At First Sight

by Stephen J. Cannell

  When he finished, he was crying. I felt Chandler in those words. Like Chick, I was unable to fill the hole Chandler had left in my life and in my heart. I had also looked at his coffin and had thought, “He was so much larger than that. How did he fit in there?”

  After the funeral the rain cleared and we all followed the mortuary limousine over to the Best’s house in Beverly Hills. At least a hundred people from the funeral showed up. Waiters in white coats passed champagne and finger foods. Chick was in one corner of the living room, surrounded by friends.

  Later, a short, muscular man in a form-fitting T-shirt and black sport jacket descended on me unannounced. “You look like you work out.”

  I winced at that overused line. “I’m a marathon runner,” I replied, wondering how to get away from him.

  “Ever lift?”

  “No. Could you excuse me for a minute?” I tried to step around him, but he didn’t move. He had me trapped in the corner.

  “I used to train Evelyn. I’m Mickey DePolina. Everyone calls me Mickey D.” He stuck out his muscular hand and shook mine. “You ever want, we could get together and work up a fitness routine—aerobics, even yoga. I do it all. I train over at Gold’s in the Valley.”

  “I’m not from around here. I live back East. I really need to speak to somebody over there. Could you excuse me?”

  I finally managed to get around him and find a more protected backwater where I could observe the party without being hassled. The crowd was attractive and upscale, the mood subdued.

  I saw Melissa over by the door, keeping to herself. I couldn’t help but think that Melissa Best was heading for a big crash. Looking at her, I could see a lot of danger signs. The body piercings, the purple hair. The constant angry scowl.

  Then Chick made his way over to me.

  “Your words at the funeral were beautiful,” I told him.

  He nodded and looked around the room. “These people all mean well. I know they want to help, but it feels like I’m putting on a show here. I have to try and be what they want. It’s like an obligation.”

  “It gets better,” I said.

  “You know what I’d like?”

  “What?”

  “After this is over, I’d like us to just sit in the backyard out by the pool and talk. You’ve been through this. I really need help getting my head around it.”

  I didn’t answer. Something told me staying after the reception would be a mistake, so I was looking for a polite way to duck him.

  “And then tomorrow I’ve got to go up to our mountain cabin and get some of Evelyn’s things out of there for her sister,” he continued. “I can’t tell you how much I’m dreading that project. That was … that was the place where … where we …” and then he put his hand up to his eyes and just stood there.

  “Oh Chick, I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling a wave of guilt. “Look, if it will help, I’ll stay for a little while after your other friends leave. Melissa, you, and I could just sit and talk.”

  “I think Melissa has some plans for tonight.” Then he shook his head. “I feel like such a putz, breaking down, crying all the time. I gotta get a grip on myself. I’m not usually such a weepy guy.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with crying, Chick. Please don’t apologize.”

  He nodded, and then someone was spinning him around—the bodybuilder in the black T-shirt and jacket. He was saying something about wanting to buy gym equipment, so I moved off.

  I wandered around for a while but I didn’t know any of the other people and basically kept to myself. A little while later I went outside to get some air. I noticed a man looking at a gold Mercedes parked behind the garage. I guessed it was Evelyn’s car. The one she was murdered in. It seemed sort of macabre having it parked back here. I walked up and looked over the man’s shoulder. He sensed me standing behind him and turned around.

  “Hi,” he said. He was remarkably handsome, olive skin, square jaw, complete with a deep cleft in his chin. His blue suit fit him perfectly, set off by a yellow shirt and striped blue and yellow tie. His shoes were blood-red Oxfords, buffed to a high shine.

  “Hi.” I hesitated and then asked him, “Was this the car?”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t the police hold a car where a murder was committed until after the trial?” I said. “Isn’t it part of the crime scene or something?”

  The man put out his hand. “I’m the detective assigned to the murder. Apollo Demetrius, LAPD.”

  “Paige Ellis, friend from out of town.” I shook his hand.

