by Jill Shure
&ldquoMy dear young lady, you must tell me your reason for asking this question.&rdquo
&ldquoOkay, don&rsquot tell me where she is. Just tell me if you&rsquove heard from her recently.&rdquo
&ldquoI believe she and her family may have gone to our country home. It is up in the mountains so&mdash&rdquo
&ldquoNo mobile phone service? No email?&rdquo
He shrugged. &ldquoShe does not use these things.&rdquo
&ldquoWhen was the last time you actually spoke to her?&rdquo
&ldquoA few months. Perhaps longer.&rdquo
&ldquoNot to tell you your business, Mr. Spector, but aren&rsquot you worried? I mean, it&rsquos been at least four months by my count.&rdquo Since a woman was fried in that La Jolla garage.
&ldquoOkay, I was a little concerned. My sister and my mother were confused, too. But my wife, well, she has a big family. And the house up in the mountains is very ... what you might call isolated. And because of my friendship with Miss Farrow&mdash&rdquo
&ldquoYour wife wasn&rsquot speaking to you,&rdquo I said.
&ldquoYou are very wise for someone so young and beautiful. My wife and I have been together for many years. These small problems arise from time to time.&rdquo
&ldquoExcuse me, but was this a last-minute trip?&rdquo
&ldquoYes. I tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined. Miss Ross, if you have something to tell me, I would be most grateful if you would&mdash&rdquo
&ldquoI can&rsquot right now.&rdquo After a fast sip of iced tea, I stood. &ldquoI&rsquoll get back to you. I promise.&rdquo
Sirhan stood, too, looking confused. &ldquoBut what about lunch? You can&rsquot run off and leave me like this. I must know what you are thinking!&rdquo
&ldquoSorry. When I know something for sure, I&rsquoll call.&rdquo
&ldquoBut Miss Ross ...&rdquo
I ran. It would be wrong to speculate about who&rsquod been burned in that garage. It might be Mrs. Spector or somebody else who&rsquod gotten in Courtney&rsquos way. But if Sirhan hadn&rsquot heard from Mrs. Spector in months, it seemed like a long time to stay angry. But what did I know about the Spector marriage or their idea of communicating?
The next morning, Lisa left me several messages about work. But selling insurance seemed inconsequential compared to unraveling the truth. By now, almost everyone had replied to my phone calls or emails. Even Davy Spunkhoffer, who explained that he&rsquod given up his therapy practice to go traveling. So who could that body have been? Who was missing? Not the girls at Dancin&rsquo Beauties? Not Eddy Post&rsquos wife, Emily. Not even Mrs. Tranquillo.
So Saturday evening, in the middle of shaving my legs for a big evening with Ken, my phone rang. Three rings later, I picked up. &ldquoMiss Ross, this is William McDade. I understand you been tryin&rsquo to reach me.&rdquo
I almost dropped my razor. &ldquoMr. McDade? I&rsquom so glad to hear from you. But how did you get my home number?&rdquo
&ldquoSome gal at your office.&rdquo
Gwen. The big mouth.
&ldquoSorry, I never got back to you. But I been traveling,&rdquo he said.
Traveling? What? Shanghaied on a freighter? &ldquoYes, my company&rsquos been playing phone tag with you for months.&rdquo
&ldquoWell, just send me my check and we can end all this back-and-forth nonsense.&rdquo
&ldquoAbsolutely. Just give me your address. Or should I send it to your club?&rdquo
&ldquoClub?&rdquo
&ldquoDancin&rsquo Beauties.&rdquo
He chuckled. &ldquoOh, I thought you meant a golf club or somethin&rsquo.&rdquo
Somethin&rsquo wasn&rsquot right. &ldquoLook, Mr. McDade, we should&rsquove sent you your money months ago. Would you allow me to hand the check over personally? It would be my pleasure.&rdquo
A long pause followed. Then I heard whoever this fraud really was cover the phone. I was sure Courtney was right there beside him giving instructions.
At last he said, &ldquoHow about just mailin&rsquo it to me.&rdquo
&ldquoVery well. But you will need a valid driver&rsquos license or current passport to have the receipt notarized.&rdquo
Another pause followed.
&ldquoOkay, I&rsquoll meet you tonight. If you&rsquoll bring the money,&rdquo he said.
&ldquoAbsolutely,&rdquo I said, anxious to catch the phony. After hanging up, I instantly called Ken to explain the situation and apologize for screwing up our dinner plans. He agreed to help with the stakeout by staying close by. He also phoned the police to make sure we trapped the imposter and got a few answers.
