will all stay out of my way, if you know what’s good for you,” Eric downed the second drink he had poured. He didn’t much care what Libby Van Der Woert had on Richard Carr or what Jessica Huntington was up to. Let them try to throw a monkey wrench into his plans, at this point. He was no James Harper, gaping, slack-jawed, at a woman who did not know when enough was enough. Eric Conroy knew exactly what to do with uppity women, especially when they became too much trouble.
30 Wicked Women
“At one point she was screaming, ‘Jim, you blankety-blank-blank, touch me and I’ll kill you.’ There are brief glimpses of her face, but she could do it—kill him, I mean. Jim is toast,” Tommy announced to the group seated around a table at Sunday brunch.
“Oh no Man, not another dead husband,” Brien said, hanging on every word Tommy spoke.
“It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Laura commented, with a smirk on her face. Everyone at the table gawked at Laura, astounded that those words came from her. It had been less than six months since her husband was murdered. “Hey, Jim’s a jerk. So is she. In this case, it might be a mercy killing, not even murder.” Laura shrugged as she took a delicate bite from a strip of bacon.
“She has assault charges pending, so Jim could be in more trouble than he knows. Not my problem! What was she doing out on the town in her condition, anyway?” Jessica asked.
“Where I come from, Jessica, you work until the last minute and have that baby wherever you are. You city girls got it good. For my mother and her friends, it wasn’t a fancy restaurant like that. A baby will get here whether you’re cleaning the fish, hanging laundry, or feeding the chickens.”
“Point taken, Bernadette, but even on a good day, this woman is a beast. They ought to have her in seclusion or restrained, and under an armed guard in her condition! At least they got her out of there so the whole world didn’t have to witness that succubus give birth.”
“It's like the Blair Witch Project, Beverly Hills style, with all those dark, jumpy video clips. Spooky,” Brien said, doing his man-in-the-know head bobble. Jessica hadn’t seen the movie, but those scary scenes, with eerily-lighted selfies, and a lot of heavy breathing came to mind from the movie promos, so maybe.
“I’m not sure I get that ‘suck a bus’ part, though, Jessica.” A puzzled puppy dog expression had replaced that man-in-the-know look on Brien’s face.
“I’ll explain it to you later, Brien,” Peter offered.
“Thanks, Dude.” Brien dove back into the stack of Challah French toast on his plate, satisfied with that promise from Peter. The brunch, like their spa visit and everything else at the Beverly Wilshire was first rate. Brien was making the most of it.
“The witch part sounds about right,” Kim acknowledged. “She is a hellion.”
“Yeah, she put curses on everyone in that restaurant before the EMTs arrived a few minutes after the chaos began. That was on top of curses directed at Jim. Just in case you didn’t recognize him in the blurry, smart phone video clips being tweeted out, her vicious voiceovers make sure you know who her baby daddy is. ‘James Harper, you bastard, you did this. I'll make you pay!’ Followed by a string of expletives and growling. Grrr!” Tommy said, mimicking her nasty tone of voice and the growl that followed.
“Whoa, that is wicked,” Brien said with great conviction.
“If he doesn’t start divorce proceedings before the end of the year, I’ll be astonished,” Jerry added.
“Some people will put up with lots of abuse, Jerry. Besides, Jim will look like an even bigger jerk than he does now if he files for divorce from his wife who just gave birth. He’s screwed until next year, at least.”
“You’re right, Kim. When she leaves the hospital carrying her little bundle of joy, all the world will coo at her. Jim’s in for months, maybe years, of this. If he files for divorce, can you imagine that? The custody battle will be epic,” Laura said. “He'll wish he was a dead husband.” Everyone stared at her again as she stabbed a chunk of melon on her plate.
“What? What did I say now? You don’t think Jim will kill her, do you?”
“I doubt anybody will kill anybody, Laura. Some divorce lawyers stand to make a fortune if they go in that direction,” Jessica said, sighing. “And yes, there’s likely to be one hell of a custody battle. With Cassie and Jim as parents, it could be the first one, ever, that’s about who’s forced to end up with the baby. I can’t imagine either one of them wanting to be a parent.”