  “Once our forensic and print teams are finished and our chain of evidence is intact, the courts don’t need the car. We could have kept it in impound if it was a junker, but with an expensive rig like this, we’ll often cut it loose. Chick wanted it back. I think he’s going to sell it.”

  “I heard you got the guy,” I said.

  “Yep. Delroy Washington. We ought to get that braindead banger on America’s Dumbest Criminals. He left prints all over the car, all over the murder weapon, left the gun right where he ditched the vehicle after he stripped it. Bunch of carjack priors, all violent. At worst, it’s a special-circumstances, murder-one, death-penalty case. At the very least, life without parole.”

  “My husband was killed by a hit-and-run driver in Charlotte, North Carolina, earlier this year. They still haven’t solved it.” It just came out. I didn’t even know why I said it.

  “You have to get a little lucky sometimes. But this guy Delroy was so sloppy he might as well have mailed me an invitation to the murder.”

  “It’s really helped Chick, I think, that you caught him.”

  “Chick seems like a good guy. At first, I wasn’t so sure. But I’ve been around him a lot the past few days and he seems okay.”

  Then the detective smiled at me. “Since you’ve just been through the same thing with your husband, maybe you can help him.”

  “Maybe so,” I finally said.

  CHAPTER 32

  IT WAS DUSK AND THEY WERE IN THE BACKYARD of Chick’s beautiful Beverly Hills house. The pool light was shimmering, the Jacuzzi projecting a promising message. The catering company had just cleared out. Chick changed into his cool, new, blue Versace silk shirt and black Roberto Cavalli stretch jeans. He had a pair of expensive Gucci suedes on his feet. No socks, of course.

  They both sat in pool chairs. The name of the game was Get Paige into the Jacuzzi. That was the end zone. But he had to go easy. Keep it simple, keep it sad. And then, if his wood hardened up just a tad, he’d make his move.

  Chick worked his neck around in a circle, then stretched it side to side, front and back, making a big deal of it.

  “Stiff neck?” Paige asked after a couple of minutes.

  “Yeah. Maybe after you leave, I’ll pop into the Jacuzzi and see if I can get it loosened up. But right now, all I want to do is talk and relax a little. I’m all wound up. If this ever really hits me full on, I’m afraid I’ll go down for the count.”

  Chick looked over at her, sitting with her feet tucked under her in the pool chair. Adorable. “After the initial shock of it, having to plan the funeral was a Godsend, because it kept me thinking about a zillion details,” he said sadly. “I couldn’t focus on the loss. Did you ever have that with Chandler?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I did.”

  “God, you guys had so much, just like me and Evelyn.”

  “Y’know, I don’t think I ever really understood who Evelyn was,” Paige said. “The things you said today at the funeral made me realize it was too bad we didn’t have a chance to know each other better.”

  Chick gave her a thoughtful, sad, penetrating look, while thinking Evelyn and Chandler were at the exact opposite ends of the spectrum. Chandler had stupidly given away his fortune. Evelyn had greedily spent Chick’s. If Evelyn had Chandler’s money, she wouldn’t have set up a center for learning disabled children. She’d have set up a center for the beautification and fashionable excess of Evelyn She
ridan Best. But he didn’t say any of this. Instead, he kept working his neck, pretending to loosen the stiff muscles.

  “After denial comes a lot of vengeance and anger, Chick. You mentioned that at the funeral. I need to warn you, it stays for a long time and it is very destructive. I’m still seething inside, and I know it’s not good for me. After that comes the bargaining. Sort of promising you’ll do better in the wake of death. It’s the way we say goodbye. There’s a great book on grief called Death of a Loved One. I’ll loan it to you. Although, you surprise me, because you seem so in touch with yourself. You already seem to know most of it.”

  Chick thought this couldn’t be going better. Half the shit he had been saying to her was right out of that silly book, and so far she hadn’t picked up on it.

  He let his face go blank.

  “What is it?” she asked, noticing his expression change.