I arrived early. By now, the hostess at the Cheesecake Factory knew where I lived, what I did for a living, and Sofia&rsquos GPA. I made sure I got a booth in the middle of the place, in case my dinner date not only enjoyed posing as other people but delighted in murdering them, too.
At exactly five minutes after ten, a tall, lanky guy with a full head of hair arrived. As he combed the crowd, I judged him to be around forty. Too young to be McDade. Too much of his own hair to be McDade. I waved at him.
&ldquoI haven&rsquot got long,&rdquo he said, sliding in across from me.
&ldquoSorry. I just wanted to explain why my company had so much trouble getting the check to you.&rdquo
&ldquoNo problem. Just give it to me now.&rdquo
&ldquoI&rsquoll need to see identification first.&rdquo I waited for an excuse about not having a valid California driver&rsquos license.
&ldquoI don&rsquot have a real license. Too many DUIs.&rdquo
Yeah, sure. &ldquoNo problem. We&rsquore fine with a valid passport. Or another photo ID.&rdquo
&ldquoLook, I don&rsquot need this shit. You owe me a half a million bucks. Now are you gonna give me a check or does my lawyer have to make a big stink?&rdquo
I stared at this asshole wondering where he&rsquod come from. A talent agency? Prison? Or Courtney&rsquos bed? &ldquoA big stink works for me.&rdquo
His mouth opened. He stared. Standing, he threw down his napkin. I could see he wanted to say something. Curse at me, threaten me. But he must&rsquove sensed it wouldn&rsquot matter if he rolled on the floor and spat cheesecake at me. Without another word, he marched out.
But Raines and his men were waiting in the parking lot. And they instantly picked up the guy for questioning.
A moment later, Ken slid into the booth beside me. He&rsquod been watching from a nearby table. &ldquoYou okay?&rdquo he said.
&ldquoFine.&rdquo
&ldquoWhat did he say?&rdquo
&ldquoNot much. He should&rsquove at least tried to snow me with a good fake ID, but he didn&rsquot.&rdquo
Ken helped himself to a bite of cheesecake off my plate. &ldquoWanna come home with me and play Superman?&rdquo he said.
I thought he looked immensely hunky in an old flannel shirt and faded jeans. &ldquoMy place is five minutes away. And I happen to know I have a red cape in my closet,&rdquo I said.
He stood. &ldquoWhat&rsquore we waiting for? By the way, I think I left my tights at home.&rdquo
&ldquoI don&rsquot think that&rsquoll stop you from flying.&rdquo
Sunday afternoon, after a wild night with Ken, while Sofia went to the movies with Darcy, I fell asleep watching Meet John Doe, starring Barbara Stanwyck and Gary Cooper. About a hobo during the 1930s, who&rsquos seduced by false promises of getting back into pro baseball if he&rsquoll help the country first. Drawn in by Stanwyck&rsquos good looks and clever PR, Cooper becomes a national spokesman, spouting neighborly friendship while being manipulated by ruthless businessmen and politicians.
I soon drifted off and found myself in the middle of a terrific dream where I was at my parents&rsquo house sitting on the sofa beside Gary Cooper. He&rsquod just reached for me and his mouth was inches from mine, when an explosion launched me from my dream. Jerking awake, heart thundering, I bolted up. I thought there had been an earthquake or a nuclear explosion. Staggering into my living room, I came face-to-face with a total stranger, wielding a shotgun.
/> 23
&ldquoWho are you? What do you want?&rdquo I gasped, studying the tiny woman in a light blue suit, matching heels, and tasteful jewelry. A woman dressed more for a Bar Mitzvah than a homicide.
&ldquoStay where you are and don&rsquot make no sudden moves,&rdquo the woman warned in a heavy accent.
Recognition eased my terror. &ldquoMrs. Tranquillo?&rdquo
Her eyes narrowed. &ldquoAt las&rsquo we meet, no?&rdquo
Play it cool, I told myself. Pretend there&rsquos a five million dollar whole life policy on the table and the clients are determining how they want to disperse the benefits. &ldquoThanks so much for dropping by,&rdquo I gushed, sounding as if she was here hawking Tupperware instead of revenge. &ldquoI see you got my message.&rdquo
Sliding the gun down by her side, she eyed me with less hostility. &ldquoYes?&rdquo
&ldquoI also called you about two months ago, around dinner time, about insurance. Remember? You hung up on me.&rdquo And threatened my life.
