Twice as Dead

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  I turned back to Amber with a frustrated smile. “Men and sports. What are we going to do, huh?”

  In a very professional manner, Amber moved the conversation along. “Did Ms. Pearson book your event?”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  “What is the name and date?”

  A near slip of my tongue almost gave her Grey, but in the end I said, “The name’s Cooper. We discussed several dates, but I believe we settled on the second Saturday in September—the weekend after Labor Day weekend.”

  To the side of the desk was a table holding a computer. Amber put her fingers to the keys. A soft tap, tap, tappity-tap filled the room. A glance over my shoulder showed Clark moving slowly throughout the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking bored to death. I knew better. I knew he was studying everything, including the large groupings of photos from past events that adorned the largest wall.

  “I’m sorry,” Amber said, returning her attention to me. “But there’s nothing in the computer for a Cooper party for any date.”

  “Oh, dear.” I started my fluttery routine again. “I realize you are in mourning, but do you have another planner who could assist us? It’s not going to be a big affair,” I added quickly, “but we do want it done professionally.” I put on my best begging face, learned from living with three animals and a horny husband. “Mother is so looking forward to it, especially after Dad’s cancer scare last year.” I paused for effect. “Perhaps Ms. Pearson had a partner?”

  Amber Straight seemed genuinely touched by my bogus plight, which made me feel like a genuine heel. “There are a couple of other owners, but at this time Rambling Rose isn’t taking on any more events. At least not until the owners decide how they are going to proceed in the future. We’re just handling what’s already on the books.”

  “But,” I pressed, trying to be firm but not obnoxious, “I’m sure Mother and Dad’s party not being on the books is just an oversight.”

  Amber seemed unsure of what to do. Event planning is a business where pleasing the customer isn’t just deep-seated in company policy, it’s an obsession. I was banking on that being the case with Rambling Rose.

  Holding up a perfectly manicured finger, Amber said, “Let me make a call and see what I can do.” She indicated one of the love seats. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  After Amber Straight disappeared through a closed door, Clark called me over to the photo groupings. “Sis, check this out.” He pointed to a photo dead-center in the display of photos from various events. It was a group photo taken in front of the colorful green and pink awning of Rambling Rose. Amber Straight was there, perky and efficient. Standing next to her was Shirley Pearson. Next to Shirley was Clarice Thomas Hollowell. They were all dressed beautifully, standing with one foot pointed forward, the other back. With shoulders straight, tummies in, boobies out, they beamed like beauty queens awaiting inspection. Behind them was Marvin Gunn. His hair was longer and he was clean shaven, but it was him.

  I scanned the other pictures. “Any other photos here with him?”

  “Not that I can see. The others seem to be events they’ve planned.”

  “You think maybe he killed Shirley and threatened Clarice to get the company?”

  “What about Alfred Nunez? I don’t see him connected here or at Billie’s Holiday. Why was he murdered? And why would Scott Johnson and Roslyn Stevens take off in a fright?”

  “Scott was at the service,” I pointed out.

  “And took off the minute you recognized him.”

  “You know, Donald …”

  Clark shot me a death glare.

  “What is it with you and that name?”

  “Never mind,” he snapped, his voice low. “Just say what’s on your mind, and don’t call me Donald.”

  “Alrighty then.” I adjusted my shoulder bag before continuing. “It seems that while Scott was surprised that I knew who he was, and got angrier as I connected the dots to him and Roslyn, he really went ballistic when I called him Scott Joyce.”

  “Yeah?” Clark turned away from the photos and looked at me, all ears.

  “It’s as if all these people have individual private secrets that have nothing to do with each other, except that they somehow know each other.” I sighed and sat down on the love seat. “I wish Willie would call with the backgrounds on those names Greg gave him.”

  Amber returned just as Clark’s cell rang. He apologized and went outside to take it.

  “Probably his bookie,” I said to Amber with a scowl.