  “Nothing,” he said, “nothing, really.”

  “If I can help …”

  “Just worried about this horrible task I have ahead of me. Forget it.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry.” She sat back, and a minute of silence followed.

  “Okay, what I was thinking, really more like dreading, was going up to that damn cabin in Big Bear and sorting through all of Evelyn’s things. She had a lot of family mementos up there … photo albums from before we were married, paintings, stuff her sick mother wants. I’ve agreed to go hunt it up and send it to her sister, who’s going to give it to her mom, who’s in pretty bad shape. She’s in assisted living and it seems she doesn’t have much longer.”

  “Was Evelyn’s sister at the funeral?”

  “No … no, Mariah couldn’t come. She’s taking care of their mom in Michigan. Neither of them could get here. Evelyn’s father died two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Chick said sadly. “He was a great guy.” Chick thought Bud Sheridan was a pompous asshole who pumped out useless advice, one horrible suggestion hooked to another like bad sausage. The man had opinions on everything from the stock market to the best way to wash your car. It was hard to take instruction from a guy who got fired every eighteen months and ended up as a nonunion plumber doing illegal work for an unlicensed contractor. But that was another story. Bud was gone. Taking a well-deserved dirt nap. No need to revisit that sack of hopeless memories.

  Chick leaned back and worked his neck some more.

  “That neck’s really bothering you, isn’t it?” Paige said. She got up and moved around behind his chair and began to massage the muscles in his shoulders. She worked silently for a few minutes, her long, strong fingers kneading him professionally. Chick actually felt his johnson tingle, then quiver, then begin to rise like a mummy from the tomb. A smile spread to his lips. This was actually about to happen.

  “Better?” She stopped without preamble, shook out her hands, and moved back to her chair.

  Fuck, he thought. What kind of a massage is that? But what he said was, “Much. Thank you.”

  He stood up and turned on the Jacuzzi, making a big deal out of setting the temperature. “After you leave, I’ll just soak in this thing for a while. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Then he sat back down and, while the Jacuzzi bubbled sexual innuendos beside them, got back to business. “Anyway, I have to go up to the cabin and sort through all her stuff, and honestly, Paige, I don’t think I’m up to it. I think, if I try, I’ll crack up.”

  “Then don’t go,” she said. “At least not for a while.”

  “I wish it was that easy, but I don’t know how long Evelyn’s mom has. The death was very hard on her. Mariah says she’s been crying all day, asking for the photo albums, pictures of Evelyn from when she was a kid. There are also some of Evelyn’s personal effects, her journals. She was a great writer and kept wonderful journals. Anyway, Mariah thinks getting this stuff will help. She made me a list, so I really have to go. Besides, like I said at the funeral, I’m in my bargaining stage, trying to be a better Chick. This is something worthwhile that I can do for Evelyn’s mom, so I’ll just gut it out … just go up there and do it.”

  “I still haven’t cleaned out Chandler’s office,” she said. “It’s too painful to go through it all by myself right now.”

  Yes, that’s the whole point, Chick thought. Are you really going to let me go up there and do this morbid task alone? He worked his neck again and waited to see what would happen.

  She got up and moved around the chair and again started working on his neck.

  “I thought you were through,” he said.

  “I used to do this for Chandler. You work for about five minutes, let the blood come back in, then do it again.” She flashed a smile. “You’re gonna have to sit still for three of these, my friend.”

  He could feel her fingers working themselves deep into his shoulder muscles while his johnson began to unwind like a snake under a porch.

  “I don’t feel any knots,” she said after a minute.

  “Probably psychosomatic,” he replied, “but it sure feels much better. Ahh, ahh, there, there … that’s the spot … perfect.”

  She kept kneading for a few minutes longer, then sat down again.

  “Look, Chick, cleaning out that cabin might be an emotional mistake right now. You should call Evelyn’s sister and see how long you could put this off. Even a few weeks would help.”

