I waited patiently for Larry to join me for our morning coffee, a sacred routine when I stayed overnight at his place in California. Of course he was always the first one up and more than once he'd brought me coffee in bed.
I wasn't very cheerful in the morning and today of all days, I felt pretty grouchy. I didn't want to get dressed in a hurry and drive all the way to Scottsdale to pick up his new Mercedes. If I had a choice I would go back to bed and simmer in my own depressed mood until the sun went down.
He appeared dressed, shaven, and if I had to guess, in a rather good mood. He brought with him a cloud of good scents, an incentive for me to reach out and touch him. As always, it felt good knowing he was my man.
"You went through all this trouble for me?"
"Shut up, Larry. It's some coffee, probably too weak for your taste, and some burnt toast."
"You forgot the most important part."
"What? There's milk—"
He knelt by my chair and kissed me. "You. You're the most important part."
I found myself blushing. How am I going to tell him I want to go home?
He sat across from me and stirred his coffee. "We have a court date in four days. That's it. No more extensions, no more excuses. This is it. Lella, did I dream it or were you up during the night reading?"
"I was. I couldn't sleep. I read the book about ferrets. It's a fast read, has lots of black-and-white pictures. It must be a very old book the way they spoke of veterinarians and pet food, but it was very interesting. I think I'll go over later and give it back to Vivian. It may have belonged to her mom or something."
"You were right about Vivian. She was a flight attendant with American Airlines, mostly coast to coast, but she would occasionally work overseas flights. Those flights were extra. She would take shifts to cover for friends. I checked to see if she ever flew to a Soviet country, but there isn't any record of it."
"Good job, Sherlock. What is it with this fascination with Vivian and Rico?"
"Hey, Rico is, or was, your hot button. I think he's okay, probably feels sorry for Vivian. I'm guessing she paid him well when he took care of her mom, and now that she's fading, he's doing his best to keep things running smoothly."
"You got all that from a ten-minute conversation?"
"No, it was more like twelve minutes." He smiled, got up, and toasted more bread. "And she was let go from American Airlines six months after Hasan's murder. No specific reason listed except for too many absences." He spoke from the kitchen so I couldn't see his expression.
"Is there something I'm not getting here?" I asked.
"No, no, just sharing information. She was eventually hired by Southwest Airlines for short flights that would allow her to come back home most nights. That's when she hired Rico to stay with her mom. Her mom died three years ago, about the time all that cash was found in Carillo's grandmother's safety deposit box."
"Larry, where are you going with this?"
He came back at the table, buttered his toast, and looked me straight in the eyes. "I don't know, but this morning I'm going to get my new car."
"Oh." Lella, coward.
"You don't want to go to the dealer, right?"
I studied my empty cup of coffee. "How can you tell?"
"The fact that you're still in your nightie is a good clue." He came over and hugged me. "And Flash's dish is pretty empty."
Damn. I had totally forgotten about my cat! What was wrong with me? "Do you mind?" I gave him my best so sorry look.
"It's okay. Now that I've met Rico, I'm a little less concerned. I tell you what—I'll call Logan and ask him to come over at about the time I'll get back, so we can take care of your settlement."
"Is that what it's called, a settlement? So, you don't think Rico was the one snooping around in here when Flash got out?"
"Quite the contrary—I'm sure it was him. I hope it was pure curiosity, but I'm not forgetting. Okay then, I'm going. Will call you as soon as I have a time for Logan to come by. You behave now." He kissed me again and left.
I still had not moved from my chair. I had to snap out of the melancholy that was dragging me down. Part of it was due to Kyle, not knowing where he was, and then there was this thing with Vivian. How in the world could Larry even think that she had anything to do with Hasan's murder?
Okay, I would get dressed and go search for the ring, even if there wasn't any ring to be found. Then I could look her in the eyes while telling her I couldn't find it. And I could return the ferret book and thank her. Oh, God, I had to feed Flash. And clean the kitchen.