  “Good news,” she told me, once again deftly changing topics. This young woman was well trained in how to handle the public. “One of the other owners said she’d handle your event, as long as it’s not too large or elaborate.”

  I clapped my hands together. “That’s wonderful news! And it’s not, I can assure you. Just the renewal of vows ceremony, followed by a sit-down luncheon for about fifty people. No band or dancing. We were discussing a place with an ocean view.”

  “Sounds lovely.” She consulted the computer again. “Ms. Thomas said she can meet with you later today around two o’clock. Does that work for you?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll try to park Donald in front of the TV and come alone. We girls will get more done that way.”

  “I have an appointment this afternoon, so if you find the door locked, just ring the bell and Ms. Thomas will answer.”

  Alone time with Clarice was exactly what I needed—alone, that is, except for me and my shadow brother. I thanked Amber and headed out the door. Just before making a getaway, I stopped and turned back.

  “This is going to sound silly, but that man in the photo here.” I walked over to the wall of photos and pointed to the one in the middle. “Donald is sure he recognized this man. Is he an event planner, too?”

  Amber joined me in front of the wall to see whom I was referring to. “Shirley—Ms. Pearson—did most of the events. Occasionally, Mr. Gunn helped.” Her voice did the sad dip of grief again. “This photo was taken last year.”

  I pointed to Clarice. “Is that Ms. Thomas?”

  “Yes. She doesn’t usually handle events, but she has impeccable taste and style. I’m sure you’ll be happy.”

  I looked at the photo again and remembered something. “You know, once I called and another young woman answered, but there are just the four of you here.”

  Amber looked at me oddly. “Someone else? You sure?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Does a woman by the name of Ruth or Roslyn work here?”

  A flicker of something hard beamed out of Amber’s eyes. “She only comes in on occasion when we need extra help.”

  I smiled at the information and touched Shirley’s picture. “So sad about Ms. Pearson. When is the service? I’d like to send flowers. She was so kind to me.”

  “I’m afraid the service was Saturday.”

  “The day before yesterday?” When she nodded, I gently touched the young woman’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I hope it was lovely.”

  “Doubtful.” Amber Straight’s eyes again took on a flinty look. “We had a big wedding on Saturday at eleven o’clock, right during the time they scheduled the service. Mr. Gunn and I had to be there to handle things since Ms. Pearson was gone.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sure it was planned that way, to keep us away.”

  “Why in the world would anyone want to keep you from attending the memorial service?”

  Amber started to say something, then stopped herself, her grief battling with her training. “Forgive me, I’ve already said too much.” She cleared her throat. “Just chalk it up to Ms. Pearson having two very different sets of friends.”

  Something didn’t compute. I had seen Marvin Gunn at the service, but Amber said the two of them were shepherding a wedding at the time. I looked at the photo again, studying Gunn’s face.

  “Donald is sure he knows Mr. Gunn, but I doubt it. He doesn’t usually hang out with wedding planners. Bartenders, ma
ybe, but not refined event coordinators.”

  “Your brother probably knows Mr. Gunn’s brother.”

  I swung my head in Amber’s direction. “His brother?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Marvin Gunn. He owns Billie’s Holiday, a bar right down the street.” She tapped the photo. “Our Mr. Gunn is Aaron Gunn. They’re twins.”

  Before leaving for work, Greg had suggested I take Clark to the Hotel Laguna for lunch since we’d be down this way. The hotel’s Terrace restaurant is one of our favorite and special places to lounge over good food served with a kick-ass view. It sounded great to Clark. We had just over two hours to kill before the two o’clock appointment with Clarice, so off we went to the Hotel Laguna in Laguna Beach.

  “Great place,” exclaimed Clark as the waiter showed us to a table at the Terrace. It was not quite noon, so the lunch crowd hadn’t arrived yet, allowing us to claim not only a table with an unobstructed view of a good stretch of the Pacific Ocean and the California coastline, but one under a shade umbrella as well.

  “If it’s too warm, we can go inside,” I offered.

