“No, at least not technically. I mean, not directly.”
“Okay, so how indirectly have you gotten yourself involved with yet another corpse?”
“I’m not involved with any corpse,” I insisted. “I just need some advice. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” he said with a slight snort. “You came into work at seven thirty, armed with my favorite coffee, just for some simple legal advice?”
“Yes.” I took a big gulp of coffee to avoid his stare.
“Look me in the eye, Grey, and swear that this simple legal advice has absolutely nothing to do with anyone’s death—past, present, or in the future, in any way, shape, or form.”
This time, I looked Steele square in the eye. “I can’t do that.”
He smacked the top of his desk with his left palm. His coffee cup gave a little hop. “I knew it!”
“It’s not what you think, Steele.”
“Who is it, Grey? Your manicurist? A second cousin twice removed? Who managed to get themselves killed in your screwy little world this time?”
“No one, Steele. I just need some advice about my responsibility in a certain situation.”
“Your responsibility?” He looked at me, his face serious and full of curiosity. “Did you witness a murder? Plan one? Commit one?”
“No, no, and no.”
“An assault?”
“No, and if you’ll quit playing twenty questions, I’ll tell you.”
Steele studied me a few seconds, then picked up his coffee, took a big swallow, and leaned back in his chair again. “I’m all ears.”
I took a deep breath. “Someone told me that they think they know who the Blond Bomber is.”
Steele catapulted forward in his chair, eyes wide with disbelief, his coffee splashing onto his shirt and desk. If it hadn’t been for his big, black lacquered desk standing between us, he and his coffee would have ended up in my lap.
“The Blond Bomber? Are you kidding me?”
“Afraid not. But it’s all supposition. She doesn’t have any real proof except for coincidences and a gut feeling.” I paused. “Anyway, she doesn’t want to go to the police, but she told me who she suspects it is.”
Steele sat back down and fussed with the coffee spots on his shirt. It was the second time in just a few days that the mention of the Blond Bomber had caused spillage. Fortunately, Steele kept extra shirts in his office.
“My question is, Steele, do I have any legal obligation to say anything to the police?”
“Why don’t you ask your pal Dev Frye that question?”
“You know darn well why. If I say anything to Dev, even in a hypothetical way, he’ll end up snooping around. And if this man is innocent, just a suspicion could ruin him.”
“He’s a prominent guy?”
“Very. But does that matter? A suspicion of this type would ruin anyone.”
Steele closed his eyes and swiveled in his chair. Squeak … squeak.
“Have you met this guy?” He asked the question without stopping the swivel or opening his eyes.
“No, I haven’t. Does that make a difference?”
“No, it doesn’t. But what you have here, Grey, is a sticky problem, not a legal one.”
He stopped swiveling and looked at me. “Legally, you have no responsibility to report what you’ve been told. Under the law, there is no legal responsibility for any private citizen to report knowledge of a crime to the police. A private citizen needs to take affirmative action to assist in the crime either before or during the crime, or be an accessory after the fact, such as concealing evidence or harboring a known fugitive, to share in the responsibility for the crime.”
“But morally?” I squirmed a bit in my chair.
“That’s where it gets sticky. If you don’t do anything and this guy is the killer and kills again, could you live with that?”
It was the same question I’d asked of Lil.
“Okay, Lil, I’ll help you. I’ll try to find out if your son is the Blond Bomber or not.”
Lillian Ramsey got up from her chair and threw her slender arms around my neck. “Thank you, Odelia. Thank you so much.”
When the hug was over, I asked her to sit back down. It was the following weekend, and we were at Lil’s condo in Leisure World, seated at her cheerful dining table set in front of a large picture window that overlooked the golf course.
“But first I need you to understand something.” I took both of her delicate hands in mine. She looked at me expectantly. “If I discover that Brian is the Blond Bomber, I will go directly to the police with the information. I will not ask your permission or even stop long enough to tell you first.” Lil stared at me and blinked her blue eyes a couple of times. I didn’t know if she was in shock or scared or both.
