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

by Anna Burke

  She got up and hit the hotel phone line for the concierge. Maybe it was dicey to make the schlepp to Rodeo Drive, so let them come to her. In minutes, the hotel staff had it all arranged. Samples in her size and Bernadette's, from several designers, and a stylist to meet with them all, including Tommy and Jerry, who could pick out items for themselves. He and Jerry had decided they wanted to take a South Seas honeymoon cruise. They'd have the wardrobe to do it.

  Over dinner at Spago, she and Bernadette shared what they had learned from Dottie Winchester with the rest of her Cat Pack pals, including the key and a missing diary. Jessica also provided a quick summary of what she found, or thought she had found, in all that paper about Pinnacle. She also mentioned that brief conversation she had with Frank, leaving out the part about the other investigation underway into Pinnacle. That retelling of all the intriguing leads uncovered, was enough to set her on the trail again.

  She wanted Eric Conroy to pay for what he had done to the Donnelly family and the Winchesters, but that was not likely to be of much concern to the feds. What difference did it make to the FBI if a louse like Eric Conroy trampled the heart of a young woman on his way to becoming CEO of a billion-dollar company? Trampling hearts was no federal crime. Jessica set out her plans for the next day: meetings with Carla Fergusson, Father Caverly, and a follow up with Andrea Jessop.

  “Jessica, why don’t you let us follow up with the priest?” Tommy asked. He could not hide his happiness about that time with the stylist or getting the dinner he wanted at the famed eatery. “We can do that while you’re meeting with that Fergusson person and Andrea Jessop. Then we can all meet up for lunch and report in before we drive back to the desert. I vote we come back here for lunch with Wolfgang.” He had a sublime expression on his face. Wolfgang Puck had put in an appearance at the restaurant, and Tommy was still agog.

  “Sure, Tommy, why not?” Jessica sighed. “Since I won’t know what’s happening at Pinnacle until I try to make an appointment, I doubt I could have gotten all that done tomorrow, anyway. Until I have a time set to meet with Carla Fergusson, the rest of my day will be on hold. So, yes, let’s go ahead and plan to meet for lunch. Maybe by lunchtime, this whole mess will be over. Wouldn’t that be great?” Jessica allowed herself to bask in the glow of that possibility as she sat with her friends.

  34 Mutiny

  At 8:00 a.m. Monday morning, Jessica called, asking to meet with Carla Fergusson. As planned, Jessica claimed she and a client were interested in investing in Pinnacle once it went public, and had a few questions about the company. As she pointed out to Carla Fergusson’s assistant, her client had a substantial investment to make once shares became available on the secondary market. The assistant put Jessica on hold, but was back in an instant. Carla Fergusson had a cancelled meeting and would put them in that slot if they could get to her office by ten. If not, they could arrange a meeting for later in the week. Jessica took the ten o'clock appointment, ended the call, and spoke to Bernadette, who stood nearby in Jessica's hotel room.

  “My weird luck's working for us today, Bernadette. The Pinnacle company is in an accommodating posture with that IPO hanging out there, I guess.”

  “Why not? They want that stock price to go up. Do you think Carla Fergusson recognized your name?” Bernadette asked.

  “Could be, but I barely remembered her from that encounter at Dad's gala. If she recognized my name, that might not be such a good thing.” Was she accommodating Jessica on Eric Conroy's behalf? The meeting at Carla Fergusson’s place of business was on the record, and their arrival would occur in full view of colleagues, so this was no furtive back-alley tete-a-tete. Still, anticipation loomed as, with Bernadette’s help, Jessica made herself presentable.

  That was easier than it might have been because of their session with the stylist the day before. The stylist had brought her a stunning Versace silk pantsuit in taupe. The sleeves were wide enough to fit over the cast, but not by much. Jessica wasn't ready to wear heels, so she chose a comfortable pair of flats. Sore ribs and the broken arm in a sling remained as the last vestiges of the Mt. San Jacinto incident. That is, if you didn’t count the intermittent dreams of falling, or dangling by a thread, trussed up in climbing gear or, at other times, stark naked.

