Dreams of the Dead

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  “Would that the universe worked that way.” He smiled weakly.

  Kelly wore tan khakis and a sweater. Nina sat down on the only other chair in the cubicle, an adjustable office chair.

  “How are you feeling?” Nina asked.

  “I give myself a big two.” He looked hopefully toward Nina. “Quit fussing, Kelly. Even if they put the money in escrow for Jim, Nina will figure out what’s happening there. They’ll find his body. Or something. I’m confident of that.”

  Nina plastered a smile on her face. He must know he was putting her in an impossible position. He might be doing it out of wishful thinking. He might be doing it to pacify his troubled daughter.

  “Dad, now that Nina is here, I want to talk to you about something important. You need someone to run Paradise for the next few days. Marianne and Gene want to take over. Do you want that?”

  Philip sipped from a paper cup. “Them taking over?”

  Nina read tension delicate as spiderwebs forming between the two of them.

  “Marianne’s made some kind of deal with the Korean buyers. She’s got a contract to manage the resort with Gene once the corporation buys it. Right, Nina? Nina talked to their lawyer in Seoul this afternoon.”

  “No!” Philip said, obviously shocked. “Marianne and Gene? Impossible. Isn’t it, Nina?”

  “Kelly’s right. Marianne will be general manager once the resort is sold,” Nina said. “She can do what she wants.”

  Kelly said, her tone so noncommittal Nina couldn’t decide if Kelly was annoyed at the thought or happy, “The Koreans seem willing to play into Gene’s dreams. He always wanted to run a resort. Marianne’s satisfied running the ski school. I admit she’s qualified to do that. But the two of them? I don’t know.”

  “But Gene? He’s a big nothing—a host in our restaurant, for God’s sake!” Philip said. “He shouldn’t be running anything more challenging than a gourmet appetizer! And Marianne. Oh, my God, I always expected it. She has invaded our family and taken advantage—”

  Kelly went on, “The Koreans don’t know any better. Marianne and Gene could fake a résumé. They do have some real experience at the resort. But you know, I wonder, and please, Dad, don’t have a fit, I wonder if it isn’t for the best? Marianne loves the resort, maybe even more than you.”

  At that very moment, the door to the room opened, and Marianne Strong and Gene Malavoy appeared. Their timing could not have been worse.

  Gene held a huge bouquet of flowers, which he tried to hand to Philip. Philip turned his head away. “Get that out of my face,” he said loudly. “What are you two doing here anyway?”

  Marianne, dressed in yogic black head to toe, every muscular bone outlined, said, “How are you, Philip? Dad?”

  “I’m not your dad and as if you gave a damn. I’m guessing it was bad news for you, hearing I made it through.”

  She tilted her head. “What a thing to say.”

  Gene tried to find a place for the bouquet, but there was no room on the ledge, and no vase to hold the flowers. He set them down on a cart and looked around. “Not even a private room for a man like you,” he said.

  “‘A man like me,’” Philip said in a low tone. “You people. Traitors. You make me sick. You”—he pointed at Marianne—“married my son Alex to get your mitts on the resort, didn’t you? And as for you, Gene”—Philip’s face filled with disgust—“I gave you a job when you had no experience whatsoever, on Marianne’s say-so.”

  “I’m guessing he has heard about our contract with the Koreans,” Marianne said to Gene. She tapped Philip’s hand so briefly he didn’t have the chance to recoil. “Look, we have done nothing to harm you. Nothing. We have to go on, too. We made sure we wouldn’t lose our jobs when the resort is sold.”

  “Maybe you engineered the whole thing somehow,” Philip said.

  “We didn’t run it into the ground. You did that. If you’d kept it profitable, we wouldn’t be taking over as managers, and I wouldn’t be out of pocket my life’s savings. Let’s not be hostile. I’ve known you and Kelly a long time. Now I’m protecting myself.”

  “What do you want, Marianne?” Philip cried. “Why come here? Jesus H. Christ! You’re vultures picking on dead meat.”

  “Let us get to the point. Gene and I are willing to run the resort as of Wednesday, the day the sale goes through.”

