A Clause for Murder

by Jill Shure

  A few moments later, we rose to leave. He walked me to my car and told me what a pleasure it was to meet me. As I stuck out my hand to shake, he grasped my hand and pulled me to him. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he kissed me gently on the mouth. In a flash, his arms tightened around me as he leaned me back against the car and probed my mouth with his tongue.

  He smelled good, tasted good. And the feel of him getting excited felt good, too. But I make it a rule not to date married men. So I pulled away feeling dazed and shocked by my wanton impulses.

  &ldquoWe must ... become better friends,&rdquo he said, his voice thick with desire.

  There was that ambiguous word friend again. &ldquoWell, I&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoI would very much like to become ... better acquainted. If only you could forget what we have shared here today.&rdquo

  &ldquoYeah, well, okay.&rdquo My voice came out high, breathless. I remedied this with a few deep breaths. Then I offered him my card. &ldquoThanks for a ... lovely lunch,&rdquo I managed, before I slipped into my car, feeling both shaken and exhilarated. I mean, what was I doing flirting with the man who might be Courtney&rsquos killer? Thanking him for getting rid of her? Not that he seemed dangerous. But then neither did Ted Bundy.

  On my way home I stopped for groceries. We were out of everything. But the whole time I pushed my cart down the aisles, I thought about Sirhan. How, in spite of my love and passion for Ken, I&rsquod responded to his kiss.

  Minutes later, as I sped down the dark, narrow passageway that borders the individual parking garages, I was thinking about my life. About Sofia, Ken, and now Sirhan. Without warning, a hand shot out of a garage, knocking a plastic bag out of my hand. Before I could react, someone shoved me against a garage gate. I screamed. Then fell, hitting my head.

  A voice said, &ldquoMind your own business.&rdquo

  18

  Pain shot through my elbow and knee. My bags lay open. Groceries covered the concrete ground. My eggs had broken. My milk leaked. Disbelief and shock clouded my brain. I slowly moved. A cold concrete smell mixed with the scent of gasoline and exhaust fumes filled my senses. And I was crying. I tried to stand. To comprehend what happened.

  Suddenly, Una Stanley knelt by me. &ldquoBetsy, what happened?&rdquo Reaching over, she lifted me up.

  Dazed and frightened, I welcomed the faded overalls, tool belt, and smell of grease. &ldquoGuess I fell.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou okay?&rdquo She asked, studying my grazed hand, before she reached down and retrieved a loaf of bread.

  &ldquoI&rsquom, I&rsquom fine,&rdquo I sobbed.

  &ldquoHere, let me help.&rdquo She gathered up my apples and boxes of frozen vegetables and pasta.

  &ldquoI, I don&rsquot think&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoSorry about the eggs. This milk carton&rsquos just leaking. Stick a saucer under it when you get in,&rdquo she said. &ldquoCome on, let&rsquos get you upstairs. I&rsquoll pick up the rest of your stuff and bring it in for you.&rdquo

  In a blur, we rode up in the elevator and headed down the hall to my apartment. While I sat in a daze at my dining room table, Una put away my things.

  Then she said, &ldquoI gotta run upstairs and fix the Andersons&rsquo toilet. Let me know if you need anything else.&rdquo

  &ldquoSure, thanks.&rdquo Alone, with the doors locked and the warm familiarity of home, I let out my tears. I&rsquod never been more afraid. I cursed myself for not having my taser ready. But I&rsquod been lugging so many bags, thinking of so many other things, that I&rsquod left it in my purse.

  I slept late the next day and canceled my appointments. I&rsquod just fixed myself coffee when the phone rang. It was Jasper.

  &ldquoHow do you like the taser?&rdquo

  If only I knew. &ldquoGreat color. By the way, did you find out why Ken&rsquos company rejected Courtney for insurance?&rdquo

  &ldquoMissing information. She never completed the application.&rdquo

  &ldquoBy the way, did McDade ever buy insurance on his own life and name Courtney as his beneficiary?&rdquo

  &ldquoI checked. It was a one-way street. McDade probably couldn&rsquot get decent coverage. The poor guy has hypertension and terrible blood sugar. He&rsquos a walking time bomb for a stroke or heart attack.&rdquo

  &ldquoAny more news on Sirhan Spector?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoI&rsquom on it. You also interviewed a guy named Bart Miller, right?&rdquo

  &ldquoAnother dead end.&rdquo

  &ldquoNot quite. He&rsquos got a colorful record. Nothing that stuck, but he and a friend were booked for slapping around a young African-American waitress a few months back.&rdquo

  &ldquoWas he drunk?&rdquo

  &ldquoNot according to his file. The girl worked at some local chain restaurant. Coffee, pancakes, pies. Nothing sexy about it. She was on her way to her car when Bart and his pal started harassing her.&rdquo

  &ldquoSounds like a Klan initiation.&rdquo

  &ldquoMaybe. And that guy Edward Post. He had a string of affairs. The one with his former secretary was one reason he lost his job.&rdquo

  So I&rsquod been wrong about Eddy Post, too. &ldquoBy the way, where are you?&rdquo

  &ldquoParis. But I&rsquoll be home this weekend. I&rsquoll call when I get in.&rdquo

  I hung up and tried to make sense of Jasper&rsquos news. My phone rang again.

