A Clause for Murder

by Jill Shure

  Apparently Eddy had been a real sport. And Courtney was behind in her bookkeeping again. &ldquoWhen was this?&rdquo

  Suddenly, he paused to stare at me. &ldquoWhat&rsquos this got to do with insurance?&rdquo

  &ldquoNothing. I just thought it sounded like a shakedown.&rdquo

  He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a slow once over. &ldquoYou&rsquore smarter than I am.&rdquo

  &ldquoI guess it feels good to finally tell someone.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou have no idea. I mean, I hope you don&rsquot mind my spilling my guts like this.&rdquo

  &ldquoNot at all. I hear all sorts of personal things. It&rsquos part of my job to keep this stuff to myself.&rdquo

  We both eyed the stairs leading to the second floor before he went on. &ldquoAnyway, it didn&rsquot end there. She had three letters of mine. Letters I&rsquod sent her.&rdquo

  Jeez, who even wrote real letters anymore? &ldquoLove letters?&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoOne of them was. In the others, I told her I couldn&rsquot pay her anymore. That we had to end it. But then she phoned me at work. She threatened to call my house. She said she&rsquod use my letters to convince my wife that I&rsquod been unfaithful. I was so scared&mdashI couldn&rsquot sleep or work. Then one day the calls suddenly stopped.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhen was this?&rdquo

  &ldquoA few months ago, I guess.&rdquo

  &ldquoSo the calls stopped right after she disappeared?&rdquo

  &ldquoExactly. But if the police ever see those letters, I might as well kiss this family goodbye. Emily might forgive the sex but never the money.&rdquo

  &ldquoLook, this probably isn&rsquot a good time to sell you insurance, Mr. Post. Maybe later on when you&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoNah, I got a few bucks put aside. Believe it or not, I love my family. I want them protected.&rdquo

  Twenty minutes later, I left with a check for an automatic deduction for a small term policy. I felt pretty sure Eddy Post wasn&rsquot a murderer. Just another unfortunate married man who&rsquod run into Courtney Farrow. But what did I know of murderers? From everything I saw on television, most murderers weren&rsquot chronic killers. They simply reacted to a threat. Or lost their temper.

  I arrived home at seven-thirty, exhausted. Dropping my purse and the mail on my dining room table, I dug through my bills while listening for phone messages. But my machine had the same story as yesterday. &ldquoYou have no messages.&rdquo You have no life.

  Ken, that SOB, hadn&rsquot called in over a week. And I definitely felt ready for a good comedy and a bucket of ice cream. Kicking off my shoes, I strode into the kitchen and peered into the crockpot. In a mad hurry this morning, I&rsquod dropped in some boneless chicken breasts, barbecue sauce, frozen onions, peppers, and a can of peas. Sometimes I get too creative and I can&rsquot swallow my own creations. I decided applesauce on the side might help.

  I&rsquod just finished setting the table when Sofia burst through the door. Dropping her books on the floor, she said, &ldquoI hate Mrs. Odetts! She&rsquos the grossest person I ever met. She has this really disgusting foot fungus. And she actually took off her shoe and showed me the mess. I almost puked.&rdquo

  &ldquoIs it serious?&rdquo

  &ldquoMom, she&rsquos scary. I hate it there.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou wanted to go there the other night.&rdquo

  &ldquoNo, I didn&rsquot.&rdquo

  &ldquoNever mind. Did you finish your homework?&rdquo

  &ldquoHow come you never listen to me? I don&rsquot wanna go there anymore. She&rsquos old and weird and&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoOkay, give me an alternative. What else should we do with you? Let you hang out with Darcy who acts like she&rsquos twenty-four and working the street for a living?&rdquo

  Sofia&rsquos jaw dropped. She gaped at me. &ldquoHow come you hate my friends? I&rsquom always nice to your friends, and they can be totally weird. Like that Tabitha woman with her fifteen earrings and purple hair.&rdquo

  &ldquoSit down, we need to talk.&rdquo I pulled out a chair. &ldquoNow.&rdquo

  Glaring at me, she did.

  &ldquoFirst, I&rsquom an adult, so I get to choose my friends and make decisions around here. You&rsquore allowed to complain, but then you have to follow my rules.&rdquo

  She scowled through teary eyes.

  I sighed. &ldquoLook, honey, your school has no afternoon program, meaning you need a safe place to go.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhy can&rsquot you just leave me here alone?&rdquo

  &ldquoBecause you&rsquore ten.&rdquo And there&rsquos someone stalking us. &ldquoWhen you&rsquore thirteen, I&rsquoll consider it&mdashproviding you have a B+ or better average. In the meantime, I don&rsquot care if Mrs. Odetts has moss growing between her toes, she&rsquos looking after you.&rdquo

  Naturally, Sofia hated my chicken stew and went to her room with a glass of milk and a fistful of cookies.