  The veins in Philip’s face, already far too red and thready, throbbed. He did not answer.

  “Since you are—incapacitated at present, it seems to us that the logical thing now is for us to take over immediately.”

  “I begged Alex not to marry you,” Philip said. “You’ve insinuated yourself into our family business to the point where you think—no, you believe—you deserve to take over.”

  “Dad, you shouldn’t dismiss her without listening to what she has to say,” Kelly said.

  “Whose side are you on?” Philip pulled his sheet up over his shoulders. “God, it’s cold in here.”

  Marianne sat down, speaking in a serene voice. “I understand this causes you upheaval, and I’m sorry about that, okay? But Gene and I will do a good job. We’ll honor Paradise and its past, while ushering it into a new era.”

  Philip struggled to sit up. “I give you not one damn thing!”

  A machine beeped. Within seconds, five medical people entered the room commanding them all to leave.

  In the hallway, Nina put her arm around Kelly’s shoulders. “Your dad’s tough. He’ll be okay.”

  Kelly, who seemed to be thinking hard, didn’t answer.

  Marianne shrugged. “It’s a completed arrangement. We manage the resort as of this moment.”

  Kelly pulled herself together. She spoke in an ice-cold voice. “You manage nothing, Marianne. Legally, I have Dad’s power of attorney. At the moment, he’s unable to make business decisions. Right, Nina?”

  Nina nodded. “That’s right.”

  “So that leaves me in charge. So I hereby take over Paradise Resort for as long as the Strong family owns it. I’ll manage it for as long as it belongs to my family, even if that’s only a matter of days.”

  “Ugh,” Marianne said. “I have nothing against you, Kelly, but your father gambled away a lot of money. He lost your family asset, not me. I don’t think you’re blind to that, either. Watch out for that family-loyalty thing you have. It can rise up and bite you.”

  “You don’t know me,” Kelly said, “so don’t talk to me that way. I don’t know you either.”

  “Oh, come on, Kelly, we are old friends. Let me be. I don’t mean to hurt you or Philip. Don’t be like this.”

  “Not until I sort some stuff out,” Kelly said. “Maybe then. Meantime, I’ll see you at Paradise at eight. Let’s keep the damn place running. It’s best for all of us. That we can agree on.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Sondra heard the sound of the truck before she spotted it several stories below. Two slick-looking guys arrived at the receptionist’s desk and were escorted into Sondra’s office, where they asked politely where they should put the current shipment.

  Arrangements agreed upon, they began the slow process of unloading a completely brand-new set of beautiful designer furnishings, including some original oil paintings of Tahoe before the logging of the 1800s. Sondra told them exactly where to place each piece and, when she was satisfied, handed each of them a fresh $100 bill.

  “Wow,” they said. “Thanks. That’s the biggest tip we ever got.”

  She didn’t waste time admiring her handiwork. Instead, she got busy on the phone. “Someone I’m wondering about,” she said. “How sick is the wife, exactly?”

  The new chairs arrived at nine thirty Tuesday morning, three for the front office, two for Nina’s office, eight for the conference table in the library.

  “Thirteen new chairs?” Nina said. “I don’t remember anything about that many.”

  “Negotiated a deal for more chairs for the same money,” Sandy said.

  In Sandy-speak, tha
t meant Nina would be devoting a little time to some free legal advice for the owner of the shop.

  The Russian deliverymen took out their box cutters and got to work on the boxes in the front office while Sandy continued to field phone calls.

  All the chairs were the same, hypercontemporary, veneered to a high luster, with rounded arms and copper-colored upholstered seats. As the chairs were freed from their wrappings and placed around the office, the whole place seemed to sit up and straighten its collar, and even the Russians started to joke around. Nina gave them espresso to keep them going, and in an hour the makeover was complete. One more Do svidanya, and Nina and Sandy were alone again.

  They sat in the new chairs across the room from Sandy’s desk. Nina stroked a hand along the smooth wood arm. “Very nice, Sandy.”

  “Nice?”

  “Fantastic. Really improves the look and feel of the place.”

