Twice as Dead

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “So the Clarice you were talking about in the bar was the same one you met when Sophie died?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “And she wants you to find her missing friends?” Zee took out another tissue and touched it to her damp forehead.

  “Did,” I corrected. “She fired me. That’s what was on the note Betty Rumble gave me. It was a note from Clarice saying I was fired.” Remembering I had stashed the note in my bag, I dug it out and handed it to Zee.

  After reading it, Zee handed it back. I returned the note to my purse and said, “I want to talk to her. Maybe I can change her mind.”

  Forget a wooden coat hanger, Zee looked like she wanted to smack me in the head with a shovel. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

  “No, Zee, I’m not. I demand to know why she changed her mind. Fired? No one fires me without good reason. In fact, I’ve only been fired once in my life, and that was when I was twenty and working at a greasy spoon. My boss grabbed my ass, and I decked him.”

  I paused a moment to corral my thoughts, sensing they were about to jump the track. “And I want to know who killed Alfred Nunez. That’s the least I can do for Joan.”

  Pointing back down the street in the direction of Billie’s Holiday, I added, “And after the way Scott Johnson spooked, I damn well want to know what has happened to Roslyn Stevens. There was something not right about him, Zee. I could almost smell it. Like milk on the verge of turning sour.”

  Grabbing both of my upper arms, Zee gently shook me. “Get a grip, Odelia,” she ordered. “First of all, it’s not like you were fired from a real job. Secondly, Dev Frye is working the murder case, not you. Fill him in on everything, and then let it be. He’s a trained professional with lots of other trained professionals at his disposal.”

  As if on cue, we spotted Dev coming out of the bar, heading toward us. He was alone. When he saw us, he shrugged. He hadn’t found Clark. Then we heard someone call to us. Zee and I turned toward the sound to see Clark across the street. He waved to us as he waited for a break in traffic to cross. What in the hell was he doing over there, sightseeing?

  A dark car moving south in the traffic passed Clark, then swung out of the line of cars, making an illegal U-turn in front of Billie’s Holiday. Northbound traffic came to a screeching halt. Clark yelled and ran toward us across the four-lane highway, dodging cars and waving his arms. The sound of more screeching brakes and tires filled the air as cars did their best to avoid hitting him and each other.

  I couldn’t hear what Clark was yelling over the traffic, but I felt like one of the cars had hit me head-on. Zee and I fell to the ground together behind the rental car, brought down as easily as peewee football players tackled by a professional linebacker.

  I had no trouble hearing the bullets. They hit the wall behind us with a crack that nearly split my eardrums. One hit the back window of Clark’s car. Bits of brick and glass showered down on Zee and me as we lay under the bulk of Dev Frye.

  “There’s no barbecue today, Steele. Didn’t you get the e-mail from Greg?”

  Mike Steele was standing in my kitchen Sunday afternoon wearing cargo shorts, topsiders, and a blue knit shirt with an alligator on the breast. He looked different in his casual clothes—more human, less cocky. On the counter next to him were two six-packs of fancy beer and a bakery box. Hanging from one of his arms was a fabric grocery bag.

  “Of course I did,” he told me. His mouth played with the idea of smiling, then gave it up, settling for the safer and more non-committal straight line. “Doesn’t mean I paid any attention to it.”

  Greg had coaxed me from the bedroom, saying I had company. Steele being here today did not constitute company. It smacked of an invasion. “I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans, Steele, so get your butt back in your Porsche and hit the road.”

  Wainwright stood in front of Steele, wagging his tail enthusiastically. He loved Steele, proving once and for all even the most astute animal can be snookered. Clark, leaning on the kitchen counter, also looked taken in by Steele’s uncharacteristic kindness.

  “See,” Steele said, indicating the dog, “Wainwright wants me to stay. Besides, I brought a bribe—for both of you.”

  I placed a hand on a hip and rolled my eyes. “You think over-priced beer is going to bribe me?”