  &ldquoOkay, what else did you forget to tell me?&rdquo I said, expecting it to be Jasper again.

  Instead, a hushed voice said, &ldquoYou better watch out. Unless you want more surprises.&rdquo

  Click. Shaking, I dropped onto a chair and stared at my phone. My mouth was dry and my pulse throbbed. I thought about calling Detective Raines. But didn&rsquot. I had too many secrets. Too much I couldn&rsquot reveal without incriminating myself. At least Raines had the lizard book by now. I just hoped he found my assailant and threatening caller before they found me.

  &infin&infin&infin

  A few days later, Tabitha and I met at Nail Circus. In the middle of getting her nails filed, Tabitha barked, &ldquoHold on.&rdquo The young manicurist and I waited as Tabitha began digging through her new purse. A moment later, she pulled out a business envelope and tossed it in my lap. &ldquoI&rsquove been dragging this junk around for a week. I found it in Courtney&rsquos brown Furla purse. The one I got at her condo.&rdquo

  Opening the envelope, I pulled out two sheets of paper. One, a folded piece of yellow legal paper, had a note scribbled in black ink. &ldquoTwo more weeks. Pay up or you&rsquoll be sorry. D.&rdquo

  The other one was much worse. It was a letter from Ken on his business stationery. And it began with: Dear Courtney.

  19

  Dear Courtney:

  I&rsquom still not clear about what you want. Each time we talk, things get more confusing. I already explained my limitations as to what I can and can&rsquot do, so there doesn&rsquot seem to be any reason to meet again. I regret there being any misunderstanding. I still feel that someone else might be better for you.

  Ken Blanchard

  Ken Blanchard? Pretty darned formal for a lover. Still, he&rsquod written her. And the letter could be a delicate way of ending an affair. Providing they&rsquod had an affair. In fact, this might be the very note Courtney had meant to show me before she disappeared. Unless it was related to the policy Ken sold her. The one which never got issued. The tone was different from Courtney&rsquos other letters. The ones from Sirhan Spector, Eddy Post, and Arlene. Those pathetic missives had been filled with longing and carnal lust. Like the sexual positions Courtney preferred. The

  humiliation Davy Spunkhoffer begged for. Or the toe sucking Eddy Post enjoyed, when he wasn&rsquot filling his nostrils with the scent of Courtney&rsquos dirty bra.

  Rather than dissecting Ken&rsquos letter in front of Tabitha, I focused on the second note. &ldquoI wonder who D is?&rdquo I said.

  Tabitha shrugged. &ldquoAnother one of her lovers?&rdquo

  I mentally ran through the names in Courtney&rsquos lizard book and her collection of
love letters. But my mind seemed incapable of focusing on anything but Ken&rsquos letter.

  &ldquoWait a second,&rdquo Tabitha said. &ldquoRemember that blond guy who showed up at our party? The hunk with the non-stop muscles and tight jeans? The one Arlene said had a car repair business and used to see Courtney. Wasn&rsquot his name Duke something?&rdquo

  &ldquoOf course. You&rsquore a genius,&rdquo I said.

  From what I remembered of Duke from our party, he also fit Samba&rsquos description of the loan shark who&rsquod threatened Courtney and McDade. Maybe Duke smoked cigarettes, too.

  After days of trying to find Duke&rsquos Body and Paint Shop in the yellow pages under auto repair, I located him on the Internet. Turned out, Duke didn&rsquot bang dented fenders. He owned a strip club. Possibly the alternative club where Courtney had worked. The place where Eddy Post had met her and she&rsquod been known as Sydney Louise.

  After failing to convince Tabitha to take a ride out there, I broke down and begged Lisa.

  &ldquoForget it, forget it, forget it,&rdquo Lisa said. &ldquoI wouldn&rsquot be caught dead in a place like that.&rdquo

  Which made me wish Arlene&rsquos leg had healed so she could go with me. Because all my friends are great. But Lisa and Tabitha aren&rsquot big risk takers. Tabitha writes soft news stories about locals. And Lisa is a conservative business woman. On the other hand, Arlene was a former Marine. A woman who thrives on adrenaline rushes. So even if she grumbles about being dragged somewhere new, she always jumps on board anyway.