An hour later, with my straw hat and sunscreen in place, I went searching for the ring. I remembered the exact spot where I'd bumped into Vivian the evening before. When I bent down the furrows left by her fingernails in the dirt were quite visible. Poor woman. First her mother, now her. Luckily she had Rico, who seemed to genuinely care.
"What are you doing?"
The voice spooked me. I nearly lost my balance trying to look up from under my wide-brimmed hat. "Oh, hi, Shannon. I was looking for a ring Vivian lost around here. I had—"
"That stupid fool. Starting that again?"
Stupid fool?
"Don't pay any attention to her. She gets that way from time to time. Maybe it has to do with the full moon." Her laugh sounded mean and forced.
I was now upright and looking at her, and I didn't like her attitude one bit. She was staying in one of Vivian's condos for free and spoke of her as if she was some moody child. Who needs enemies with friends like that? Whoever came up with that one must have been inspired by a Shannon-like person.
"It's not a big thing. I have to go scout out the laundry room anyhow. Any idea which way I should look?"
"Laundry, huh? Sure, follow me. Haven't seen you around lately. Been busy?"
"Yes, Larry's business is winding down. We only have a few days left. We actually met a real nice old man who says he knows you from way back."
Her pace slowed, and I could see her body stiffening. "Yeah? I don't know many people in Phoenix."
"No, no, he's from California. Something about a restaurant or a Russian deli. He said you used to drive Vivian there to pick up pastries for her dad. He called you that crazy woman, but he meant it in a good way, I'm sure."
"Boris Z.? The old goat is still alive? How about that." This was the voice of the happy, friendly Shannon—the woman had more personalities than a ventriloquist.
We walked in the opposite direction from the pool, so that would eliminate the intriguing back building. We came to an abrupt turn and found ourselves in a small cul-de-sac with a bench and two freestanding BBQ grills shaded by some massive trees. A small building stood to the side.
"There you go. They only have two washing machines and two dryers. You need the pool key to get in. I don't have mine with me. And don't forget to bring your own detergent and softener, or whatever it is that you use."
"Thanks, Shannon. This place never stops amazing me. I had no idea this was here."
"Yes, whoever built it originally did well. In today's market the land alone must be worth a small fortune. Got to run. My vacation is just about over. See you." And just like that she was gone.
I sat on the bench but that wasn't such a good idea. The wood slats weren't so hot, but the ornamental nail heads felt like branding irons on my butt cheeks. Wow! My phone chimed deep in my pocket. I'd forgotten that I had it. Too bad I didn't bring my water.
"Hi Larry. How's your car?"
"It looks great and handles even better than my old Mercedes. Where are you? I hear strange noises."
"Relax. You're hearing birds chirping. I'm sitting on a bench looking at the laundry room."
"At Camelview Suites?"
"Yes, it's an amazing little corner with big trees and BBQ grills. I wonder what else they have around here that we've not yet seen?"
"Logan is on his way, but I have a little problem."
"What?"
"I'm stuck here. A car in front
of me rear-ended an SUV, so now I have to wait to give information to the officer. It's a minor fender-bender, but I wanted you to know just in case Logan gets there before I do."
"Sure, no problem. Darn. I should have made some sun tea. What am I going to offer him?"
"A smile and a glass of water? Hey, this car has a better interior, more cup holders…wait 'til you see—"
"You're getting excited over cup holders? Aye, you're getting old."
"I don't care about the cup holders, but you do. Don't deny it."
I had to laugh because he was absolutely right. "Okay, Mr. Cup Holder, I'd better get going. Hope I can find my way back."
"What do you mean?" There was concern in his voice.
"Joking! Hurry back. Ciao."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Four more days. The end was near. Lives would change. I was just a reluctant spectator and yet felt so emotionally invested. Why? I had never met any of the major players, had no clue what they looked like in life or death: Hasan, Carillo, the grandmother, and the missing one…Valeri.
Only four more days. I could do this. I would do this.