  “Not on your life.” He took the seat across from me.

  “The food’s very good, though it’s no Blue Lobster.” I winked at him, referencing a favorite joint in Massachusetts that served fabulous fried seafood. “Greg and I love to come here, though it’s been awhile since we’ve made the trek. We’ve attended a few weddings here, too.”

  “Did you and Greg get married here?”

  The question brought down a curtain of sadness. “No, we didn’t.” I looked away, even though I was wearing dark glasses. “We were married poolside at Zee and Seth’s. That’s where we met.”

  Clark covered my hand with one of his. “Don’t worry about Zee. If you two are as tight as you say, she’ll come around.”

  Even though I was getting tired of hearing that, I clung to the hope it held. “I’ve never seen her or Seth this angry before.”

  The waiter came and handed us menus. “There will be three of us,” Clark told him after he took our order for two iced teas. With a nod, the waiter placed a third menu in front of one of the empty chairs and took away the fourth place setting.

  “Three?” I asked. Who did Clark know besides us? For a fleeting moment I wondered if he and Greg were trying to be peacemakers and had talked Zee into joining us. The Hotel Laguna was one of her favorite places, too, and Greg knew that. If that was the case, I had mixed feelings about it. I wanted to make up with Zee, but I wasn’t ready to give in to her demands. I needed to concentrate on the task at hand and finish it. Maybe then I could mend the fences of our friendship and vow to put murder aside as a hobby.

  “I’ve invited—”

  He never got the chance to finish.

  “Hey, sports fans.”

  I looked over at the wide doorway leading from the bar to the Terrace to find Dev Frye filling the frame. He wandered over to our table. When he bent to give me a peck on my right check, he halted, then aimed for my undamaged left one.

  Clark stood up and shook hands with Dev. “Thanks for coming, Dev.”

  “No problem. I love this place.” Before sitting down, Dev removed his suit coat and hung it over the back of his chair. “Not to mention you promised it would be an eye-opening affair.”

  Clark looked over at me. “Shut your mouth, sis, before you catch flies.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, but not for long. “You invited Dev? When did this happen?”

  “Gee, Odelia,” Dev said to me with his rumbling voice. “I didn’t realize I was such an obnoxious party crasher.”

  “No, Dev, of course not.” I patted his arm with affection. “I’m just surprised. Clark didn’t say anything about it.” I turned to my brother. “That call you received while we were at Rambling Rose—that was Dev?”

  Our drinks arrived, and Dev ordered an iced tea of his own.

  “No, the call wasn’t from Dev. That call is what prompted me to make my own call to Dev. I found out important information about some of the folks in the photo. Might as well tell both of you at the same time.”

  “Well, while you were out making calls, I discovered important info of my own.” I leaned back in my chair, a picture of smugness.

  Dev extended a hand to me. “By all means, ladies first.” He looked at Clark. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all.”

  Dev’s iced tea arrived just as I told the guys about Marvin Gunn having a twin brother involved with Rambling Rose. “I’ll bet Aaron Gunn is the one in the photo Clarice gave me, not Marvin.”

  Clark studied the surf. There were several clusters of people lounging on the sand below us. Just to our right, a pair of curly-haired girls played tag with the waves while a young couple looked on with pride.

  “And I’d say you’d win that bet hands-down.” When Clark looked back at me, I could see my reflection in his sunglasses. “The twin-brother thing is something I learned about the same time you did.”

  I looked at Dev. “You knew about the twin?” He nodded, bursting my bubble of having an exclusive scoop.

  “Okay, but it still doesn’t explain how all the people in Clarice’s photo tie together. We’ve only connected Aaron Gunn, Shirley Pearson, and Clarice. From what Marvin told us Saturday, it sounds like Shirley met up with him first and worked at Billie’s Holiday. Then, when she became a successful event planner, she left the club behind for a better—or at least a more conservative— career. Makes you wonder if Aaron is the one who took Shirley away from Marvin. Or was Rambling Rose her idea?” I paused, giving my brain time to catch up with my mouth. “So how do Alfred, Roslyn, and Scott fit in?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question we keep circling back to.” Clark looked back out at the ocean.