  By 9:00 a.m., they were ready for what should be a thirty or forty minute drive to Pinnacle. Bernadette was elegant in a Chanel suit with classic lines, but a deeper rose color than the famous suit worn by Jackie Kennedy. Low heels and pearls completed the ensemble. The stylist had called in help for their hair and nails, so they both had chichi doos and perfect nails for the occasion. Jessica was still letting her hair grow out, but it was trimmed. The blond highlights were now covered by a glossy brown shade.

  “Wow, you two look great,” Brien exclaimed. “You look super rich Bernadette.” As he spoke, he opened the door so they could climb into the back seat of the car. Peter waited behind the wheel, in the driver seat.

  “Thanks Brien. What makes you think I'm not rich?” A baffled look swept over Brien's face. As he climbed into the front seat, he answered Bernadette.

  “Uh, if you were rich, you'd be retired on a beach in Boca or somewhere, right?” Bernadette just smiled and shrugged.

  “You do both fit the part—except for that sling, Jessica.”

  “If anyone asks, I'll blame it on a skiing accident,” she said. Fat chance that would work, with all that angel heiress nonsense floating around. Anyone who knew about it wouldn't have to ask her what happened.

  “I hope no one asks me questions. I don't know much about investing, although your dad has tried to help me out over the years, Jessica.”

  “That's why you have a legal representative with you, Bernadette. Jessica will do the talking,” Peter said, as he pulled away from the hotel entrance.

  "Whoa, that's like rich people, too. You two have this wired, don't you?"

  “I sure hope so,” Jessica replied. She grew quiet as they drove through traffic, heading downtown to the Pinnacle building. They arrived with plenty of time to spare, so went with Peter to park in the garage attached to the building. The lobby area at the Pinnacle building was what you might expect of a PR firm that served members of the power elite. Replete with gleaming marble, brass fixtures, ambient lighting, and banks of elevators. Security guards were everywhere, wearing blazers and slacks.

  “What do they think we'll steal?” Bernadette whispered.

  “Clients, or more likely, photos or confidential information about clients. You know how sneaky and resourceful paparazzi or fans can be,” Jessica said, as they approached the no-nonsense guard seated at an information desk with a sign asking them to check in. An employee of the firm was signing in ahead of them. The security guy had a build as solid as the marble desk he sat behind. “This is about monitoring the comings and goings of employees, too. All present and accounted for, and if you’re let go, you get escorted out of here, on the spot. No chance for you to take proprietary information or client files with you,” Jessica whispered to Bernadette.

  “May I help you?” the guard asked when it was their turn. Jessica gave him their names. He looked at her and then scanned Peter and Brien, who were standing behind her. “They can wait in the lounge,” he said, motioning with his head toward a luxurious waiting area. She could tell Peter didn’t like it, but he knew better than to challenge the rules used by security-minded companies. Especially companies, like Pinnacle, that dealt with the high and mighty. On cue, a distinguished-looking gentleman, star of stage and screen, swept into the lobby with his entourage. Jessica heard Bernadette draw in a breath as she recognized him. In seconds, a squadron of security team members and individuals wearing Pinnacle name badges, stepped from a nearby elevator and surrounded him.

  “We’ve got him, Scott, thanks,” a woman called out, along with a code number. Scott, the guard signing them in, scanned a page in front of him and wrote down the code or a name or something. Then he checked the time and wrote that down.
<
br />   “Not everyone has to wait to check in, Jessica,” Bernadette said.

  “No, I guess there’s a VIP service. Not for his team, though,” Jessica said, nodding toward two oversized men who had come into the lobby with the celeb. They headed to the area where Brien and Peter waited.

  “Put this on, please, and turn it in, here, before you leave, Ms. Huntington. I'll call to have someone from Ms. Fergusson’s office escort you upstairs.”

  “Thanks, Scott,” Jessica said. “See you in a little while.” Bernadette clipped her badge to her jacket and then reached over and helped Jessica put hers on. Jessica had tried, but struggled with one arm in a sling. When they looked up, a well-dressed young woman had appeared in front of them. That was fast, Jessica thought.

  “I’m Donna, Carla Fergusson’s assistant. Will you follow me please?” Moments later, they were on the elevator. When it did not stop at Carla Fergusson’s floor, Jessica looked at Bernadette. Bernadette knew it, too. Something was up.