  “Nah, that’s for Greg. For you, I brought cheesecake. New York style, just the way you like it, with fresh strawberries on top.” He looked down at Wainwright and made a clucking noise. “And for you, Wainwright, I brought steak—top of the line, wrapped in bacon.”

  “You brought our dog filets wrapped in bacon?”

  Steele let his eyes drift from Wainwright up to my face, still not sure it was appropriate to smile or not. He was walking on egg shells around me, like I was a bomb that could detonate just by a misguided look. And I was.

  “I brought the steaks for all of us, Grey.”

  I was starving. The last thing I remember eating was a phyllo triangle at the memorial service the day before. But hungry or not, thinking about food made my gut lurch. What I wanted was to be left alone.

  The barbecue had been cancelled yesterday afternoon—after the Newport Beach cops had questioned me, Zee, Clark, and even Dev, one of their own, about the shooting until we all thought we’d go mad. Cancelled, right after Seth and Greg arrived on the scene, and Seth told me I couldn’t play with my best friend anymore. Right after Zee looked me in the eye and said enough was enough: I had to choose between murder and her friendship.

  After we’d returned home, Greg had convinced me to take a hot shower. When I refused food, he held me while I cried myself to sleep. Beyond that, Greg and Clark were both at a loss about how to console me. Zee was right. I had to choose. I’d nearly gotten my best friend and Dev killed. And what if Clark had been standing with us instead of across the street? I’d killed someone once. I didn’t want the blood of people I loved also on my hands.

  As Clark reported to the police, while he was waiting for the traffic to break so he could join us on our side of the street, he’d noticed a black BMW roll by and saw the passenger holding a gun. After the car made its hasty U-turn, Clark quickly realized a drive-by was in progress and assumed Dev was the target. But the shooter had waited until he passed Dev before he took aim. Dev also saw the gun and made a leap for Zee and me, knocking us out of the way of the flying bullets. Three shots had been fired—three too many—before the car sped away. Dev and Clark had saved our lives.

  When we fell, the side of my face hit the pavement, giving me a nasty scrape across most of my right cheek. Zee had broken her wrist. It wasn’t a bad break, and it certainly was better than the alternative, but had it not been for me and my nosiness, she wouldn’t have been put in such danger. None of us would have been.

  I sniffed back the tears beginning to form and stuck my jaw out at Steele. “Maybe we’ve already eaten.”

  “I told him we hadn’t, sweetheart.” From behind me, Greg rolled up.

  Steele stepped forward and put his hands on my upper arms, just below the shoulders, just as Zee had done moments before the shots were fired. I didn’t look up at him. Instead, I studied the floor between us.

  “After I heard on the news about the shooting, I wanted to see for myself how you were doing. I called Greg this morning to check on you.”

  And it had been on the news—all over the news. Drive-by shootings never happened in Corona del Mar. It had been a first for the sleepy, upscale beach village. I’m sure when the police first got the call, they’d thought it a hoax, an early Halloween prank, or late April Fool’s joke.

  “You mean, you wanted to make sure I was able to go to the office tomorrow and work on your precious deal.”

  Steele gently squeezed my arms. His hands were warm through the short sleeves of my tee shirt. “Take tomorrow off, Grey. I insist on it.”

  “Tell you what, Steele. I’m gonna take you up on that offer.” I disengaged myself from his clutches and went into the k
itchen. Nudging Clark out of the way, I opened a drawer and pulled out a fork. “In the meantime, you and the boys here fire up the grill. Stuff yourselves silly on steaks and wash it down with beer. I don’t care.” Picking up the bakery box, I headed back to our bedroom, fork held aloft like a lance.

  “No, you don’t, Odelia.” With speed and moves usually reserved for the basketball court, Greg rolled between me and the doorway to our master suite, blocking my way. “You are not running away from this. And you are not eating that cheesecake. You can have some after you’ve had something healthy to eat.”

  Oh no, he did not just say that to me. Tell me, dear God, he didn’t.