“Sì, Jessica, pobre bambino,” Bernadette said with sadness.
“Poor baby is right. If the child is anything like her mother, the rest of us will be sorry too. Just look at how much grief one Cassie, Libby or Margarit can cause.” Laura said in a woeful way. Despite her seeming glibness about murder, the memory of the wretched Margarit still caused pain.
“You don’t believe in the whole tabla rasa thing, Laura?” Peter asked.
“Yo, Peter, are you speaking Spanish now too... ta-bla ra-sa?” Brien enunciated each syllable. “What’s that?”
“Latin, Brien, and tabla rasa means when you’re born your mind is a blank slate, ready for whatever life writes on it,” Peter added.
“Blank slate, oh, okay,” Brien repeated, with a stare to match.
“Some slates are blanker than others,” Kim muttered under her breath. Peter just shook his head.
“What? Uh, okay,” Brien said, trying to figure out what the murmurs meant. “You’ll tell me later, right?”
“Sure,” Peter said and went to work eating the food on his plate.
“I don’t know about Cassie or Margarit, but Libby’s situation sure makes a case for genes though. She’s lived about as close to a charmed life as you can get. Her parents love her, have given her everything, and they’ve gone to professionals for help since she was a kid. She’s like a throwback to her grandmother, according to Nora. And, yes, poor baby is right, Bernadette. That child will have nature and nurture working against it. I can’t imagine anyone spending a childhood with Cassie Carlysle Harper and ending up whole. Was it a boy or a girl?”
“Girl,” Tommy said. “If it’s about genes, she’s doomed.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Heck, I still have hope for Libby if she recovers from that last round of seizures. She’s capable of feeling something close to remorse, based on what I heard up there on Mt. San Jacinto before Carr showed up. Carr’s a whole different animal—was a whole different animal. His associate, Eric Conroy, must be too. That was a cold, calculating decision to pay someone to go into the ICU and kill Libby. A guy like that has to be stopped.” Jessica was emphatic as she spoke. What would it take to stop Eric Conroy? she wondered.
“It is odd how these people find each other, isn’t it? Not just Cassie and Jim, but Libby and Shannon and Dr. Dick, and, now, Conroy seems to have had his hooks into another doomed woman,” Jerry commented.
“Two of them, possibly. Let’s not forget the Prada-loving co-worker who showed up on his arm at my dad’s gala back in July. These guys can be charming when they want to be. I can testify to that. I fell for the ever-creepier James Harper, before Cassie did.”
“At the risk of sounding like one of our detective friends, Jessica, are you sure it’s such a good idea to me
et with Carla Fergusson? If she’s under Conroy’s spell, then asking probing questions about her beau’s business activities could tick her off. You love in-your-face confrontations with evil masterminds, and you may get one. I don't see why Carla Fergusson won't set you up with Conroy.”
“Here's the thing, Laura. Back in July, I got the same vibe from her I got from you, Kim, the first time we met.” Jessica smiled at Kim as she spoke. “No Saraswati tattoo, but Carla was angry that night at my Dad’s gala when I ran into her in the Ladies room. She was in there removing a spot from the fabulous dress she wore and muttering under her breath when I stepped out of the stall. ‘Men,’ she said, ‘Sloppy devils, even at a black tie affair!’ I urged her to send the guy a bill for ruining that gorgeous dress. ‘Not when the devil is your boss’s boss, and a real charmer,’ she said sounding angry and sarcastic, you know? Not words spoken by a woman infatuated with Conroy. Anyway, she stepped back into accommodating colleague mode fast. ‘I do deserve a raise. My congratulations to your father, it’s a great event.’ Then, she dashed out of there, back to Eric Conroy’s side. When I saw her later, she was all smiles, touching the man, all flirty-like. Who knows what it takes to see a guy like that for what he is and get away from him. Maybe she’s at that point, or could be, with a nudge.”