  The next day, I arrived at the Aloss office at lunch time. The place was almost deserted. The other agents were either out on appointments, playing golf, having lunch, or possibly home watching Days of Our Lives. I could see Lisa through her glass door, feet on her desk, the phone pressed to her ear, spooning yogurt into her mouth.

  With time to kill, I made yet another call to Dancin&rsquo Beauties to see if McDade had surfaced. According to Andy, he was still MIA.

  &ldquoIs Samba around?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoNah, she don&rsquot get in till later,&rdquo Andy said.

  &ldquoOh, I forgot she only works on weekends,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoBullshit. She works whenever I need her,&rdquo Andy said.

  &ldquoBut she told me ... never mind. I&rsquoll call again later.&rdquo Meaning Samba had lied.

  As promised, Jasper had emailed me the list of policies Courtney had applied for in the past six months. The list included the names of the insurance agencies, the face amount of each policy, and the type of coverage. One agent&rsquos name and company stood out: Ken Blanchard. He&rsquod sold Courtney a cool quarter of a million term policy nine weeks ago. However, the policy had been rejected for lack of information. Which might mean Courtney had lied on her application or she hadn&rsquot answered every question.

  In all, Courtney had attempted to buy over two million dollars worth of insurance. The half-million I&rsquod sold her had been issued eighteen months ago. A few other policies had been paid for but hadn&rsquot been issued yet. A small policy for twenty thousand had been rejected for lack of payment. Still, if the companies didn&rsquot uncover anything unsavory, Wild Bill McDade would collect $1,750,000. Meaning McDade would be able to save Dancin&rsquo Beauties. And continue gambling. Unfortunately, Jasper and I had yet to locate him.

  According to Jasper&rsquos email, he&rsquod also sent me a gift. Something you definitely could use. So keep your eye out for a package.

  A few minutes later, I knocked on Lisa&rsquos office door. Seeing me through the glass, she beckoned me in. Still on the phone, she mouthed, What&rsquos wrong?

  I shook my head in disgust, dropped onto her sofa, and put my head back to calm down.

  Lisa quickly ended her phone conversation. &ldquoI gather you haven&rsquot won the lottery or gotten a proposal from Ken.&rdquo

  &ldquoPlease, I&rsquom in no mood for kidding. First, I can&rsquot locate William McDade, Courtney&rsquos beneficiary. What&rsquos worse, I made the mistake of going out with Tommy. Then Ken saw us kissing, and now he won&rsquot speak to me.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou&rsquore living up to Ken&rsquos terms of the deal, right? No promises, no marriage, no ring.&rdquo

  &ldquoThanks for reminding me.&rdquo

  &ldquoListen. Ken loves you. That&rsquos why he got so worked up about your kissing another guy. Let him simmer down and get used to feeling bitter and rejected. Then call him.&rdquo

  &ldquoIt&rsquos already been a week.&rdquo

  &ldquoGuys need time. A little girl steals their shovel in kindergarten and they distrust women for the rest of their lives.&rdquo

  &ldquoIs Harold like that?&rd
quo

  &ldquoYou bet he is. But mostly his moods are tied to the market. If the Dow is up, life rolls along. If the NASDAQ is down, he hangs out in the john and reads mysteries. So what did you and Tommy do? Was it strictly sex or what?&rdquo

  &ldquoStrictly dinner. He never stopped raving about Courtney the wonder woman.&rdquo

  Lisa frowned. &ldquoIf he was so in love with her, how come he skipped her memorial service? I mean, if I died, Harold would come. Unless he had an important client coming in. Or his mother&rsquos sciatica was acting up.&rdquo

  &ldquoNone of her lovers came. Remember? Lots of people hate funerals. I certainly do. And Tommy really is torn up about her.&rdquo

  Lisa groaned. &ldquoHow do you know? You&rsquore no detective. You think Tommy would calmly put down his martini glass and confess to dumping Courtney&rsquos nude, ravaged body in a garage, then tossing in a match and lighter fluid?&rdquo

  &ldquoLighter fluid? Where&rsquod you hear that?&rdquo

  &ldquoI&rsquom just guessing.&rdquo

  &ldquoBesides, I thought she had clothes on. And I&rsquom pretty sure Tommy didn&rsquot do it.&rdquo

  She rolled her eyes. &ldquoWell, as long as you&rsquove got all sorts of experience to back up your theories.&rdquo

  &ldquoI do have experience. I meet the public every day.&rdquo

  &ldquoBaloney. You&rsquore the most naive woman I know.&rdquo

  Lisa might be right about that. I still sort of buy Ken&rsquos story that the girl I saw going into his building with him at two a.m., a week after we broke up last year, was his neighbor. At the time, I was grateful he didn&rsquot ask what I was doing outside his building at that ungodly hour.