I walked along the path, congratulating myself on making such an unselfish decision. Oh, God, who was I kidding? It was easier to do nothing than to stir things up. The straw hat gave me the illusion of being in a cocoon. I liked that. I felt alone with my thoughts.
The first thing I noticed was there was no more concrete path. I found I was in the guest parking lot. Okay. Somewhere back there I'd made a wrong turn. I sighed and decided to take the regular route to my place. So what if I passed by Vivian's front patio? I could say a kind word if she was outside.
I was halfway there when I heard someone calling me.
"Mrs. York."
I turned around and recognized Logan Thompson, all preppy-looking, shirt and tie, briefcase. He hurried to catch up to me. I hoped Larry wasn't far behind. I mean—what were we going to talk about, ferrets? There had to be something true about the power of the mind stuff, because right then Vivian's front door opened, and she stepped out onto the patio as I walked by.
"Hi, Vivian."
She wore one of her usual caftans, and her hair once again looked perfect. I smiled. She nodded. Was she going to ask me about the ring?
"Good morning, well, almost afternoon. Feeling better?"
Her eyes told me she had no idea why I'd asked that. Before she could say a word Logan caught up with us.
"Ladies."
We both said "Hi" at the same time, which made Logan smile.
"And how is Lucy this morning?" he asked.
The young man really liked that ferret. Just then the white furry thing hopped out the door and leaped and skipped all the way to the low wall which Logan and I stood behind. This was the first time I'd actually watched the ferret move around. Every other time she was playing with Flash and it always looked more like fighting than anything else until they would both take a nap all entwined with each other.
Logan stretched over the low wall and bent down to stroke the ferret. Vivian walked over to the gate, unlocked it, and waved us in. I didn't mind. We had to wait for Larry anyway.
We walked from the sunny outdoors into the cool living room of Vivian's home. When we sat down Lucy climbed up onto Logan's lap. The drapes were closed, and the room was cloaked in a pleasant shadow. The television was on with the sound off. Vivian offered us iced tea. I asked for ice water instead.
There was nothing about her that was a reminder of the lost ring incident the night before, not until she served the refreshments, that is. When she handed me a tall glass filled with ice cubes and water, I noticed two of her fingernails were now clipped very short. She must have broken them when scratching around hoping to unearth her ring, her wedding ring.
"How have you been?" Logan asked her.
"Okay, I suppose. The weather must be changing. My joints are bothering me. It's not storm season but you never know. Somehow, nothing is like it used to be and neither is the weather." She said all that in a rather lighthearted tone.
She and the young lawyer seemed so comfortable with each other I felt like a third wheel. Vivian walked into the kitchen and came back with a glass filled with what looked like lemonade, and then she sat facing the television and sort of turned her back to me in order to talk with Logan. Well, it was a definite improvement over staring at blank walls.
Should I mention Boris Z.? Maybe later.
I found myself watching the silent television screen without really paying attention. It looked like some sort of documentary had just started. I recognized some bird's-eye views of Los Angeles and maybe Orange County, but I wasn't too sure about that. Perhaps it was a documentary about gangs or the mean streets of California? Faces filled the screen, and you could tell it was an old story by the haircuts and the clothes.
Maybe I could go home and come get Logan once Larry arrived? That sounded like a good idea. I suddenly wondered why Vivian hadn't mentioned Shannon. Certainly Rico must have told her we'd stopped by to say hello. Well, none of that was my problem. How could I leave without seeming rude? The ice cubes melted in my glass, and the face of a young Hispanic male filled the screen. I had no idea what the narrator was saying. The image faded.
"Do you mind if I run over to my place and—"
Vivian turned to look at me but she froze midway. I followed her stare and saw that she was looking at the silent screen where a picture of a forty-something handsome man appeared. I had no idea who he was, certainly not a famous celebrity. Her glass of lemonade slipped from her hands and spilled on the thick rug while she started to shake and wail, just as she'd done on the wedding-gown-night.
Oh my God! What was happening?
She fell to her knees. I barely managed to get her empty glass out of the way. She seemed to be having a seizure.