  But since Harold had a meeting, Lisa grudgingly agreed to join me. So while Mrs. Odetts drove Sofia to ballet and tap class, Lisa and I headed to El Cajon, another section of San Diego County.

  &ldquoWhat did you tell Harold?&rdquo I asked, as Lisa steered her new Lexus east.

  &ldquoNot much. When he&rsquos got a big business meeting, I could tell him I was off to a Motel 6 with a six pack and my car mechanic and he wouldn&rsquot care.&rdquo

  Forty minutes later, we exited the freeway onto an unfamiliar road and wound our way through the dark. In minutes we reached an ancient wood building with a hand-painted sign for Duke&rsquos Body and Paint Shop. We parked by several abandoned auto wrecks meant to give the place authenticity.

  &ldquoWhat a dive,&rdquo Lisa observed, as she studied the rickety front porch and sagging shake roof.

  Inside, there was a distinct smell of stale beer and vomit. Country music wailed in the background. The men at the bar, staring at the game on TV, looked like regulars. Regulars who&rsquod never heard of safety razors. A few others shot pool in the back. Off to the side, a small stage stood dark and empty.

  &ldquoMaybe they retired the stage in honor of Courtney&rsquos death,&rdquo I whispered, as we sat down at a lonely table and traded nervous looks.

  An aging cocktail waitress in a short burgundy uniform, which revealed thighs desperate for Lycra, trudged over. &ldquoWhat&rsquoll it be, ladies?&rdquo

  I could tell Lisa was about to ask what kinds of pinot noir they had, when I piped in, &ldquoTwo Bud Lights.&rdquo

  The waitress left.

  &ldquoThink she strips?&rdquo Lisa asked. &ldquoLike in that other club you told me about?&rdquo

  &ldquoI hope not.&rdquo

  Lisa frowned. &ldquoSo where&rsquos this guy Duke?&rdquo

  &ldquoBe patient.&rdquo

  &ldquoListen. Next time you invite me to a place like this, remind me to bring a gun.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou won&rsquot need a gun. Just be natural.&rdquo I reached inside my purse and felt the taser.

  Our waitress returned with our drinks.

  &ldquoExcuse me, but isn&rsquot the owner called Duke?&rdquo I said.

  She gave me a slow once-over. &ldquoYou looking for work?&rdquo

  &ldquoNot exactly.&rdquo

  A door along a side wall abruptly opened. Duke himself strutted out followed by two tough guys.

  &ldquoThat&rsquos him,&rdquo our waitress said, heading back to the bar.

  Duke and his men paused to study the room and us. The trio looked like they&rsquod overdosed on steroids. I noticed that while Duke was brawny and muscular he was also exceedingly short. The effect made him look as if he should be wearing a cap and peeling fruit with his feet. But his pale blue eyes were shrewd, icy.

  &ldquoLeave it to me,&rdquo I said, standing. I put down my beer and waved to Duke.

  His gorilla friend nudged him. Turning, Duke caught my beckoning smile and sauntered over.

  &ldquoDo somethin&rsquo for you, ladies?&rdquo he asked, his pale eyes gliding over me like bath gel.

  &ldquoYou may not remember me,&rdquo I said. &ldquoBut you came to my party last summer in La Costa.&rdquo

  &ldquoCourtney&rsquos friends,&rdquo he concluded. &ldquoIs that why you&rsquore here?&rdquo

  &ldquoYes, that is, I thought she was known as Sydney Louise around here.&rdquo

  &ldquoThat was just her stage name. How about havin&rsquo this conversation where it&rsquos private,&rdquo he said pleasantly.

  I picked up my purse to follow.

  &ldquoYou won&rsquot need that,&rdquo he said.

  Lisa stood. &ldquoWant me to go with you?&rdquo she asked, her tone protective.

  &ldquoShe doesn&rsquot need a mother,&rdquo he said.

  Before I could refuse, his arm was around me and we were heading toward a closed door.

  &ldquoGet you a drink?&rdquo he asked, shutting us in tiny room with a small desk, two chairs, a line of file cabinets and no windows.

  &ldquoI already have a beer back at my table,&rdquo I said, feeling threatened, though he hadn&rsquot done a thing to me. Yet.

  &ldquoYou got somethin&rsquo for me?&rdquo he asked.