  “Did—” I stopped just short of saying Willie’s name. “Did that guy come through on some of the names Greg gave you?”

  “Guy?” Dev looked from Clark to me with raised eyebrows. “Come on, folks, don’t play me for a simpleton. It pisses me off.”

  Clark and I remained silent, our eyes, both shielded by glasses, glued to one another like two sets of dark, magnetic orbs. Dev took another drink before he turned to Clark. “So what did Willie find out?”

  Like a stain, a slow grin spread across Clark’s face. Our waiter returned to take our food order. When he departed, Clark got down to serious business.

  “Roslyn Stevens isn’t running from the law,” he announced. “She’s running from a stalker.”

  I turned to Dev. “Weren’t you trying to locate someone who knew her?”

  Dev nodded from behind his own sunglasses. “Yeah. Still no luck. But there are old police reports on the stalker. I finally reached the Chicago PD and talked to a detective about it. Seems some guy back there wasn’t too happy when Roslyn spurned his advances. She got a restraining order, but it didn’t help. He tried to kill her—beat her pretty bad until someone heard her screams. He vowed he wouldn’t stop until she was dead.”

  “Wow!” I nervously fiddled with a button on the front of my dress while considering Roslyn’s reason for beginning anew.

  “Takes all kinds.” Clark took a drink of his tea. Both he and Dev eschewed straws in favor of drinking straight from the glass.

  Dev continued, “I was told the guy did time for the attempted murder but was released right about the time Roslyn Beckworth died in that car accident. That was about six years ago.”

  Clark nodded, confirming Willie’s information matched what Dev had learned.

  A thought hit me like a flash flood. “People must think that guy caused the car accident.”

  “They did,” Dev said. “The detective I spoke with told me the cops were all over this creep, but there wasn’t any evidence to connect him to Roslyn’s death. He seemed relieved that she’s alive and well and living here in SoCal, but he said it also meant reopening the case to find out who did die in that car.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t pleased, to say the least. And w
hen we do find Roslyn, she’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “Not to mention,” Clark said, “the stalker to deal with all over again.”

  “On that point she’s clear. Seems Roslyn’s stalker was killed in a bar fight last November.”

  Clark looked at Dev over his glasses and grinned. “Looks like Willie’s data isn’t complete. We didn’t have that bit of info.”

  “That’s a relief,” Dev replied with a snort. “Hate to think the cops are always the last to know.”

  While the boys enjoyed their little cop humor, I remembered something Clarice had told me. “When I asked Clarice about the body that was cremated as Doug Pearson, she said it probably came from a mortuary or coroner’s office, something like that. Could be the same for both Roslyn and Alfred’s stand-ins.”

  “That makes three accident cases that will have to be reopened.” Dev gave another snort. “Though it wouldn’t be the first time someone in a coroner’s office sold the body of an indigent—if that’s what it turns out to be and not something even more sinister.”

  We sat in silence, the surf our background music. I didn’t know what Clark and Dev were thinking, but I was having a moment’s silence for the poor and nameless who didn’t have anyone to miss their bodies.

  “As for Roslyn,” I said, breaking the quiet, “I wouldn’t close the door on her safety just yet. For one reason or another, she’s afraid and in hiding again.”

  “Odelia’s quite right,” Clark added. “Especially after you hear my other tidbits.”

  While Dev and I waited for the next round of news, our food was delivered. Clark waited until we were alone again.

  “Willie’s contacts came up with nothing for Alfonso Nunez or even Alfred Nunez. Of course, we know that Shirley Pearson was running from that bank robbery charge. Willie couldn’t find out anything about Shirley’s partners in the job, only that the money has never been recovered, nor has it been flashed around. It’s about half a million.”