“You won’t even tell me?”
“Not until after I’ve told the police. If I find out that Brian is the killer, I will do whatever is in my power to make sure he doesn’t kill again, and I can’t risk you interfering. You’re his mother. No matter what he’s done, you would try to protect him. It would be only natural.”
More blinking and staring. Lil removed her hands from mine and sat back in her chair. Her shoulders sagged as she turned her head to look out the window.
“You are right, of course.” Her voice was hardly a whisper when she spoke. “If he is the killer, he must be stopped.” She turned her head again to look at me. “And if he’s not the killer?” This time there was hope in her voice.
“If I find concrete proof that Brian Eddy is not the Blond Bomber, I will immediately tell you that very second. On that, you have my word.”
Lil gave me a small smile and refreshed both of our teacups from a floral china pot. “Thank you, Odelia.”
I pulled a yellow legal pad and pen from my tote bag and put it on the table beside me. “Why don’t we get started? The sooner the better, don’t you think?”
Lil nodded and swallowed hard. “You’ll want to know why I suspect my own son of such heinous acts.”
Truth is, I didn’t want to know any of this, but the reality was I had to know to be of help. I studied Lil’s lovely face and noted the deep blush creeping into her lined cheeks. Something told me that what she was about to disclose, on a scale of one to ten, was going to be a nine on the doozy scale.
“Odelia,” she began, speaking quietly, “have you ever met anyone on the computer—you know, on the Internet?”
“We met online, Lil. Remember?”
“I don’t mean like us, Odelia.”
She paused to take a sip of tea. She sat still for a minute, clutching the dainty cup between both hands. I didn’t prod her to continue. It was obvious that whatever she needed to say, it was going to be difficult for her.
Finally, she continued. “I mean romantically. Did you ever meet anyone online and become involved with them?”
I hadn’t, but I knew people who had. The stories of online dating had been both good and bad. My friend and co-worker Kelsey Cavendish met her husband, Beau, online, and that seems to have worked out very well. Then I remembered that the news reports had hinted that the Blond Bomber had met all of his victims online.
“Does Brian meet women online?” I knew that Dr. Eddy was married, but I certainly wasn’t naïve about married people going online in search of excitement and affairs. Dr. Eddy wouldn’t be the first or the last.
Lil nodded slowly. “Yes, he does.”
“And he told you this?” I didn’t think many men would confess to their mothers that they were playing around online or offline, but especially one that wasn’t particularly close to his mother. Lil had told me that her relationship with her son, though intact, was often strained. “I didn’t think you two were that close.”
“We aren’t.” Again she paused. This time she held the china cup so hard I was afraid it’d shatter.
“Why don’t you put that cup down before it breaks.” I reached over and gently extracted it from her hands. She let me and pi
cked up a linen napkin instead and started twisting it slowly.
“Have you ever done anything you were ashamed of, but were glad you did it anyway?” She spoke without looking at me.
My first thought was, was there a minimum answer requirement I could get away with? Even though the question was purely rhetorical, it still made me uneasy. How do I screw up? Let me count the ways.
“Are you talking about something you did, Lil? Or something Brian did?”
“Brian … and I.”
I felt my body wanting to squirm but forced it to remain still. In my head, I could see the doozy scale going up to a twelve, possibly even a thirteen.
“As I’ve mentioned to you before, my son and I are not very close. We used to be, but it all changed after I married Cecil Ramsey. I married my first husband, Brian’s father, for love. I married Cecil for security. I don’t think Brian has ever forgiven me for that.” She took a deep breath before continuing.