  I stared. &ldquoI don&rsquot understand.&rdquo

  &ldquoI asked if you had something for me?&rdquo

  &ldquoI have no idea what you mean&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoFifty big ones. Is that any clearer?&rdquo

  The number next to Duke&rsquos name in the lizard book had been 2500. Meaning Courtney had probably owed Duke twenty-five thousand initially. Now it was fifty. Which could be the interest added in or an additional loan. Either way, Courtney had sucked at bookkeeping. &ldquoI have no idea what your arrangements with Courtney were,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoThen what the fuck do you want?&rdquo he barked.

  My body jerked as if I&rsquod been zapped with my own taser. My heart throbbed. My brain froze. &ldquoI, I just wondered if you knew anything about her disappearance. I sell insurance. My company Aloss Life insured her.&rdquo

  He stepped closer, until our noses almost touched. Until I could smell him. A combination of heavy cologne, shampoo, and cigarette breath. Clamping his hand on my shaking arm, his eyes narrowed to angry slits. &ldquoYour friend beat me out of fifty grand. That bimbo and that lying shit partner of hers tried to pull a fast one.&rdquo

  Oh, God. &ldquoLook, I had nothing to do with that. Besides, she&rsquos dead now. You must&rsquove heard what happened.&rdquo

  &ldquoI heard, Ms. Ross. But until I see dental records, it&rsquos bullshit. Got that? And if I find out she&rsquos still kickin&rsquo, I&rsquoll burn her myself. Her and her lying scumbag boss.&rdquo

  He knew my name? Maybe he knew my address, too. Shit.

  I stepped back. Until I could feel the door handle digging into my back.

  Duke studied me from my practical pumps to my simple pearl earrings. &ldquoI remember you from last summer. You&rsquore a beautiful girl. But no girl is worth fifty grand. Got that?&rdquo

  My heart was doing a jig. My mouth felt dry. I didn&rsquot even have the nerve to ask where he&rsquod been the night Courtney died. Let alone what he knew about McDade.

  Wearing a cruel smirk, he pushed past me, out the office door. Terrified and shaking, I followed. Duke and his men had joined the drunks at the bar. They instantly got involved in the game on TV. I grabbed my purse and shot Lisa a look. Without a word, we charged toward the exit. Over rough wood floors, past ugly wall posters advertising naked girls and cigar
s. Past the men at the bar. Until we finally dove into Lisa&rsquos car and locked the doors.

  Lisa gunned the engine, then jerked the car into reverse, spewing gravel and dust into the air. A moment later we hit asphalt. With a loud screech and a violent swerve, we tore down that dark road. Neither of us spoke until we&rsquod passed several freeway exits.

  &ldquoWhat a scary bastard,&rdquo I finally said. &ldquoCourtney probably thought she could bullshit him like the others. Get down on her knees and make him forget the debt. Only this time it didn&rsquot work. This guy really seems homicidal.&rdquo

  &ldquoDo me a favor, Betsy. From now on, keep me out of this shit. I&rsquove had enough drama to last me a lifetime.&rdquo

  I winced, shocked by Lisa&rsquos sudden anger. &ldquoSorry, I just thought&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoWho gives a shit what you thought? You wouldn&rsquot recognize her killer if he dipped his pen in blood and signed a fucking confession. Because you&rsquore an amateur. An insurance peddler with an insane obsession. Well, I&rsquom sick of it. Why can&rsquot you grow up and act your age?&rdquo

  I gaped at her, too hurt to respond.

  For the next twenty minutes, neither of us spoke. When Lisa dropped me off, I muttered, &ldquoNight.&rdquo

  Lisa grunted her response.

  At home, Mrs. Odetts snored away in an armchair. I quickly paid her and sent her home. Sofia was supposed to be asleep. But when I opened her door to check, the lights were still on, and she was on the phone.

  &ldquoWhy aren&rsquot you asleep?&rdquo I said, automatically retrieving her clothes off the floor and folding them for her.

  &ldquoGotta go,&rdquo Sofia said, hanging up.

  I dropped onto the edge of her bed. &ldquoSorry I left you with Mrs. Odetts again.&rdquo

  &ldquoIt&rsquos okay. I stayed in here the whole time.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhat did you have for dinner? Leftovers or&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoCereal.&rdquo

  &ldquoWell, it&rsquos time you turned in.&rdquo Leaning over, I kissed her cheek. &ldquoI&rsquom glad you had fun.&rdquo Then I turned out her lights.

  In my room, I dialed Jasper&rsquos number. He was out, so I left a message to call me ASAP. Afterward, I checked my door locks. Then I tiptoed back into Sofia&rsquos room. She was already asleep with her arms wrapped around her favorite stuffed dog.