“Well, in my case,” Kim said, “I found the creep of my life because I was young and dumb and desperate for attention—anything that seemed like someone gave a damn was hard to resist. He was a troll, out there looking for lost girls and boys like me. What shocks me is that money didn’t protect these women from predators like Carr and Conroy. When I first met Mr. P and the doc, I was just grateful to have food and clean place to sleep. That wasn’t how Kelly fell into their clutches, was it?” Kim asked looking at Tommy.
“No, I’m not sure what put my sister onto the doomed-girl-track. She not only had food and a place to sleep, but friends and family who loved her—it just wasn’t enough,” Tommy replied. Heaviness descended upon them. Jessica hurtled toward despair.
“You don’t have to understand it to stop it,” Bernadette said. “Right is right and wrong is wrong. You stop it, when you can, before anyone else gets hurt. I’m going with you to check out this Carla Fergusson person. That red devil won’t try any of his funny business with two of us in the room—even if she tells him about your visit.”
“Let’s hope so. I’m in no condition for another Lucy and Ethel situation,” Jessica worried aloud.
“Peter will be there, too, Jessica. You won’t be going into the lion’s den alone this time. The Cat Pack will have your back,” Tommy said, making hissing sounds and clawing the air. It would have set Frank on edge if he had been there. Her decision to meet with Carla would have done that, too.
“And me,” Brien said, shoving one last bite of food in his mouth.
“You ready to roll, Peter?” Jessica asked, surprised to find she missed Frank. Not the prospect of being chewed out, or the worried look he would have had on his face. There was a kind of comfort she found in his presence. I guess I like the strong, not-so-silent-type, she thought, as she let out a little sigh. Not enough to call him and tell him what she was up to, though.
“Sure, let’s go see if Dottie Winchester has the key to nailing this Conroy creep. If that’s the case, you won’t need a meeting with Carla Fergusson or anyone else after today. I won’t rest easy until he’s nabbed, and can no longer afford the services of a sniper, or whatever other hired help he has working for him,” Peter said, marching toward the exit. As they headed to the car, Jessica’s phone pinged. She stopped to take a look.
“It’s a text message from Detective Hernandez.”
31 A Mother Speaks
The Winchester estate sat on a hill in a community Jessica knew well. The city of San Marino, home to the Huntington library, was a familiar part of family lore. Henry Huntington, her father’s namesake, had built a mansion there, early in the 20th century. Great-great-uncle Henry, or something like that, played an instrumental role in California history. The Huntington name was everywhere in San Marino, as it was elsewhere in the state.
The city, with its tree-lined streets, expansive residences, lavish greenery, parks and gardens, was picturesque, often featured in Hollywood movies. Dottie Winchester lived in a Georgian Revival masterpiece, sitting at the high point on one of those lush, shady streets. A member of the household staff welcomed Bernadette and Jessica. Not a butler, but Dottie’s 40ish personal secretary, Andrea Jessop. Jessica had spoken to her that morning to confirm their appointment. Brien and Peter planned to wait in the car. Peter was intent on keeping an eye out for anyone monitoring their whereabouts. As soon as they arrived, Andrea put in a call to their own security team which showed up in minutes to chat with Peter and Brien. So far, Brien had been on his best behavior, mimicking Peter’s demeanor, and not saying a word. Jessica had another of those surges of hope that Brien was not just good-hearted, but teachable. He couldn’t be a wannabe surfer and pool boy his entire life.
Andrea, in pearls and a twin sweater set worn with gray woolen slacks, looked every bit the gentlewoman assistant to the matron awaiting them. She had welcomed them all into a gracious formal entry way, adorned with marble floors and a stunning arrangement of fresh flowers atop a vintage console. Once Peter and Brien connected with the security team, Andrea asked Bernadette and Jessica to follow her down a hallway. Then they passed through an exquisitely detailed living room, with classic symmetrical lines, elaborate crown molding, and a massive fireplace. Original art hung on the walls, and an antique tapestry hung above the fireplace.
Andrea swept through to a dining room that could seat twenty or more. She opened a set of tall French doors leading outdoors to patios affording a view of the pool and gardens beyond. Seated in a wheelchair, at a patio table, was the matriarch they had come to visit.