&ldquoThat was you?&rdquo
&ldquoSure.&rdquo I could tell she was deciding what to do next, so I said, &ldquoGuess you&rsquore here about Courtney Farrow.&rdquo
Her large dark eyes regained their homicidal glint. &ldquoThat dirty puta. How you know her?&rdquo
&ldquoShe tried to ruin my life.&rdquo
Mrs. Tranquillo&rsquos dark eyes widened. She abruptly dropped onto a dining room chair and grunted. Then she carefully leaned her gun against the table. &ldquoSorry about scaring you. I been bery upset since you have called me.&rdquo
I noticed the hole in my door and my new locks dangling like scrap metal. &ldquoIt&rsquos understandable. Courtney Farrow tried to destroy your life. Mine, too. Look, I was just about to make some coffee. Why don&rsquot we both relax and get to the bottom of this.&rdquo
A moment later, I&rsquod filled up the coffee maker and set out a cake I&rsquod picked up from Sofia&rsquos school bake sale this week.
Mrs. Tranquillo joined me in the kitchen. She pulled out plates, cups, and saucers. Pretty soon we&rsquod set up a grand little party.
&ldquoWhat&rsquos your first name?&rdquo I asked. &ldquoI mean, &lsquo¿Como se llama?&rsquo&rdquo
Her face brightened. &ldquo¿Habla Espanol?&rdquo
&ldquoNot really. That&rsquos about all I remember from high school.&rdquo
&ldquoMi llamo Consuela Hernandez Tranquillo. But you must call me Alma.&rdquo
&ldquoMi llamo, Betsy Ross. Call me Betsy.&rdquo
She grinned and we shook hands.
&ldquoNow, about Courtney Farrow,&rdquo I said. &ldquoWould it be too painful to tell me what happened between your husband and her?&rdquo
Alma fiddled with her paper napkin. &ldquoWe have three children. Juan, Maria, and thee baby, Miguel. We also have Thee Taco Wheel on El Cajon Boulevard. We are married sixteen years. We were content, no? Then mi esposo&mdashhe change. He always going out. Or he is on thee phone talking like he no wan&rsquo me to hear him.&rdquo
Alma opened her heart for over an hour, detailing the demise of her marriage and her happiness.
&ldquo... so he say to me he is bery sorry. But he want to go away with thee puta, Courtney Farrow. He tell me he no can help himself, because he is in love. I am sure this puta is a witch. Because she make Miguel estupido. He give her all thee money. She make him steal from his own children.&rdquo
I shook my head.
She went on. &ldquoI find out he take her to Acapulco, San Francisco. All thee time, I scrubbing thee pots and pans in thee restaurant and working like thee burro. Then, one day he call me. He say he is finished with her. Because he want to be mi esposo again. I bery happy.&rdquo
&ldquoWhen was this? I mean, when did Courtney break things off?&rdquo
She thought briefly. &ldquoAugust, I think.&rdquo
&ldquoWas it before or after you went by her place?&rdquo
She frowned. &ldquoHow you know this?&rdquo
&ldquoI was hiding under her bed.&rdquo
Her eyes widened. Then she shrugged. &ldquoAfter mi esposo come back, she call him. This time, I listen on thee other phone. She agree to see him, if he bring her money. Can you imagine a woman so evil?&rdquo
Digging into her cake, filling her mouth, Alma chewed slowly, pensively, as if every detail of her story shredded her insides. &ldquoMi esposo say to her, he no have thee money to give. That he want to be home with his family for good. I am happy. I think we are finished with her. But Miguel is not thee same. All thee day, he wear his bathrobe. He no eat, no sleep, no shave. He no wan&rsquo make love. He no play with his children. And he no help me in thee restaurant. So I find out where she live. I go there two times. But she is no home. So I go to thee night club where she work. I tell her we must talk. Or I will shoot her with my gun. So
she agree. But first she must get permission from thee patron, so she will not have to strip for thee disgusting pigs. Thee men who are all thee time whistling and yelling at thee chicas who are doing these things with their breasts ...&rdquo She made a face. &ldquoThen I wait for her to go into thee baño. But she take about a month. Finally I go inside to see&mdasha place you wouldn&rsquot make thee pig live in. But she was no&rsquo there.&rdquo
Meaning Andy had lied about keeping Mrs. Tranquillo out of the bathroom.
&ldquoAnd you know what I find?&rdquo she said.
I shook my head.
&ldquoThee toilet is filthy. Like she do this very personal thing, then she take off her clothes, and go out thee window. So now, I am bery angry. And I want to kill her&mdasheven though I always been a lady and never like thee violent movies or thee guns on television. But still, I want my husband and family to be happy. I tell you this before?&rdquo
&ldquoOh, yes.&rdquo Right after you blew my door off its hinges.