  The elevator finally came to a stop, and the doors opened. They stepped out into a lavish waiting area with startling views of the city below. Without a word, the assistant stepped back into the elevator and disappeared. The red devil, himself, held out his hand in welcome.

  “Ms. Huntington, what a pleasure to see you again. We met at that gala for your father in July, right Jessica? May I call you Jessica—and Bernadette, yes?” Eric Conroy was polite enough, friendly even, but didn’t wait for either of them to reply to the questions he asked. There was stress in the set of his jaw, just like in that picture where he was shaking hands with the CEO. Jessica suspected that, despite what he said, it was not a pleasure to see her again.

  When they entered the large office, Carla Fergusson was already there. She did not even feign pleasure at seeing Jessica when Eric introduced them. “You remember Jessica Huntington, don’t you Carla?”

  “How could I forget? You’ve been in the news a lot.” Somehow, the way those words came out gave Jessica the shivers. Like maybe Carla Fergusson was hoping to see Jessica’s name in the news again soon, but in the obit section of the L.A. Times. “Given all that’s been going on, it’s hard to believe that investing in Pinnacle is so important to you. That’s why I called Eric. I was sure you and your client would prefer to get the answers to your questions straight from the horse’s mouth, so-to-speak.” She smiled. Not a friendly smile.

  A “humph” erupted from Bernadette, as they sat down next to Carla Fergusson and across from Eric Conroy. Jessica was too apprehensive to figure out exactly what Bernadette said in Spanish, but made out the words “horse’s ass,” or something like that.

  “Can we get you a drink or shall we get down to business?” Conroy asked, still standing behind his desk in the posh office. Jessica wasn’t interested in a drink, but she could use a few more minutes to evaluate the situation. Despite the unexpected surprise at seeing Eric Conroy when they stepped out of the elevator, she still wasn’t that worried. The Cat Pack discussion about the fact that she and Bernadette weren’t going it alone echoed with reassurance. If she and Bernadette didn’t turn up in an hour, Peter would get antsy. He would ask questions and, if that didn’t work, he’d have authorities upstairs in no time.

  “A drink would be great,” Jessica said, examining the expensive digs. It was good to be Executive Vice President at Pinnacle, except for the way Eric Conroy clenched and unclenched his jaw every so often. The CEO’s office must be something to behold, she thought, taking in the opulence in which the second-in-command ruled. She glanced at Carla Fergusson, who was even more tense than Conroy; on pins and needles.

  “What’ll it be?” he asked, pulling out an expensive bottle of cognac from a cabinet nearby.

  “Early in the day for me, Eric—even for an exquisite forty-year-old bottle like that. Coffee would be great. Do you have a cup handy?” Jessica asked.

  “Of course, how do you want it?” he asked.

  “Black,” Jessica said, in her mind adding, and piping hot, just in case you do something impolite.

  “How about you, Bernadette?” he asked, as he motioned Carla to fetch coffee from a commercial version of a single cup brewer system.

  “I’ll have the same, Mr. Conroy,” Bernadette responded.

  “On one condition,” he said

  “What’s that?” Bernadette asked.

  “You call me Eric. You'll soon be part of the Pinnacle family,” he said.

  “Sure, Eric. Why not?” Bernadette asked.

  As Carla made coffee, Eric poured himself a glass of the cognac and sat down. The bottle came with him.

  “It’s 5:00 somewhere, am I right?” He asked, sipping the tawny-colored elixir. Jessica nodded. She couldn’t argue with that. The tension between them was getting to her. Did it show?

  “So what questions can I answer for you?” What the hell, Jessica, thought. Why not lay it all on the table? Before she could speak, though, two things happened. First, Carla set a cup of coffee down on the table next to her chair. Then a cell phone rang. Jessica reached into her purse and pulled her phone out, but it wasn’t hers that had rung.

  “Excuse me, please. I need to take this,” Eric Conroy said, picking up his cell phone. “Kierkegaard, what can I do for you?” He was buoyant, expecting good news. “What do you mean? That’s your name, isn’t it?” He chortled, giving Jessica a little wink, as if she were in on his little joke. At the expense of whomever was on the other end of that phone, so it seemed. “What? What are you saying, Kirk?” Jumping to his feet, Conroy blanched as he listened to what Kirk had to say. Carla, who was making a second cup of coffee for Bernadette, turned and stared. Eric Conroy was white as a sheet.