Jessica almost did not recognize Dottie Winchester. They had met a few times, but the woman she remembered had been formidable. Taller than her own mother, Dorothy Winchester had been a striking figure. The person who stood to greet them was tall, but frail and a little bent. Gone was the dark hair that Jessica recalled. Stylishly cut, Dottie's hair was gray, almost white. Her eyes still shone brightly, but with less confidence and determination than had resided in them the last time they met.
“Welcome, Jessica, it’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been years, hasn’t it, since we saw each other?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say that’s true. I was in the Palo Alto area for a decade and didn’t get back here to L.A. often. I’m afraid I lost track of my family’s friends once Mom and Dad were out of the country so much of the time,” Jessica said.
“Well, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You grew up and started a life of your own. That requires focus, doesn’t it?” She eyed Jessica’s sling, but said nothing. She seemed to tire, and sat again.
“Dottie, let me give you a hand,” Bernadette said, with an ease and familiarity that surprised Jessica. She took one of Dottie’s arms as Andrea rushed to take the other. The two women eased Dottie back into her seat.
“Bernadette, I am so glad to see you. I’m supposed to thank you for your latest contribution to the scholarship fund this year in Guillermo’s name, at UCLA. Much appreciated. That’s old news, though. It’s been a while for us, too, hasn’t it? Look at what I have with me.” She reached into a pocket on the wheelchair and pulled out a beaded rosary.
“Bernadette was so kind when Harry passed away,” she said, directing her comments to Jessica. “A tower of strength, but I suppose you know that already. How remarkable her life has been, even after the tragic loss of Guillermo.”
“Yes, I’ve counted on her kindness and strength my whole life, a lot lately.” Jessica could tell the praise was getting to Bernadette, who was eager to change the subject.
“I’m sorry about Sally, Dottie. I didn’t know you lost her, too.”
“We kept it all hush-hush, since we weren't certain what had
happened. After an inquest ruled her death a terrible accident, I just withdrew, Bernadette. I haven’t been well, and I haven’t wanted to see anyone... I’m sorry.”
“There’s no reason to apologize. Trouble’s a hard thing to share. When it involves someone we love so much, it's even harder,” Bernadette said.
“It was quite a shock. More so even than Harry’s passing, since she was so young. I was more and more in the dark about her life. We weren’t even speaking when she died. I knew she was in trouble, but what could I do? I’ve thought about the last year before she died, and I still haven’t come up with anything else I might have done.”
“Won’t you sit down,” Andrea said. She was so quiet that Jessica had almost forgotten she was there. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I will go see what’s holding up the tea.”
“Thank you, Andrea, where are my manners? Andrea has been a blessing through this whole ordeal. If I hadn’t been able to rely on her, I don’t know what might have happened. She’s like you, Bernadette, a rock.” Dottie smiled at Andrea, who returned a brief smile before dashing off.
“We’re glad you’re willing to talk to us,” Jessica said.
“When Alexis said you had some concerns about Eric Conroy, I didn’t hesitate. Sally was always a fragile girl; I blamed myself for that. I was overbearing, but I found her temerity hard to take. Still, she was sweet, smart, and a talented writer and poet. She grew into such a lovely young woman. I believed she had a chance for a happy future, although a writer’s life is not an easy one—even with the patronage my friends and I could offer her.” Dottie paused, staring out over the fountains and lavish pool, to the pastoral view of well-tended gardens.
“When she went out with Eric Conroy and they became engaged, I was hopeful, at first. I didn’t like him much, but I thought her love might bring out the good in him. Within weeks, the pressure started. Subtle in the beginning. Eric used the time he spent here to figure out which way I was leaning on some issue that had come up at a board meeting. I didn’t object to his inquiries, although I would have preferred that he be more direct. I didn’t object, either, to the fact that the man was ambitious, and in a hurry to get ahead. It was the manipulative way he went about it that rubbed me the wrong way. Not just manipulation, but distortions of the truth, misrepresenting the positions of others on the board, creating the illusion he had more support than he did for a particular issue. I knew he was hustling me, Jessica, and I didn't like it. Eric Conroy wanted the top job at Pinnacle and he wanted to take the company public. I had doubts about both matters.”