by Jill Shure
Tommy gazed wistfully into space. &ldquoShe was out with you and your friends one night last year. Remember, we ran into each other at that bar?&rdquo
&ldquoNot really.&rdquo Croce&rsquos downtown in the gas lamp district.
&ldquoI noticed her right off. But it was kind of awkward with you there. Considering our past. So I never made a move. But it didn&rsquot matter. A few days later, she called me at the office. She claimed she needed insurance. So we met for drinks. The rest, well ... you can imagine the rest.&rdquo He grinned wickedly.
How nauseating. &ldquoDid she actually buy insurance from you?&rdquo
Tommy looked like a sixth grader caught picking his nose. &ldquoWhat?&rdquo
&ldquoDid you end up selling her a policy?&rdquo
&ldquoSure. Why not?&rdquo
&ldquoBecause she also bought a policy from me and quite a few others.&rdquo
Leaning back in his chair, he studied me. &ldquoThat&rsquos her legal right.&rdquo
&ldquoMind telling me how much insurance you sold her?&rdquo
He frowned. &ldquoYeah, I do.&rdquo
&ldquoShe won&rsquot mind. She&rsquos dead.&rdquo
He scowled at me.
&ldquoDon&rsquot be so modest,&rdquo I teased, recalling the days when he dated women just to sell insurance and give breast exams.
&ldquoLook, I was much more to her than an insurance agent.&rdquo
&ldquoI&rsquom sure you were. By any chance, did she ever mention any personal troubles? At work or otherwise?&rdquo
&ldquoNah, she was always enthusiastic about everything.&rdquo
&ldquoCan you remember anyone who might have been a threat to her? Someone who hated her guts? Or someone she owed money to?&rdquo
He stared down at his place mat then faced me again, his blue eyes sadder than my mother&rsquos when I can&rsquot finish her brisket and potato pancakes. &ldquoWho could hate her?&rdquo
Was he kidding? Her aunt. Her girlfriends. Every woman who&rsquod known her. And quite a few men, too.
He sighed. &ldquoWe were so happy. Spending weekends in Mexico at the beach. Sailing, lying in the sun. Dancing in the evenings. There&rsquos nobody else like her.&rdquo
Thank God. &ldquoWhat about that Sunday night? The night she vanished.&rdquo
&ldquoWe were supposed to have an early dinner at my house. The salmon steaks were marinating. The salad was ready. I&rsquod picked up her favorite ice cream. But she never showed. I waited for three hours. Then I called the police.&rdquo
&ldquoYou made her dinner?&rdquo I hadn&rsquot even merited a bowl of cornflakes when we dated. And how come Courtney hadn&rsquot told Tommy she had to work that night?
&ldquoI meant to propose,&rdquo he added. &ldquoI already had a ring picked out. Funny she never told you about us. Considering you were such close friends.&rdquo
I coughed. &ldquoSure, close friends.&rdquo I took a long sip of wine to avoid his gaze. &ldquoThat&rsquos why I&rsquom determined to find out what happened to her.&rdquo I mimed a sympathetic look and patted his hand. &ldquoSo when she stood you up, did you go over to her place right away? I mean, before you reported her missing.&rdquo
&ldquoFirst I called her at least a dozen times. But she didn&rsquot answer.&rdquo
&ldquoMaybe she was coloring her roots or waxing her mustache.&rdquo
Tommy&rsquos eyes widened as if I&rsquod taken a deity&rsquos name in vain. &ldquoI finally drove over there and rang her bell. When she didn&rsquot answer, I knew something was wrong. I mean, we had this intuitive connection. This psychic awareness.&rdquo
An awareness she&rsquod shared with enough guys to fill the new ballpark. &ldquoWhat about the strip club where she worked? Why didn&rsquot you call her there?&rdquo
&ldquoShe was off that night.&rdquo
&ldquoNot according to her employer. In fact, she showed up there around ten.&rdquo
&ldquoI never knew about that. I found out later from the police. After she disappeared.&rdquo
I studied him: The bent head, the mournful blue eyes. Was he telling the truth?
My phone rang. It was Sofia letting me know she&rsquod be home in ten minutes. I gulped down the last of my wine and stood. &ldquoThis has been ... nice. But I better head back. Sofia&rsquos on her way home.&rdquo
&ldquoI&rsquod like to follow you, make sure you get there safely.&rdquo
Tommy really had changed since we&rsquod dated. At my building, he even insisted on walking me to the door. But that&rsquos where the good guy with the broken heart vanished and the infamous seducer reappeared.