  &ldquoHere,&rdquo I said, handing her a group policy application from a biotech firm.

  Lisa&rsquos eyes brightened. &ldquoThat&rsquos my girl. You&rsquore still the best. How about lunch? My treat.&rdquo

  By coincidence, we ended up at the Cheesecake Factory. Over salads, we argued about Courtney.

  &ldquoWho cares who killed her,&rdquo Lisa said. &ldquoShe was a blackmailing leech.&rdquo

  &ldquoBut a damn successful leech. She had dozens of men eating out of her hand.&rdquo

  &ldquoUntil one of them murdered her,&rdquo Lisa said.

  &ldquoBut which one?&rdquo

  &ldquoWho knows? Probably some guy she bled till he snapped. Or his wife did.&rdquo

  &ldquoExactly. I&rsquom sure this whole thing has to do with money.&rdquo

  &ldquoForget Courtney. Get William McDade to sign off on that policy, then move on. You need to get back on track for Sofia&rsquos sake.&rdquo

  &ldquoI&rsquod be happy to have McDade sign off, providing I could find him. And what about Arlene? She may be facing leg surgery because of this case. Should I forget about her, too?&rdquo

  &ldquoOf course not. But she&rsquos got a good doctor.&rdquo

  &ldquoSomeone tried to run her off the road. To kill her.&rdquo Probably the same psycho who threatened me and my daughter.

  Lisa rolled her eyes. &ldquoMaybe the guy who hit her was drunk. Maybe he changed lanes without looking.&rdquo

  &ldquoHe crossed three lanes and headed right for her. If Courtney was alive, I&rsquod blame her.&rdquo

  &ldquoYeah, but she&rsquos dead.&rdquo

  An idea occurred to me. &ldquoDo me a favor. Go shopping with me.&rdquo

  Lisa made a face. &ldquoAre you crazy? What&rsquos that got to do with all of this? Besides, I have a company to run&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoIt&rsquos almost five and you can call in and get your messages. Then we can play for a few hours. Come on. It&rsquoll be fun.&rdquo I crossed my heart.

  Lisa sighed. &ldquoPromise me you aren&rsquot buying new clothes for your next date with Tommy-the-Master-Swordsman.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhen I see Tommy, I don&rsquot bother with clothes.&rdquo

  &ldquoGood. Because I&rsquod hate to see you blow money on that cold-hearted Don Juan.&rdquo

  &ldquoLisa, I didn&rsquot sleep with him. I ate a salad with him. I had one glass of wine. This shopping trip has nothing to do with Tommy.&rdquo After all, I had other fish to fry.

  I arranged for Sofia to stay late at Mrs. Odetts&rsquo house. And Lisa informed Harold that she&rsquod be home after nine.

  &ldquoWhat exactly are we hunting for?&rdquo Lisa asked as we headed out the door.

  &ldquoMink.&rdquo

  We had no luck at Nordstrom or Neiman Marcus. But we hit pay dirt at Saks.

  &ldquoThink these would be good for skiing?&rdquo Lisa asked, examining a pair of mink ear muffs in the fur department.

  &ldquoThey&rsquod be warm,&rdquo I said, slipping on a silver fox jacket reduced from three thousand to fifteen hundred and studying myself in a tall mirror.

  An instant later, a well-groomed older woman in a pearl-colored knit suit padded across the plush carpet toward me. Smiling, she said, &ldquoIsn&rsquot this jacket beautiful? And it&rsquos a great value.&rdquo Then she lifted the collar up around my neck, making the style even more flattering.

  &ldquoI love it,&rdquo I admitted, stroking the soft fur which reminded me of a cat I once had back in Toledo. &ldquoMy fiancé is buying me a fur coat for my birthday. I wanted to try on a few things before I brought him in,&rdquo I fibbed.

  &ldquoI&rsquom Mrs. Wyatt. And I&rsquoll be happy to help you. Is fox the only fur you&rsquore interested in?&rdquo

  &ldquoActually my friend shops here all the time. And she has the most gorgeous full length mink.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhat&rsquos her name? Maybe I&rsquove helped her.&rdquo

  &ldquoCourtney Farrow.&rdquo

  The saleswoman frowned. &ldquoDoesn&rsquot ring a bell, but I can check. Are you interested in the same style she bought?&rdquo

  &ldquoShe has a number of furs I&rsquove admired over the years. Hold on a second,&rdquo I said, pulling a photograph from my briefcase. The picture was from last Christmas. In it, Lisa, Arlene, Tabitha, Courtney, and I are posing by a huge Douglas fir.