I looked at Logan. "Call 9-1-1," I said.
He nodded, pale as fading winter sunlight, his hand shaking so hard he had to try twice to make the call.
I attempted to hold Vivian steady and offered her comfort, but she kept crying out and saying words I couldn't comprehend. Her eyes were still on the television screen, which now showed expanded views of a desert.
"They're on their way." Logan's voice was a childlike quiver. "What can I do?"
"I don't know, I don't know." I felt myself tearing up, and I knew this wasn't the time or the place for crying. I must be strong for the poor, poor woman.
From the distance, probably Camelback Road, sirens screamed. Then footsteps, the front gate slamming, and Rico rushed in.
"What's going on?" A glance to assess the situation. "Vivian. Vivian!"
He came to where we held her on the rug between the sofa and the television cabinet. Her face looked dead. There was no more wailing. Rico shook her gently.
"Vivian, can you hear me?" He turned to us. "What happened?"
A knock at the door, then Phoenix Paramedics came in and took over. Questions were asked. They lifted Vivian's limp body and carried her into the bedroom. As they walked, her beautifully coiffed hair began to slide. I caught the wig before it hit the floor and from the back, as they walked away I glimpsed her shiny, bald scalp. Memories of my mother came rushing at me—her head, after months of chemo.
Now I wanted to wail.
I followed them into the bedroom, holding the wig in my hands, not knowing what to do or how to help. The paramedics encircled the bed where Vivian lay. Rico spoke to them in hushed tones. I looked around at Vivian's bedroom. The walls were decorated with Russian Holy Icons and tapestries. One wall had photos of an older couple in a silver frame with a small cross next to it. Her parents?
And there was a large black-and-white photograph of a handsome man. Oh, no! He looked just like the man I saw in that documentary. I moved closer. Other smaller photos showed the same man with a younger, happier Vivian. Is that what triggered her collapse? Who was he? Maybe she really was married once upon a time and this was her husband?
&nbs
p; Rico moved back from the bed, came over to me, and removed Vivian's wig from my hands. He went and set it lovingly on a wig stand on top a chest of drawers. He must have noticed the lost look on my face. I didn't want to ask personal questions, it felt, well, sacrilegious, but I had to know. I walked out of the bedroom, fully aware I wasn't needed there.
I didn't see Logan anywhere, but I heard voices outside. I assumed Larry had arrived. I slumped on the sofa in the same spot where I'd sat while the documentary had rolled on. I didn't hear Rico until I saw him in front of me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I lost my mother to cancer."
It was his turn to nod. "We try not to talk about it," he said.
"Rico," it was the first time I said his name, it felt strange, "Rico, who was that man? Was he her husband?" I could tell he had no idea what I was talking about. "The man in the photos in Vivian's room. It's the same man who was on the television screen when she had her seizure."
His eyelids twitched furiously but he didn't speak. He kept on staring at me as if trying to decipher some mysterious code I possessed. Then he seemed to relax. "You mean Anton?"
Now I was the one who didn't understand. "Anton? Is that his name?"
"Lady, how stupid do you think I am? You don't know what Anton Hasan looks like? Your boyfriend is here to testify about his murder, and you want me to believe you've never seen a photo of him?"
Anton Hasan and Vivian? Please, God, no. Larry and his intuitions… Did she really kill him? No, not her. I kept shaking my head no. I didn't want to cry.
"Larry doesn't talk about his work. Please tell me she didn't have anything to do with his death."
Did he sense my sincerity? He sat down next to me.
"Anton was the love of her life. They were going to get married in Vegas. She waited for him at the Little White Chapel in her wedding gown. He never showed up. She waited until their security escorted her out. Then she waited in the honeymoon suite she'd booked, until his body was found in the desert. After that she tried to commit suicide. I met her at the hospital where I worked as an aide. Vivian befriended me. I owe her. She was never able to get over Anton's death. All she wants is to join him and her parents."
Murder Under the Desert Moon Page 14