  Sandy seemed to like that better.

  “Listen, I need you to cancel my ten-o’clock appointment this morning.”

  Sandy looked at Nina’s schedule. “You mean the one at JoJo’s Beautiful You?”

  “I can’t leave. All the disasters of the weekend have to be addressed. I can get a haircut when I’m dead.” Although once in a while while she was alive would be helpful. Buns didn’t work anymore. Even clips had a hard time keeping her flyaway blur of long hair controlled.

  “You work seven days a week,” Sandy said, eyeing Nina. “Go on, you have one hour.”

  Her hair must really need work. With this rare permission, and in spite of everything pending, Nina went down the street to the nearest haircutter, where she took out a picture of what she wanted and showed it to the stylist/owner, JoJo.

  “Like you got, only shorter?” he asked.

  “Well, you know. Like what I have, only work some magic on it,” Nina said. They went to the sink and he washed her hair. “It’s so flat on top,” she said, eyes closed, his hands massaging her soapy scalp.

  “Too heavy. Too long,” JoJo said, holding a handful. “Blow all over the place. Not even a style. Bet you wore it like this since you were a teenager.”

  “You bet right.”

  “You a young woman yet. This?” He fluffed a towel through her hair. “This is not right.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I have ideas.”

  “Two inches off, blunt cut, like the picture,” Nina said, meaning the picture of the beautiful model with hair not at all as unruly as her own.

  “I don’t tell you how to defend clients, agreed? So you trust me.” JoJo giggled, then installed her in his swivel chair and began razoring her hair in sections and giving her tips on how to avoid split ends.

  Eric Brinkman walked into the beauty shop. “Sorry to interrupt. This couldn’t wait.”

  “Sandy told you where I was?” Nina said, mortified.

  “After I lobbied intensely and resorted to some low fibbing. You look like a judge with that white band around your neck and the black cape.”

  “You want me to stop?” JoJo asked.

  “God, no.” Having already invested a good twenty minutes in this venture, Nina said, “Give us a minute, okay?”

  JoJo went to speak with the girl up front. Around them, hair-cutters clipped, absorbed in conversations with their clients.

  “So, Eric,” Nina said, not happy to see him, her hair half-cut, a nylon bib covering her chest, feeling about as vulnerable and abased as any other woman on earth who looked like hell in front of an attractive man.

  Eric stood in front of a shelf of hair products. He still wore his sunglasses; outside, the fickle day had begun with a brilliant sun but had now degenerated into a white overcast that might mean snow showers. “I have an appointment in a few minutes, but I wanted to update you on the tip about the body.”

  “Is this confidential?” Even though JoJo and the receptionist were far enough away for privacy, Nina was careful when she could be.

  “All in tomorrow’s Tahoe Mirror, but I thought you might want to know ahead of time.”

  “I do. Go.”

  “First of all, I just came back from the hospital. Philip had a good night. No complications.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I also spoke to your friend Sergeant Cheney. He says the grave was thoroughly cleaned out except for the remains of part of a blue tarpaulin found under a couple of inches of dirt. The preliminary opinion of the forensics team is that there really was a body in there up to very recently. There were tree limbs moved, and the snow condition indicates the removal might even have happened within twenty-four hours before the digging equipment was sent in.”

  “Did they find any evidence as to who it was?”

  “Not yet, though they’re just getting started.”

  Nina said carefully, “What about the tarp?”

  “They’re looking at it today, testing it for body fluids, hair, that sort of thing. Evidently they only have a strip about six inches long that was accidentally left behind, so they’re not expecting much. The anonymous tip is the thing Cheney’s pushing right now. It has to be someone involved in the sale who didn’t want it to go through.”

  Nina shifted in her chair. Quite a lot of hair had already fallen over her smock, and Eric seemed to be stepping on brown hair too. “That sounds like good reasoning,” she said. In the mirror, she looked strange. Halfway through a haircut, she thought. Normal kind of strange.

  “The question is, did the same party who e-mailed the tip remove the body?” Eric asked.