  Mrs. Wyatt studied the photo. &ldquoIs this your friend on the left?&rdquo

  My spirits soared. &ldquoYes.&rdquo

  &ldquoShe came in two or three times last spring.&rdquo

  &ldquoCan you remember what she bought?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoNot offhand. But we should have a record of it. Why don&rsquot you take a look around and I&rsquoll check.&rdquo She headed toward a lovely antique table where a laptop rested. A few minutes later, she returned with a printout. &ldquoIt says here she acquired a seal skin jacket, a mink coat, and a grey fox jacket.&rdquo

  Envy shot through me. &ldquoAll last year?&rdquo

  &ldquoOver the last two years. I personally sold her the mink right after I moved down here from San Francisco last spring. But she didn&rsquot actually buy it herself.&rdquo

  Naturally. &ldquoHer fiancé, no doubt,&rdquo I said. &ldquoI wish I could remember his name.&rdquo

  &ldquoHer fiancé?&rdquo Mrs. Wyatt looked surprised.

  &ldquoYes. I&rsquove met him several times. But I can never remember his name.&rdquo

  &ldquoIs he foreign?&rdquo she asked. &ldquoAnd very handsome with a charming accent?&rdquo

  &ldquoYou remember him?&rdquo My heart sped up.

  Glancing around, Mrs. Wyatt leaned close to Lisa and me and spoke softly. &ldquoIf it&rsquos the same gentleman who&rsquos on the card, he wasn&rsquot her fiancé. Because ... he&rsquos visited our fur salon a number of times since then ... with his wife.&rdquo

  Widening my eyes in shock, I pressed my hand over my left breast. &ldquoPoor Courtney. She has no idea.&rdquo Nor would she have cared as long as he had a fat wallet and a working checkbook.

  &ldquoI really shouldn&rsquot have said anything,&rdquo Mrs. Wyatt said, looking contrite. &ldquoThese things happen. And at least she got the coat. A very expensive one. According to my notes, he paid cash. Were you interested in the mink she got? I mean, the same style or&mdash &rdquo

  &ldquoOh, yes.&rdquo

  She smiled. &ldquoI&rsquoll take a peek in ba
ck to see if we have one like it. Since it was last season&rsquos.&rdquo

  &ldquoOne more thing. I need to be sure we&rsquore talking about the same man. I just can&rsquot remember his name,&rdquo I said.

  Mrs. Wyatt glanced around to make sure we weren&rsquot being overheard. But at 6:00 in the evening, the entire floor seemed deserted. &ldquoI shouldn&rsquot really say. But with your being such a close friend and all ... his name was Sirhan Spector.&rdquo

  Bingo. A name right out of Courtney&rsquos evil little book. And the author of a rather dull love letter. &ldquoThat&rsquos him. I can&rsquot believe it. Poor Courtney.&rdquo

  &ldquoAt least he was generous. Her coat sold for over fifty thousand before taxes. I&rsquom afraid a new one would be slightly more.&rdquo

  &ldquoNo problem. My fiancé doesn&rsquot care how much I spend,&rdquo I said.

  Lisa coughed.

  I shot her a dirty look. I tried on three more coats. Then I told Mrs. Wyatt I hadn&rsquot decided yet. But I&rsquod be back later in the week.

  &ldquoSo Sirhan was married,&rdquo Lisa said on our way out to the parking lot. &ldquoDidn&rsquot Courtney know any single men?&rdquo

  &ldquoJust the guys she stole from me.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow did she get these men to cough up that kind of dough?&rdquo Lisa wondered.

  &ldquoBeats me. I&rsquom pretty sure this guy&rsquos name was on the BMW&rsquos pink slip, too. Meaning her Aunt Perdith won&rsquot get the insurance money or the car.&rdquo

  &infin&infin&infin

  &ldquoRemember my cop friend, Barry?&rdquo Tabitha asked over the phone the next morning, as I drove to an appointment.

  &ldquoSure, the cute one with the big motorcycle&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoExactly. Well, sometimes he hears stuff. Anyway, I saw him last night. And he gave me some dirt about Courtney. Stuff I can&rsquot even print, it&rsquos so hush hush.&rdquo

  Tabitha enjoyed dragging this stuff out. &ldquoGo on,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoAccording to Barry, Courtney&rsquos murderer hit her twice.&rdquo

  &ldquoJust twice?&rdquo

  &ldquoThe first hit killed her. But the second one was meant to wipe her out. Ruin her face. Crush her teeth. Maybe for revenge.&rdquo

  &ldquoJeez, what did he hit her with?&rdquo