  I stared at my husband, my eyes wide with rage. “I’m not five years old, Greg. Get out of my way or you’ll be wearing the cheesecake as a hat.”

  He didn’t back down. “I’d rather be wearing it than you eating it. In the condition you’re in, it will make you sick. You know that. Stress eating always does a number on you, emotionally and physically.”

  He had a point, but I didn’t want to hear it. “I just lost my best friend. I’m already sick, so what’s the difference?”

  Greg put his hands on the bakery box and gently attempted to tug it out of my grip. I resisted. He pulled harder, never taking his eyes off of mine. This time, I let him have it. I started crying.

  Clark came over and took the box from Greg. Being a smart and cautious man, he also removed the fork from my hand, taking them both back to the kitchen.

  “Would you like to join me outside?” I heard Clark ask Steele.

  I didn’t hear Steele’s answer but heard footsteps and the back slider open, then close.

  “I need to pee.”

  Greg moved out of my way so I could go into our bathroom. When I came out, he was positioned by our bed. The door separating the bedroom area from the rest of the house was closed.

  “Sit down, sweetheart,” he said, patting the comforter. Both cats were already there, curled up in a beige and gray ball, the colors the only suggestion of where one cat left off and the other began. Wainwright was probably outside playing host to our guests. I took a seat on the edge of our California king bed close to Greg’s wheelchair. He took both my hands in his.

  “I know you’re breaking apart over this thing with Zee, sweetheart, but it’s going to turn out fine. You’ll see.”

  I started weeping, my chin down, nearly resting on my chest. “But I’ve lost her, Greg. My stupidity cost me my dearest friend.”

  “And I almost lost you.” Cupping my chin in his hand, Greg raised it up so he could look into my face. His words and gesture were gentle, but his eyes were hard. Their usual twinkly blue had turned dark—an ocean warning of an approaching storm. “How do you think I feel? Or how Seth feels? He nearly lost Zee. We all had a very big scare.”

  “I’m so sorry to put you through this, Greg.” My tears started flowing again. His fingers swiped at them like a windshield wiper. “I won’t ever do it again. I’m through with it—these dumb-ass investigations, murders, finding people—it’s all over.”

  Greg’s fingers paused against my cheek. “No, it’s not, Odelia.”

  “Yes, it is.” I punctuated my words by smacking my right fist down on the comforter.

  “If you don’t want to do it anymore, then don’t.” He fixed his stormy eyes on mine again. “But this won’t be over until I find the bastards who took a shot at you.”

  As if he said things like that every day, Greg casually reached over, plucked a couple of tissues from the box we keep on the nightstand, and started dabbing at my tears and snotty nose.

  “No, Greg.”

  “Yes, Odelia. We’re finishing what we started. We’re going to find out what happened to Joan’s dad and to Roslyn Stevens, especially since you say that Scott guy is so creepy.” He took my hands again and leaned forward, planting a sweet kiss on my mouth to seal the deal. “And when I find the assholes who shot at you, I’m going to beat them till they’re raw.”

  Speechless, I stared at my husband. I’ve always known that I married a very nice guy, and I’ve always known he’s no milquetoast. But this?

  “But …”

  “I could have just done this without telling you, but as I’ve told you many times, we’re in this together, and that means being totally honest.”

  Greg gave me another short kiss and handed me a couple more tissues. “Why don’t you splash some water on your face and join us on the patio.” He winked at me, his eyes back to their sparkling blue, the storm clouds gone for now. “You eat some steak and veggies, then you can have some cheesecake.”

  He started for the door, then swiveled back around to face me. “Just so you know, Clark is totally in on this. He’ll be staying until it’s over. It’ll be convenient having an ex-cop around.” He started again for the door and again turned back to me. “By the way, I gave Willie a shitload of names to run through his magic all-knowing databases for us. He said it might take a day or so.”

  “You called Willie?”