In the middle of my digging through my purse for my house keys, Tommy grabbed me. &ldquoBetsy Baby, I can get over how sexy you look. How understanding you&rsquove been.&rdquo Then he planted a kiss on my lips which made my jeans pucker.
At that instant a car door slammed, and Sofia&rsquos voice rang out. &ldquoIt&rsquos okay, I&rsquove got a key. Thanks Ken.&rdquo
Bolting from Tommy&rsquos arms, I spun around as Sofia dashed past us. Ken stood by his car watching. A moment later, he sauntered over. Ignoring me, he shook Tommy&rsquos hand.
I have no idea what went on after that. I believe Ken and Tommy exchanged polite chitchat. They may even have arranged a golf date. Or, they might have discussed what a bitch I am before my menstrual cycle. I only know I spent a miserable night alone in bed thrashing against my pillows and blankets. I couldn&rsquot stop agonizing over why my life was such a mess when my goals were so clear. I wanted to marry Ken, do well in business, and be the best mother possible. I also intended to find Courtney&rsquos killer. Before he killed me.
A week before Halloween, I sat in my car waiting for Sofia to finish her math tutoring session. With a good ten minutes to kill, I dredged up the gumption to call Ken. Okay, he&rsquod caught me kissing another man. And if the situation were reversed, I would&rsquove levitated off the ground and had a total meltdown. But Ken always claims to be a free spirit. A guy who lives day-to-day without plans for the future. Meaning he has no grounds to be annoyed. Nevertheless, my heart raced and my hands felt clammy as his phone rang.
&ldquoHello,&rdquo he finally said, sounding as if I&rsquod woken him from a dream. Or exhausting sex.
&ldquoIt&rsquos me. Have you got a minute or&mdash&rdquo
&ldquoSure. I&rsquove got the whole evening,&rdquo he said in an annoyingly patient tone.
&ldquoThe thing is, I know you think I lied about seeing a friend the other night. But Tommy really is a friend. An old friend.&rdquo
&ldquoI know. You told me all about him when we met.&rdquo
&ldquoBut what you don&rsquot know is, he was in love with Courtney Farrow. He&rsquos taken her death very hard. So he asked me out to dinner to talk.&rdquo
&ldquoHe looks like a fast talker.&rdquo
&ldquoThat kiss was a total surprise&mdash&rdquo
&ldquoI hope you don&rsquot think you owe me an explanation. We&rsquove got nothing in writing.&rdquo
My heart thumped. My mouth dried up. He&rsquod hammered his point home well. No commitments. No future. &ldquoI&rsquom so relieved you feel this way. Maybe we can get together this weekend to talk things over.&rdquo
&ldquoI&rsquoll have to let you know. I may be leaving town for a few days.&rdquo
This is why I hate cold calling prospects. If the prospect is rude or sarcastic, I feel rejected and depressed. &ldquoNo problem. I better run. Tommy&rsquos meeting me for drinks in twenty minutes.&rdquo I hung up and stared at the phone as depression surged through me. If Ken really cared, he&rsquod fight for me. After all, what was one lousy kiss?
16
A guy named Eddy Post followed Bart Miller in Courtney&rsquos little book with a 1500 by his name. He&rsquod also authored a love letter. In it, he described the kind of primitive acts he liked to perform on Courtney in bed. Also in his car, at the park, and one night at the beach when the condom broke. By calling information, I tracked down his address in Encinitas, which is anywhere from thirty-five minutes to an hour north of my condo, depending on tr
affic.
It was after five when I finally parked across the street from Eddy Post&rsquos house, the only one on the block with Halloween decorations still in evidence a week after the holiday. Clutching my computer case, I marched up the drive past tricycles and an SUV the size of a military transport. I rang the door bell and waited.
Inside, a female voice grumbled, &ldquoWho the hell can that be?&rdquo
A moment later, a slender blonde stood before me with a lamb chop in one hand and a wailing baby in the other.
&ldquoMrs. Post? I&rsquom Betsy Ross with Aloss Life. My agency confirmed your appointment for this evening. I hope you don&rsquot mind my being a little early.&rdquo
The baby&mdashwhose diaper smelled toxic&mdashbegan to scream. Mrs. Post looked as if she might join in.
&ldquoEddy!&rdquo She abruptly barked.
From upstairs, a deep male voice bellowed, &ldquoWhat?&rdquo
&ldquoThere&rsquos a woman here who wants to see you.&rdquo
I heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Clearly this wasn&rsquot your average happy family. Even the baby looked stressed. Or maybe the mashed apricots drying on its face gave it that jaundiced look.