  Chick appeared to be giving this some thought. Then he shook his head. “God, I wish I could just run from this, but I promised Mariah, so tomorrow I’m gonna drive up there and give it a shot. Wish me luck.” Come on, he thought, don’t just sit there.

  But she sat quietly in her chair. He could see indecision flicker. “Would it help if I went with you?” she finally asked.

  “Oh Paige, that is sweet of you but, my God, you’ve flown all the way out here. You barely knew Evelyn. You’ve made these days bearable just by showing up.” He stopped and shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll be okay. I’ll get through it somehow.”

  “Okay, if you think you can manage.”

  “It will only take a few hours,” he said. “Three painful hours and it will be over.”

  He watched indecision play on her face.

  “I don’t really have anything to do tomorrow,” she finally said. “It’s only a few hours, and if it would help you, then I’d be happy to go. It’s the first time in months that I feel like I can actually pitch in and do something worthwhile.”

  “You’d really drive up there with me?” he said, hardly believing he’d pulled this off. Once he got her up there, he would figure a way to make it last for days.

  “I’ve got to go see Chandler’s parents in the morning for breakfast, but after that I’m free.”

  She stood up. “I’d better get going. It’s late, and you should jump in that Jacuzzi and get your neck loosened. I’ll see you mañana.” She gathered up her things and headed toward the house.

  He got up and followed. At the door, he gave her a quick hug, remembering to keep it sexless. He watched her drive away. But after she was gone, he beamed.

  Man, he was good. You just can’t teach this shit, he thought.

  PAIGE

  CHAPTER 33

  DRIVING BACK TO THE LANGHAM HUNTINGTON IN Pasadena I wondered how I could have allowed myself to get talked into this. What on earth had I been thinking?

  At the hotel, I gave the Mustang to the valet and took the elevator up to my room. When I walked in the telephone message light was on. I picked up the receiver, punched the right button, and listened to a recorded message from Peter Ellis notifying me that breakfast tomorrow was at 10 A.M. at the family offices on Wilshire Boulevard.

  Then I played my second message. It was from Bob Butler.

  “Mrs. Ellis, it’s Detective Butler. I’ve been trying to reach you, but your cell phone must be off ’cause I’m going straight to voice-mail. Anyway, here’s my update: The body and fender guy in Virginia remembers the car had New Yo
rk plates and a Hertz sticker on the mirror. He helped me refine the sketch, which I’ll be sending to you once the artist is done. I’m flying to New York to recheck the Hertz agencies there. I think I’m on the verge of solving this. Please call ASAP. God bless you.”

  I cursed myself that I’d left the damn cell-phone charger at home. I tried Bob’s number, but he was either out of range or already on the plane. I finally stripped off my clothes and fell into bed. But, as tired as I was, I couldn’t go to sleep.

  The more I thought about my trip to the mountains with Chick, the more second thoughts I had.

  I knew that impulsive decision was tied up with Chandler’s death and a sense that I no longer fit in. I was trying to feel needed.

  I tossed and turned and began to look for a way out. A way to renege. I got up, pulled some Evian out of the minibar, then turned on the TV and plopped back down on the bed and started absently roaming through the channels looking for something to take my mind off it. I stopped at The Late News on Channel Five, just as the blonde anchorwoman was saying:

  “Evelyn Best, the slain wife of Internet exec Charles Best, was buried today at Forest Lawn Cemetery. While that event was taking place in front of several hundred family members and friends, across town the key suspect in her murder, Delroy Washington, was arraigned before the Superior Court Magistrate.”

  The picture switched to a shot of Delroy being led into the courthouse in handcuffs. The insolent teenager glared at the camera.

  “Assistant District Attorney Brent Briggs had these words for our KTLA camera outside the courthouse.”

  The shot switched to a young D.A. with a serious expression. He was standing in front of the mahogany door to Superior Court Six.

  “The physical evidence here is pretty overwhelming, and pending an arraignment on capital murder, we are going to ask that Mr. Washington be held without bail.”