  Willie had resources, both computer and manpower, the cops could only dream about. He called from time to time to see how we were doing and occasionally made a surprise appearance, but we had no idea of his whereabouts—where he lived in general or at any given moment. We only had a number in case we needed to reach him. In spite of our calls going through various channels, our messages reached Willie with surprising speed.

  “Actually, he called me last night after you fell asleep. He wanted to see how you were doing. He and Sybil send their love.”

  “He knew about the shooting already?”

  Greg grinned. “He knew about the shooting, Shirley, your hunt for Clarice’s friends—everything. But then, why are you surprised?”

  I stood up and started looking around the room with alarm, my previous concerns replaced for the time being with a new one. I started with looking under the lampshade of the bedside lamp. “You don’t think he has our home bugged, do you?”

  “I have no idea, but I would certainly hope not, especially the bedroom.”

  For the first time in twenty-four hours, a smile tried to creep across my face. I let it have a brief fling, then banished it behind my other worries.

  “Probably,” Greg added, “one of his lackeys keeps an eye on us. That or Dev sought him out, knowing he can help faster than police bureaucracy.”

  Greg and Clark and now Willie were moving forward. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen with me or without me. Greg was right: we needed to finish this thing.

  “I have one request, Greg.”

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “I know from the set of your jaw I won’t be able to talk you out of this, and probably not Clark either, but don’t get Steele involved in hunting down the shooters, no matter how much he wants to be. We can’t ethically compromise him.”

  Greg smiled. “Clark and I discussed that right after Steele called today. His job will be to help Joan and her family, nothing more. If we have to, we’ll make him understand that.”

  I wasn’t sure what that last sentence meant exactly, having undertones of thugs, guns, and cannolis, but I hoped they would remember to shoot some video if the moment arose.

  I took a long look at my husband sitting so determined and sure of himself in his wheelchair. He never, ever let being physically handicapped stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do—what he felt he had to do. I, on the other hand, was far more crippled by my emotional injuries and insecurities. A part of me wanted to lock Greg in a closet to keep him secluded and safe until Dev and the other cops solved everything. Another part of me wanted to swoon and call out “My hero!” in girly delight.

  The last thing I wanted was to be a proud widow.

  “Do Dev and his crew have any idea who the shooter might be?” Steele shoveled a bite of medium-rare steak into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, waiting for an answer to his question.

  Greg shook his head. “None, yet. By the way,
Mike, the steak is fantastic. Thanks for bringing it.”

  Steele raised his beer in salute to Greg’s praise. “There’s a butcher in Laguna Beach I use for my meat. A real butcher.”

  “Yes, thank you, Steele.” I turned toward my boss and gave him a weak smile. He really was concerned for my welfare, and I had behaved abominably. “Thanks for everything. And I’m sorry for being such a bitch toward you earlier.”

  “No problem, Grey. It’s not like I haven’t given you reason in the past to believe the worst of me.” He laughed just as he brought the beer back to his mouth for another drink. “And it’s not like I won’t give you similar reasons in the future.”

  I cut a bite-sized piece of meat. “Somehow, I find that oddly comforting. Kind of like the circle of life continuing in spite of near tragedy—like something I can count on to stay the same.”

  Everyone around the table laughed heartily, including Steele.

  The good food and the beer were doing wonders for my state of mind. Still feeling like I’d been run down by an out-of-control bus, at least my blood sugar was back to normal, and a sense of safety and well-being was slowly creeping over me—something a load of cheesecake would not have done for my body. My darling husband had been correct, as usual.

  In addition to the steak, Greg had added some eggplant and zucchini brushed with olive oil and sprinkled with garlic salt to the grill. To round out the meal, Clark had tossed together a salad and thrown some potatoes into the microwave. Steele helped with the salad and set the table. They wouldn’t let me do a thing.

  Being in shock after the shooting and Zee’s ultimatum, I hadn’t had a chance to ask Clark any questions about the incident. I only knew what I’d learned from his report. Steele’s question jarred another that had been hiding in the back of my mind. I asked Clark, “Did you see the license plate or anything that might identify the car?”