A tall young man finally appeared in shorts and a sweatshirt. Days of stubble covered his chin. &ldquoWho&rsquore you?&rdquo he growled.
&ldquoI&rsquom Betsy Ross.&rdquo I stuck out my hand, which he ignored. &ldquoI&rsquom with Aloss Life. Your assistant Miss ...&rdquo I paused here. Then I spent an inordinately long time digging through my computer case searching for a phantom name.
&ldquoMiss Garcia?&rdquo Eddy finally guessed.
&ldquoThat&rsquos it. She set this up weeks ago.&rdquo
He made a sound of disgust. &ldquoFigures. Look, I got fired last week. So everything&rsquos been screwed up. Guess Miss Garcia forgot to tell me.&rdquo Suddenly, his face contracted in misery. Tears filled his eyes. And a sob broke through his anger.
&ldquoMaybe ... maybe it would be better if we rescheduled,&rdquo I said. Till after you shave and get a job.
Wiping his eyes and nose with his sleeve, he said, &ldquoAs long as you&rsquore here, you might as well come in. This is my wife Emily. And this is Tucker.&rdquo So the four of us headed into the living room. Eddy collapsed on a beige leather recliner. Emily, Tucker, and I shared a stained green corduroy sofa.
Pulling out a pad and pen, I couldn&rsquot imagine what kind of policy I&rsquod present. Right now, poor Eddy hardly qualified for anything. That&rsquos the rub about insurance. You have to buy it before you need it. Like it&rsquos better not to be sick or unemployed when you apply for certain kinds of insurance, or you&rsquoll get charged up the wazoo. Or rejected.
After I pulled out my computer, I started from a list of pertinent questions about their goals, income, and health. In between standard lines like, &ldquoHave you had any estate planning done?&rdquo Or, &ldquoWhat would you do if you died prematurely?&rdquo I tried to conjure up ways to get Eddy Post alone. So I could ask him about Courtney.
I discovered that Eddy had been a vice president of a well-known biotech firm which had recently endured big layoffs. That he&rsquod formerly made around two hundred thousand a year. I decided to show him an inexpensive term policy then ease into a few personal questions.
Ten minutes later, I&rsquod laid out the policy. &ldquoSo if you died prematurely&mdash&rdquo
&ldquoYou mean, if Eddy had an accident?&rdquo Emily cut in, her eyes shifting from that of a dead ox to one of sparkling optimism.
&ldquoActually, Mrs. Post, the chances of Eddy dying in an accident are slimmer than&mdash&rdquo
&ldquoOh, I don&rsquot know,&rdquo Emily said, scowling at Eddy.
&ldquoWell, Mr. Post, perhaps we should discuss this now. Do you have any dangerous hobbies I should know about? Like mountain climbing, motorcycle racing, or crop dusting?&rdquo
Before Eddy could answer, Emily turned, jumped to her feet and shrieked, &ldquoGet out of here! Get out, before I rip your head off!&rdquo
I grabbed my chest. I felt as if I&rsquod been shot. Then I realized she was aiming her rage at two young boys in pajamas now fleeing for their lives up the stairs with Emily and the baby storming after them. &ldquoI warned you, didn&rsquot I? I told you if you got out of that bed one more time, you&rsquod be sorry!&rdquo Emily yelled.
But at least I was now alone with Eddy. At the moment he was chewing his thumbnail and staring down at his hairy thighs. In fact, he seemed mentally elsewhere&mdashpossibly in bed with Courtney Farrow sucking on her toes, based on his letter to her.
When the silence grew oppressive, I said, &ldquoYou have a lovely family.&rdquo
Eddy glanced over. &ldquoYa think so? Some days I&rsquod like to drown &rsquoem all.&rdquo
I plastered a sympathetic expression on my face. &ldquoAre you okay, Mr. Post?&rdquo
&ldquoSure, I&rsquom fine. Emily will be back any second. She&rsquos just tucking in the twins.&rdquo
We heard a loud slap followed by a cry. Then a door slammed. We both silently listened to the squabble going on upstairs, muffled by the door.
I spotted a photo of Eddy on the mantle. Shaved and wearing a suit, he was handsome. For lack of anything better, I said, &ldquoHow many children do you have?&rdquo
Eddy raised a quizzical brow. &ldquoFour. Our oldest one, Donny, got arrested last week. Robbed a neighbor&rsquos house.&rdquo
Poor guy. &ldquoHow old is he?&rdquo
&ldquoTwelve.&rdquo
Not much older than Sofia. &ldquoWell, why don&rsquot we get down to business? I have questions we can answer without Emily.&rdquo I discovered that Eddy jogged, lifted weights, had never smoked, and had no discernable diseases. At thirty-five, he could&rsquove been the poster boy for an insurance company&rsquos health guide. Unfortunately, he was also an emotional wreck.