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “I don’t know. It makes no sense on the surface. Maybe the forensics have been faked and there never was a body in there. I’m going to find out. Nina, don’t take this wrong, but I’m thinking van Wagoner is in this up to his eyeballs.”

  “What? Why think that?”

  “I suspect he sent the tip. Turns out, it’s a false tip. I don’t know what his game is, but he’s not trustworthy. I think you should separate yourself from him for the duration, Nina. He’s not on this case, but he acts like he is. I don’t like it.”

  “You suspect he sent the tip. Any evidence of that?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Nina thought, I am not going to out and out lie about this. What do I say? “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to tell Philip Strong about my suspicions as soon as the hospital okays, it and make sure you’re instructed to keep all further developments away from Paul van Wagoner, Nina. Sorry, but you’re going to be compromised otherwise. I know he’s your friend.”

  “Why are you focusing so hard on Paul?” A female part of her felt vibes, the way he looked at her so intently, the way he was looking at the only part of her not covered by hair or cape, her feet in their extravagant designer heels.

  “He appears so certain Jim Strong is dead,” Eric said reasonably, moving his eyes back to match hers. “I watch and I listen. He’s said it enough and I hear it in his voice. He believes it. He knows something. Stay away from him, Nina, please.”

  “I have to think about what you’re saying. I may need more proof than—”

  “You’ve got no business talking to him about my case.”

  Nina raised a hand out from under her smock. “We’ll talk more about this.”

  “We’ll stay in touch, okay? Meanwhile, I have to go. Be careful.”

  The tinny bell rang as the door closed behind him.

  “He’s upset,” JoJo said, returning. His scissors, razor, and comb flew around her scalp. “You got man trouble?”

  “No. He’s a colleague.”

  “Had that look. You know, when I was in Folsom, I saw men like that. Jealous. I ought to know,” the stylist said, and went back to his cutting. “He likes you down to your little toes.” JoJo wore a long-sleeved sweater, but starting at the right wrist a huge blue dragon poked its nose toward his fingers. “Hold your head straight, darling,” he commanded. “I did two to five for a drug off
ense. It worked out for me though. I found my religion and I learned how to cut hair. Also learned to avoid jealous men.”

  “That’s interesting. I thought they didn’t allow prisoners to use scissors at state prisons.”

  “Very dull scissors. Terrible haircuts. Now I have the best. I’m using a really good razor on you.” He set down the blow-dryer. “No more flat head. See? How do you like it?” He handed her a mirror so she could see front and back at the same time.

  Nina didn’t recognize herself in the mirror, once all was said and done. However, on the bright side, she liked the woman with well-controlled thick brown hair that stared back at her once she recovered from the shocking change.

  “It’s a really hot style right now called a shag. Vintage. Jane Fonda in Klute. You come back, we’ll put in some streaks.”

  She tipped a pleased JoJo, then, walking toward the door of the salon, called Sandy.

  “How’d you come out?”

  “Radically altered, kind of like our office.”

  “He is radical. That’s why I recommended him.”

  “Thanks for the advance warning.”

  “And here’s that address you wanted. She’s home right now. Why are you going there?”

  “Paul asked me to talk to her. Said she wouldn’t talk to a man, didn’t trust them.”

  “You should be focused on Philip and his troubles, not some random murder.”

  “I should, Sandy. But Paul said something funny. He said the cases are connected. Said he could swear it. We couldn’t talk long enough for him to tell me exactly why.” Nina remembered that night, when primal instincts took over the Paul she knew. He had killed, and he could justify it. He could probably justify this.

  “Well, don’t be long. You have things you should be doing.”

  “I won’t.” Nina opened the door to exit the salon, and JoJo blew her a kiss.

  “Beautiful you,” he said. “Tell all your friends!”

  Cyndi Backus/Amore’s best friend lived in the Tahoe Keys.

  Nina pulled up to a two-story stucco house that could have existed in Fresno and parked. She hadn’t spent a lot of time in this area in years, not since her first murder case. She stepped out, locking her RAV with a beep. Today, so close to the lake, she felt an almost balmy day sweep over her like warm water. Maybe spring had come to the lake at last.