“When Brian’s father passed away suddenly, I found myself a young widow with a preteen son. The two of us struggled to stay afloat, and I often worked two jobs. Shortly after I met Cecil, he proposed. I declined at first, but the more I struggled to raise my son alone, the more I saw the advantages my marrying Cecil would have for Brian. Finally, I accepted. Soon after, Cecil shipped my son off to a very exclusive preparatory school, and from there to a college of Brian’s choice. Cecil even paid for Brian’s medical school. He lived up to his bargain of providing for my son’s future, and I lived up to my part of being the beautiful and gracious wife and hostess.”
“You were his trophy wife.”
“That’s what they call it now, isn’t it? And I suppose I was. I was much younger than Cecil, very pretty, educated, and proper. Cecil was very rich and important. I may not have loved Cecil, but I respected him and was a good wife. And though he could often be distant, he was never cruel or thoughtless towards me or Brian. But Cecil made it clear that he had married me, not my son.” Lil gave me a small smile. “Actually, as marriages go, it could even be considered a good one.”
Cecil Ramsey had never been thoughtless? What do you call separating a mother and child just to have the mother to yourself? It would be interesting to get Brian’s side of the story.
“You see Brian and his family fairly often, though, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, Brian and Jane, that’s my daughter-in-law, have me over for special occasions such as birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. Jane and I get along very well, and I see my two grandchildren often—though now they are quite grown up and off with their friends most of the time.”
“If you see Brian often, why do you think you’re not close?”
Lil gave that some thought before answering. “It’s not that we’re estranged physically, but emotionally. He never tells me anything, not even important things. I didn’t even know he was going to marry Jane until the ring was on her finger. And I found out about him starting his own practice when I received the announcement in the mail.”
She drank some more tea before continuing. “Brian is a dutiful son, Odelia. He makes sure I have whatever I need, even though I can easily afford just about anything. He sees that I’m cared for when I don’t feel well, and he even calls me every week to check on me. But it’s all mechanical, like it’s a job he must do and be done with. When I’m at his home, he is the picture of etiquette but barely speaks to me. Even the weekly calls are often made by Jane, even though she’s busy running her own business. She owns Sharp Design, the interior decorating company.”
“Your daughter-in-law is Jane Sharp?” In my mind, I let loose with a big wow. Sharp Design was one of the most sought-after residential interior design companies in Southern California. Many celebrities lived in Sharp-styled homes. Rumor was, you had to make an appointment with Jane Sharp a year in advance, and even then there was no guarantee she’d accept your business. What a dynamic duo she and Dr. Eddy made. He designed bodies for the rich and famous while his wife designed their habitats.
Lil nodded with pride. “Yes, that’s Brian’s wife. She built that business practically out of nothing, just her talent and perseverance.”
I pushed thoughts of rooms and furniture I couldn’t afford out of my mind and went back to concentrating on the issue at hand. Listening to Lil made me think about my relationship with my father. I call Dad every week and make sure I drop by every two weeks, even though I can barely stand my stepmother, Gigi. Sometimes, I’ll admit, it does seem like a duty, but the alternative—of not having him around at all—would be painful. Sometimes we spend time alone, just Dad and me, and those times are special. Once we spent two hours at Denny’s over coffee, talking about his childhood and the grandparents I never met. The only topic that’s taboo is my mother. Greg is also very close to his parents, and we see them regularly. They love me like a daughter, and my father worships the very ground Greg rolls over.
I knew that older people often felt neglected by their adult children, especially when they’re busy with careers and families, but that didn’t fit Lil. She had a very active life with lots of friends of her own. But maybe she was right. Maybe Brian still hadn’t forgiven her for letting Cecil send him away, or maybe she was just being overly sensitive to a naturally reticent demeanor.
“Maybe Brian’s just not a sharer.” I hoped my words would make her feel better. “I mean, he’s a grown man, a busy one—probably thinks it might make him look weak if he told his mother everything. Does his wife complain about him being distant?”
“Sadly, Brian and Jane have grown apart in the past several years. I know this because she’s told me, and because I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They are very polite to each other. Too polite, if you ask me. Like strangers who suddenly find themselves as roommates.” Lil hesitated. “Jane confided to me that she thinks he’s having an affair.”
