Hot, Shot, and Bothered

by Nora McFarland

  She looked past me at the apartments. “The problem is, I’m still exhausted. Now more than ever. Maybe it’s like you said about her father. Maybe I was always weak and Jessica just brought out what I’d always been.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you.”

  “I know.” She pressed the engine button. “I’m not coming in. Apologize to the neighbor, if he even still lives there.”

  I thanked her for talking with me and got out. She drove away, and Teddy and Freddy pulled up.

  I opened the side door and took out my gear bag. “Do you want to go look for a place to park and I’ll call when I’m done?”

  “Dude.” Freddy laughed. “Seriously, no point in even trying.”

  They pulled into the driveway and waited for me. A small, striped awning covered the door to 201. According to the address I’d seen on Jessica’s driver’s license, this was her residence.

  I took the keys I’d found in her desk and tried the locks.

  No hungry cat greeted me inside the apartment. No secret boyfriend walked out of the bedroom in a towel. The apartment was empty except for the objects and things that Jessica had left behind. In another month it would all be in a landfill.

  I shut the door and locked it. The layout was simple. One open room that served as living room, dining room, and kitchen, then a bedroom and a bath were down a short hallway. A breakfast bar separated the kitchen area from a dining room table. A sliding glass door on the other side of the table offered a view of the yard.

  More folders and spreadsheets covered the table, and I would have had a hard time telling it apart from her desk at work. The apartment had almost no knickknacks or photos. The furniture was generic and looked as if it had hastily been ordered from an IKEA catalog. There was no personality. Nothing that was uniquely Jessica.

  My eye kept coming back to the yard. Most of the lawn had been taken out and replaced with raised beds. Flowering jasmine covered all three sides of the fence. The view out the square windows reminded me of the painting in Jessica’s office. Maybe that’s why there was nothing on the walls of the apartment. Jessica preferred to let the yard be her decoration.

  I turned on the TV and put a cable news channel on. The story wasn’t about the fire, but it was just a matter of time before it came up in the rotation. Jessica’s cupboards were empty except for organic fair-trade coffee. The refrigerator contained six prepackaged vegan meals, soy milk, and an open container of baking soda.

  I turned on a laptop sitting on the dining room table. It had never completely been shut down and quickly came back to life. I glanced through her work files, but didn’t see anything noteworthy. I closed all the folders and documents. Jessica’s virtual desktop was much neater than her physical one. The only document saved there was labeled #’s.

  I opened it. Halfway down the list I stopped reading and called Rod. I got his voice mail and left a message. When I looked over at the TV, his tired face filled the screen. I turned the volume up.

  “As more ground is lost, it becomes a virtual certainty that the powerful evening winds will drive the fire up Mt. Terrill.” Behind him was a red sky mixed with black smoke. “The real question now is if it can be stopped before reaching the communication hub on the mountain’s ridge.”

  I returned to the laptop to print Jessica’s list of important numbers and passwords, but then couldn’t find the printer.

  “An army of over a thousand fire-suppression personnel are amassing here to protect those structures,” Rod continued. His voice sounded hoarse. “But after the two tragic deaths earlier in the week, authorities have vowed to take no chances . . .”

  I walked down the hallway to the bedroom. I found the printer and also a little bit more of Jessica’s personality. The comforter was rose-colored with elaborate beading. It reminded me of the grown-up version of a little girl’s princess bed. Another oil painting like the one in her office hung on the wall. It had a similar look and was also signed C. Egan. On the opposite wall were framed photos.

  Some were black-and-white of people long dead. Others showed Jessica as a little girl with her brother and both parents. One showed a smiling woman with a pregnant belly lounging by the lake. I guessed it was her mother. There were also childhood photos of Jessica and Byrdie running for student council together, and several of Byrdie and Lee’s sons. Arnaldo Bedolla, a woman I guessed was his wife, and their two daughters were there too. One of the largest photos was of Jessica with the Polignacs. It looked like a party for Ceasonne when she’d left Green Seed, which was probably an important day for Jessica since it marked her ascension.

  I turned on the printer. The document printed immediately. While I was looking through Jessica’s closet, which contained a shocking number of gray pants suits made of hemp or bamboo, my phone rang.

  “Where are you?” Rod asked.

  “Jessica Egan’s apartment.”

  “In L.A.?”

  “Uh-huh. You sound surprised.”

  “You hate big cities in general and L.A. in particular.”

  “The ocean is pretty.”

  He laughed, but his voice cracked.

  “You should rest your voice until your next hit.”

  “It won’t help. It’s the smoke, and my next hit is in five minutes. I feel like a hamster on a wheel.”

  “I just saw you on CNN. You look good. Tired, but good.”

  “Tired about sums it up.” He paused. “You know how you said I was like a kid in a candy store last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “It turns out this is a lot less fun without you.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  “And by a lot less, I mean no fun at all.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “Three minutes,” I heard Dennis call in the background.

  Rod made a noise that sounded like “Ugh.”

  “Do you still have Jessica Egan’s phone?” I said.

  “Yes, but I haven’t had any luck getting past her security features.”