&ldquoNow, Eddy, I&rsquom going to ask you some personal questions.&rdquo Which will lead to some extremely personal questions. &ldquoThese may seem impertinent. So if you feel like your privacy is being invaded, please let me know so we can discuss it.&rdquo
&ldquoShoot.&rdquo
&ldquoHave you ever had a sexually transmitted disease?&rdquo
He shook his head.
&ldquoEver slept with anyone who had AIDS or hepatitis?&rdquo
&ldquoNo.&rdquo
&ldquoExcellent. Now, can you tell me if you&rsquove had any sexual partners other than your wife within the past five years?&rdquo I stared down at the form where they didn&rsquot even have this question.
Eddy exhaled loudly. Then he covered his eyes as a sob broke loose. &ldquoYes. God help me, I did. It was the worst mistake of my life.&rdquo He gazed across the room at a painting of Christ impaled on the cross. &ldquoShe was so beautiful, so sexy, so exciting.&rdquo
Courtney Farrow. Who else? &ldquoHas this other woman been checked for any venereal diseases?&rdquo
He shrugged. &ldquoI don&rsquot know. And now it&rsquos too late to find out because ... because she&rsquos dead.&rdquo
&ldquoOh, how unfortunate. I&rsquom so sorry.&rdquo
&ldquoHer name was Courtney Farrow. Not that I knew that at first. I knew her by her stage name, Sydney Louise. See I met her at this nightclub.&rdquo
A name I recognized from Courtney&rsquos answering machine that day Arlene and I broke into her place. &ldquoMind if I ask which nightclub?&rdquo
He shrugged. &ldquoI dunno. Some joint out in East County.&rdquo
&ldquoSo, Sydney Louise worked there,&rdquo I said.
&ldquoYeah, she was ... an exotic dancer.&rdquo
&ldquoUh, huh. In other words, she stripped,&rdquo I stated, scribbling across the application like I was required to include this information.
Eddy looked miserable. &ldquoMy buddies dared me to go up and talk to her. We&rsquod had a few drinks. You know&mdasha night out with the boys, our wives home playing bunko. I didn&rsquot see any real harm in a little flirting. She was so gorgeous. Anyway, when she came over and asked if we needed more drinks. I must&rsquove said someth
ing funny. Because she started laughing. Then she asked me the time.&rdquo
He held up his wrist to show me he wasn&rsquot keeping time with Mickey or the Little Mermaid, but a platinum Rolex. &ldquoShe admired my watch. Then she told me she needed to keep track of the time because she&rsquod be off in an hour. I didn&rsquot even realize she was flirting with me. I&rsquove been married for thirteen years. I had no idea that Sydney Louise might be a pro.&rdquo
&ldquoA professional what?&rdquo
&ldquoHooker. But she wasn&rsquot. I mean, not really. So I called home that night and made excuses. I said one of the husbands was too ripped to drive and needed a ride home. Then I met Sydney Louise in the parking lot. I suggested coffee. I mean, I was pretty scared. I&rsquod already lied to my wife about being late. And now I had a date with this girl. But she didn&rsquot want coffee.&rdquo A lonely tear edged its way down his stubbled cheek.
&ldquoShe didn&rsquot drink coffee?&rdquo I said softly.
&ldquoNo,&rdquo he sobbed. &ldquoShe wanted me. Then her tongue was in my mouth and I was so ... I lost sight of everything. So I saw her that night. And then again a few nights later. I couldn&rsquot get her out of my mind. For about three weeks, I was so far gone that I hardly functioned at home or work. Then she gave me this story about needing money. How her boss was after her for sex. And she had to quit her job. How she took care of her ailing aunt and needed money to send home. How she was desperate. So I gave her a thousand dollars. I felt guilty as hell about the money. Even more so than about the sex. &rsquoCause with four kids and a wife addicted to Nordstrom&rsquos, there&rsquos never enough to pay our bills. Then a week later, she asked for more. She needed another thousand. When I told her I could only swing another five hundred, she seemed okay about it.&rdquo
Bingo. The exact number by his name in the lizard book.
&ldquoBut she still needed more,&rdquo he said.
&ldquoAnd you refused?&rdquo
He shook his head. &ldquoTwo hundred and fifty more.&rdquo