“Having an affair and being a serial killer are two entirely different things. They’re not even in the same solar system, as far as offenses go.” I chuckled. “If every man who had an affair turned into a serial killer, no one would be safe outside of their homes and maybe not even in them.”
Lil shot me a soft but impatient scowl. “That’s not why I think Brian might be the Blond Bomber. It’s just part of the background I’m giving you.”
“Okay. Well, then, let me ask you: do you think Brian is having an affair?”
Just as Lil was going to respond, her doorbell rang. She excused herself to answer it. A few minutes later she returned, followed by a muscular man carrying a small antique table. She directed him to place it against a small section of wall between the dining room and living room, after which he was introduced to me as Paul Milholland, one of Jane Sharp’s workers. Paul Milholland appeared to be in his thirties, a bit shy, with sun-bleached sandy hair, a deep tan, and toned body. After Lil thanked him and showed him out, she returned to the table.
“I’m sorry for the interruption.”
“That’s a lovely table, Lil. Did you recently buy it?”
She smiled. “Actually, it’s a gift from Jane and Brian. More from Jane, of course. She saw it at an auction and bought it for me as an early birthday gift.” She took a sip of tea. “Paul is her right-hand man, sort of a delivery man, furniture restorer, and carpenter, all rolled into one. You name it, he can do it. He even built the bookcases in my spare room. Been with her for years.”
“Sounds like a good man to have around.”
Lil nodded. “After Jane’s former assistant, Mason Bell, left her to start his own design firm, Paul became indispensable. He really helped bolster Jane, especially after Mason started stealing her clients.”
As interesting as this decorator gossip seemed, I wanted to get back to Brian Eddy. I sensed that Lil was using Paul’s interruption to stall. Gently, I guided her back to the matter at hand.
“Lil, just before Paul arrived, you told me you thought Brian was having an affair.”
Lil got up and went to the new table, caressing i
ts smooth top with a hand. “I know he is.”
“Because Jane told you?”
“No.” She shook her head and continued to study the top of the table. “I know because he’s having it with me.”
I could’ve sworn I heard the doozy meter pop a spring.
“Excuse me?”
Lil didn’t answer but instead turned to look directly out the window. Her face was as still as a mannequin’s. I waited and restrained from verbalizing the ewww on the tip of my tongue.
“Not a real affair, of course. Just an online fantasy thing, but very emotional and captivating at the same time.” She still didn’t look at me. “It has been going on for nearly six months. I should be ashamed. And I am. But I also don’t regret it.
“It started one long weekend when I was bored and lonely. I went into several chat rooms that I frequent under my usual screen name of JersyLil, but the conversations were always the same. I tried a couple of new chat rooms, but no one wanted to talk to an old lady.”
Lil turned and went into the kitchen. I stayed where I was but could hear her adding water to the tea kettle and setting it on the stove. I gave her space while she spoke.
“Of course, I knew that people used fake identities all the time on the computer,” she called from the kitchen. “But I never had, until then. I created a new name, a new identity, and tried it on. It was rather like trying on shoes. Over the course of the weekend, I sampled three names and personalities, and then stuck with the one that received the most attention.”
I was afraid to ask.
Still seated at the dining table, I was glad Lil couldn’t see me, because I could feel my mouth hanging open like some slack-jawed dolt. I shut my trap when Lil poked her head around the corner into the dining room.
“Did you ever want to be someone else, Odelia? Even for a day or an hour?”
“I wouldn’t mind being that guy in Chino who won the lottery last Saturday.”
Lil knitted her brows slightly. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
When the tea kettle started to whistle, Lil disappeared back into the kitchen and came out a couple minutes later with a fresh pot of tea. After setting it on the table to steep, she continued. “I don’t mind getting older.” Again, she knitted her brows. “But I damn well mind feeling old.”
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