  “I may have her password.” I picked up the printed list and read him the code. He promised to try it and call me back as soon as he had a free moment.

  I finished going through the bedroom. On the floor of the closet I found a fire safe. I checked the printed list and found the combination.

  Inside was an insurance policy, a college diploma still in its cardboard mailer, a passport, a birth certificate, and a last will and testament. It had been drawn up by a local lawyer the previous year. Brad Egan was the beneficiary of a 401(k) containing over $100,000. Jessica also left him the oil paintings in her office and bedroom. They’d been done by their mother, Celia.

  Of her nonretirement assets, $50,000 was to be converted into cash and divided equally among Byrdie and Lee’s sons, Arnaldo’s two daughters, and an adult man named Micah Reynolds. His address was listed as the apartment next door. The rest of her money and assets were to be donated to Green Seed. It actually looked as if she had several hundred thousand dollars saved. I guess if you’re a workaholic and don’t care about where you live or how you decorate it, you can save a lot of money.

  I folded the document and slipped it back into the sleeve. That’s when I saw the envelope on the bottom of the safe. The Otto’s Pawn logo peeked out from under some other papers. At first my mind refused to believe it. I counted the money inside twice. One hundred and fifty dollars—Jessica’s emergency coming-home money.

  I don’t know how long I wasted crying. It was a silly and sentimental thing to do. The time would have been much better spent trying to solve Jessica’s murder. But all at once I felt real heartache that she was dead, and there was nothing else to do but cry.

  After slipping the envelope in my back pocket, I finished searching the apartment. I didn’t find anything else. I turned off the TV and computer, then locked up.

  I walked the rest of the way down the driveway. A homemade sign was taped to the last door.

  NO VISITORS!!!

&nbs
p; UNLESS YOU ARE MEALS ON WHEELS, OR A NURSE,

  OR AN UNDERTAKER, DO NOT KNOCK ON MY DOOR.

  I rang the bell. I could hear The Price Is Right playing inside. After a few moments I rang again. Still nothing. This time I leaned on the button and didn’t let go.

  The front door opened. Behind the bars of the still-locked security door, an old man glared at me. “What?”

  Despite his age, the man was tall and I had to look up at him. “Are you Micah Reynolds?”

  “No visitors.” He started to close the door.

  “I’m here about Jessica Egan.”

  “Can’t you read? This is 202. She lives in 201.” He started to slam the door shut.

  “Hold on. I need to talk to you about Jessica.” Normally I’d have thrown my ample foot into the door opening, but the bars prevented it.

  The door stopped two inches from the door frame. “What about Jessica? I don’t know when she’s coming back, if that’s what you’re after. I don’t keep tabs on her or anything.”

  I started to tell him she was dead, but hesitated. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  The door opened. “Where exactly am I going to do that? I’m standing in the hallway.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I have some bad news to tell you.”

  He snorted. “What, is she dead?”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  He looked down at me. His eyes were black dots peeking out from a face full of rough and cracked skin. A few strands of thin, oily hair ran back over his patchy scalp. “She’s dead?” he said in a quieter voice.

  “I’m sorry. I tried to break it to you gently.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” He unlocked the security door, then turned back into the apartment. “There’s no gentle way to break that kind of news.”

  I entered. The smell was intense. A strange combination of bacon grease, air freshener, and old-man stink. I reluctantly closed the door behind me.

  “Come in here,” he called from the living room.

  The apartment layout was a mirror of Jessica’s, but the decor was very different. The space next to the sliding glass door, where Jessica had a dining room table, had been turned into a garden shed. A heavy-duty plastic tarp covered the floor, and a potting bench leaned against the wall. Bags of soil and fertilizer were in the corner, and tools hung neatly along the front of the breakfast bar.

  The living room looked more normal. A fifty-inch flat-screen television hung on the wall. Opposite it, Mr. Reynolds sat in a recliner and wiped his eyes on the back of his arm. I wondered if I should sit down, but then I realized the only other piece of furniture was a large end table with a lamp.

  He pointed to the closet. “There’s a chair in there, if you want to sit.”

  I opened the closet. It was packed from floor to ceiling in a precarious puzzle of shapes and colors. I recognized boxes of Cheerios, Andes mints, a tackle box, shoes and sweaters stored in clear plastic containers, soap, motor oil, envelopes, a giant bag of red and green rubber bands. Leaning up against the front was a folded beach chair. I pulled it out and set it up across from him.

  “I keep it for Jessica. For when she comes over.”

  I had no idea how to act. He looked sad, so I thought I should be gentle, but he’d rebuffed my sympathy at the door. “Do you have any family I can call for you?”

  He shook his head. “Had a wife and kids once, but it wasn’t for me.”

  I forgot to be gentle. “You mean you ran out on them?”

  He forgot to be sad. “I only got married because I was going to Korea and I wanted to get in her pants. Then stupid me went and lived.”

  “Bad luck,” I said before I could stop myself.

  He looked up and smiled. “You’re right. I’m a creep, but I tried. I couldn’t stand family life. I wanted to kill myself so bad. I used to take out my dad’s old gun just to show myself I had a way out.”