  “Eric, what is it?” He did not respond. Instead, he stepped out of his office, shutting the door behind him. The three women looked up a minute later as the man’s voice rose, loud enough they could hear him speaking in the next room. Not that they could make out what he was saying. Carla handed a cup of coffee to Bernadette, her hand trembling a little. Then she sat down, literally on the edge of her seat.

  When Conroy returned, chewing his bottom lip, his face was suffused with rage. He glanced at Jessica. A cold, hard look was in his eyes which had become dark round saucers in his florid face. “Did you do this?” He scanned Jessica’s face with care.

  “Do what, Eric?” Jessica responded, perplexed as a dozen scenarios raced through her mind.

  “Someone ratted us out to the feds. Was it you?” he asked, peering at her as his face flushed deeper with anger.

  “No, Eric, it was not me,” Jessica said, still gripping the cell phone she had taken from her purse.

  He paused, and then gazed at Carla as if he might ask her the same question. The woman was a stone statue, perched on her chair. He shook his head. “Apparently, we have unwanted visitors on their way here. I suppose if you had known about this, there wouldn’t have been any reason for your meddling today, right? They’ve already arrived at Dottie Winchester’s estate, speaking of meddlesome women.” That got Carla’s attention.

  “Do the authorities have Andrea?” She asked.

  “No. Maybe she’s the one who tipped them off. Kirk tells me Andrea was nowhere to be seen when the authorities arrived.”

  “Who’s Kirk? Why would the feds be there, Eric?” Carla asked, her eyes pinning him to the spot. “Andrea said Jessica took Sally’s diaries and there wasn’t anything in them about you or Pinnacle.” Jessica and Bernadette snapped to attention. That uneasy feeling she had about Andrea hit Jessica like a kick in the gut. Her hopes that Carla had been the whistleblower to the feds, dashed. Bernadette reached out and picked up that cup of hot coffee. Jessica shut off the sound and slid her cell phone into the sling. Then she picked up her own cup of coffee.

  “Who knows what they’re looking for? Dottie was on the board here for a long time. Maybe, her resignation puts her on the list of go-to people, and they think she has documents or knows something about Pinnacle. Or maybe they think
Sally had something important in all her stuff stored at Dottie’s house. There’s a bunch of hyenas at my house, too, besides the ones stuck in traffic just down the street. Heave-ho, Carla. Time to shove off. Launch Plan B, now! Send the orders,” Conroy said, downing the remaining cognac in his glass. Carla was searching for something on her cell phone. She hit a button, presumably sending a text message relaying those orders about Plan B.

  With that, Eric Conroy moved into action. He opened a safe, hidden by a painting hanging on the wall behind him. Pulling a leather portfolio from the safe, he unzipped it. In his haste, items fell from it. Money and identification documents he scooped up, putting a packet of cash into his suit pocket as he shoved items back into the portfolio.

  “Here, just in case we're in a hurry later.” He tossed what looked like a passport to Carla, along with another neatly wrapped stack of bills.

  “Eric, how are we going to get out of here, if the building will be crawling with federal agents any minute?” Carla was standing now, poised to run.

  “You’re right. We need a distraction, don’t we?” He eyed Jessica. No way was she going to be his distraction. If he took one step toward her, hot coffee was going into his face. Quick as lightning, Eric stuffed papers from his safe and desk into a trash can that he picked up. He set the can up on a shelf, right under the ventilation duct. Picking up the bottle sitting on his desk, he poured the rest of the 90-proof cognac over the papers. Then he took several cigars from a box and stuffed them in a pocket. The rest he dumped into that can. He lit a cigar and tossed it into the can. The contents caught fire, and smoke curled up toward the vent. At the same time, he hit a button, and an alarm wailed. The office was filling with smoke, although the ventilation system was sucking away at it, too. Flames leapt from the can. Conroy tossed in raffia and dried plants from a flower arrangement nearby. More flames sparked, and noxious smoke rose.