&ldquoSo, then I look for thee puta outside in thee parking lot. But I no can find her. Finally, I go home and tell Miguel. He is bery ashamed, because he betray me, thee children, and his brothers. Also because he steal thee money from thee restaurant to give to thee puta. And now, there is no more money.
&ldquoStill, I decide to forgive Miguel. But he is bery depressed. So he go away to think. Thee next morning, I find out he is dead. I never have thee chance to say goodbye.&rdquo She broke down sobbing.
Tears flowed down her cheeks, ruining a beautiful makeup job. I handed her an extra napkin. I poured her more coffee. I also deposited another slab of chocolate cake on her plate to steady her nerves&mdashand my own.
In between sobs, sighs, and sniffles, she added, &ldquoI want to kill her. But I am too late. Thee evil witch is already dead. Soon thee police call me. They believe I kill her and Miguel. They have many questions. I tell them thee truth. That I cannot find Courtney after she leave thee baño. Because I must leave thee night club and go to my restaurant to prepare thee food. Then today on thee news, they say Courtney is not dead. Then I get this.&rdquo She held up my note.
&ldquoI&rsquom afraid no one knows where Courtney is,&rdquo I said.
&ldquoShe has taken your man, too?&rdquo
&ldquoShe tried to.&rdquo
She put down her coffee cup. &ldquoYou have tequila?&rdquo
Her question surprised me. &ldquoI might.&rdquo I found a bottle Arlene had given me months ago. Also salt and lime juice.
&ldquoGood, we drink, we feel better. I think you are a nice person. I no hate you no more.&rdquo
Two hours later when Sofia came home, she found Mrs. Tranquillo and me laughing like idiots. During our celebration&mdashfor what I&rsquom not sure&mdashwe discovered that the Rodriquez brothers, who I&rsquove been insuring for six years, are Mrs. Tranquillo&rsquos cousins.
In the end, Mrs. Tranquillo left with my business card and an estate planning appointment.
The following morning, my head felt like an exploding eggplant. But it wasn&rsquot the worst thing that happened that day.
Jasper called. &ldquoCourtney Farrow&rsquos staying in Las Vegas at the Excalibur under the name Gertrud
e Perdith. The police are on their way to get her.&rdquo
&ldquoHow&rsquod you find her?&rdquo
&ldquoAn investigator who owed me a favor called with the news.&rdquo
Part of me longed to grab a flight and see the capture. Except that my parents were coming for their annual visit, meaning I was stuck here in San Diego no matter what.
Abe and Ida Ross, my parents, come out from Ohio every year around Christmas.
Once again my mother and father exited the aircraft looking as if they were refugees from a prisoner of war camp. Well-fed refugees. All their packages and bags, which looked like the last of their worldly goods, were filled with food. Bread, chocolate, and two pounds of buttery rugala.
&ldquoMother, why do you insist on bringing this fattening stuff?&rdquo I asked.
&ldquoBecause they don&rsquot have it here,&rdquo my mother insisted.
&ldquoWe&rsquore staying at a hotel again this year. Out of your hair,&rdquo my father said, as I pulled into traffic outside the airport.
I considered arguing, except my dad&rsquos decision delighted me. &ldquoSofia will love that. She adores hotel pools.&rdquo
&ldquoIt won&rsquot be the same,&rdquo my mother muttered, a long-suffering expression on her face. &ldquoBut I guess it&rsquoll be easier.&rdquo
&ldquoKen&rsquos taking us to dinner tonight,&rdquo I said to lighten the mood.
&ldquoHe&rsquos back? Since when?&rdquo My mother asked.
&ldquoI told you. We&rsquore dating.&rdquo
She grunted, then made a sniffing noise to indicate her opinion. As always, I was torn between my excitement at seeing my parents and my anxiety about pleasing them. Also, Courtney&rsquos sudden resurrection had put me in a dither. Apparently, she&rsquod left Vegas before police could get there. I expected her to appear on my doorstep with ironclad evidence that she and Ken had been lovers. For years.
After getting my parents settled in their hotel room, I headed home for a much needed nap. I undressed and instantly fell asleep in bed. In what felt like seconds, a loud noise yanked me out of a deep REM state. A man in a wrinkled suit and scruffy beard glared down at me. For an instant, disbelief and panic sucked the air out of my lungs. I couldn&rsquot even scream. At last, I recognized the face beneath the scraggly beard and filthy tangle of dark hair.