  What was I doing here? I felt an overwhelming urge to run out, but instead I managed to say, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I finally figured leaving would be better than blowing my brains out.”

  “What about your kids?”

  “I loved them, but I still left.” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “I don’t expect you to understand. Not many people would.”

  I adjusted the lawn chair and sat down. “Did Jessica understand? Is that why you two were friends?”

  “We weren’t friends. She paid me to work her garden, that’s all. Twenty-five dollars a week.” He gestured to my chair. “Don’t get ideas because I kept that for her. It didn’t matter to me if she came or not. Most times I don’t even have that stupid soy milk she puts in her coffee.”

  I smiled. “I take it you’re not a vegan?”

  He rolled his eyes. “None of my business what she wants to eat, but you couldn’t pay me to live like that.” He paused. His momentary show of strength faded. “How’d it happen?”

  “She drowned in the local lake where she grew up.”

  “That doesn’t sound like her. She was a real careful girl.”

  “She was murdered.”

  His head shot up. “What? Who would do something like that?”

  “I think I know, but I’m not sure why.”

  “What about the police?”

  “They’re too busy with the fire to do much.” I inched my chair closer. “That’s why I drove down here. I used to know Jessica a long time ago. I’m trying to find out what happened to her.”

  “Nobody would want that girl dead. All she cared about was saving animals and global warming and all that junk. And I thought she was goofy for doing it, but who’d want to hurt her for that?” I waited while he took a breath and wiped his eyes. “I told her, the planet isn’t going to save you, but she said it was her calling. I told her nobody would thank her for it, but she didn’t care.”

  “All the same, I’m pretty sure someone did kill her.” He didn’t say anything. “Was there anything unusual going on this past year?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did she start going away on weekends?”

  “Sometimes, I guess. She used to work all the time anyway, so who could tell?”

  “Could she have been dating someone and keeping it a secret? Maybe a married guy?”

  His head shot up. “Do I look like some girlfriend she’d tell that stuff to?”

  “Then try and think.” My voice matched his for crankiness. “There must have been something wrong.” He shook his head. “She was closer to you than anyone else. You must have noticed something.”

  His head stopped shaking. He took an almost involuntary glance toward the yard.

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “See, I’m not really believing you right now.”

  His face turned angry. “Jessica’s business is Jessica’s business and my business is my business. That’s the way we both like it.” He got up. “I think it’s time for you to go. I’m an old man. I can’t be agitated like this.”

  I stood up and he followed me down the hall. At the door I stopped. “I saw Jessica’s will. She left you ten thousand dollars.”

  He looked away. “Why’d she go and do a stupid thing like that?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it was because she liked you.”

  “Jessica didn’t like people. She never was comfortable around ’em. That’s why she was so goofy about animals and plants and stuff.” He glanced back toward the yard again. “I don’t know. None of my business, anyway.”

  “Are you trying to protect Jessica or yourself?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I never asked her about it.” I waited, then after a moment he gestured for me to come back inside. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  He shut the door again and I followed him through the apartment and into the backyard. He opened the gate and we stepped into Jessica’s yard. He led me to one of the flower beds. He pointe
d to a medium-size plant sandwiched between two larger ones.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s probably nothing.” He looked around the yard—everywhere but at the plant.

  I looked straight down on it. The plant appeared to my untrained eyes like a generic green shrub. It blended almost seamlessly into the two larger ones around it. “I don’t get it. It’s just a plant.”

  He reached down and tore a leaf from the underside. Without saying anything he handed it to me.

  I looked at the leaf and then him. “Is this what I think it is?”

  He started backing away. “I don’t know anything and I never asked.” He turned and went back to his own yard.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Friday, 1:23 p.m.

  I decided to call in a team of experts to confirm my suspicion.

  “Dude, it’s totally pot,” Freddy said.

  Teddy looked up from where he was examining the plant on all fours. “But it’s like some kind of awesome hybrid or something.”

  I knelt down. “If you smoked it, would you get high?”

  Freddy grinned and reached for a leaf. “Only one way to find out.”

  I stopped him. “It’s evidence in a murder investigation.”

  He straightened. “Bummer.”

  “It’s not budding yet anyway.” Teddy stuck his head in underneath the leaves to get a better look. He might have been a mechanic looking under a car. “I think the point wasn’t, like, to make weed that didn’t mess you up. ’Cause who’d want that?”

  “Totally,” Freddy said. “That’s like a crime against humanity.”

  Teddy continued, “I think they bred it so it wouldn’t look like itself, when the stuff was being grown.”

  “You mean, they were trying to hide the grow?”

  He nodded.

  I looked at Freddy and pointed outside. “Go get your gear. We need to shoot some video.”

  I left the plant where it was, but made sure we had plenty of tape documenting it. The cell I’d gotten from Rod had died, so as soon as we got on the road, I called Callum on Teddy’s phone. I explained where we were and what had happened. He said Lucero had been looking for me and I suggested we all meet at the station. I slept most of the two-hour drive back to Bakersfield.