Too Big To Miss

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  "You're absolutely sure? Nothing left with her lawyer?"

  "No, sorry."

  With his right elbow planted on the small table, he lifted his glass to take a drink. His eyes were unfocused, thinking inwardly. He took another drink fast on the heels of the first.

  Had I not been on the alert, I might have told him that I didn't believe Sophie had committed suicide. But cautiously, I held my tongue.

  It was obvious to me that he wasn't asking about usual items of inheritance or final parting words of regret, but something more specific. And, oddly, he didn't seem particularly disappointed or surprised that there was nothing more. Just curious in a peculiar way. I could almost see his brain working in that handsome head like a fine Swiss watch, with the gears grinding, meshing, tick-tocking away.

  After a third quick sip, he turned his attention back to me, all smiles once more. The drinking and thinking had taken less than twenty seconds.

  What in the hell was he fishing for?

  We had gone through most of Sophie's drawers, both in her office and bedroom, and had discovered nothing unusual, except for the Robbie box. A bunch of kid's photos and report cards hardly seemed like something Hollowell would expect to receive from a dead girlfriend.

  Still holding his scotch, he leaned back casually in his seat and crossed his legs, right ankle over left knee.

  "You know, Odelia," he said in a seductive tone, "you are quite attractive."

  Huh? How did we get from whadda-ya-got-for-me to ain't-you-cute so quickly, and without so much as a hint of coming attractions?

  "Thank you, John," I said cautiously.

  "Yes, very attractive." He was dishing out cool and smooth again, this time in double scoops with chocolate sauce. "And I adore large women. More to love."

  I shifted nervously.

  "Why did Peter Olsen confront you at the service?" I asked, anxious to get off the subject of more to love.

  Hollowell looked at me, his expressionless eyes locked onto mine, not answering.

  I decided to shovel some bullshit of my own. "It was so rude of him, and you handled it so well. I was impressed."

  His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Why do you think? Jealousy, of course." He gave a short laugh. "You were a close friend of Sophie's. I'm sure you knew the whole story."

  I just smiled at him as I ran my answer silently in my head. Until recently, buddy, I knew nothing about no one. Not about you, Olsen, Robbie. Nada!

  "Olsen's never gotten over the fact Sophie left him for me. Pathetic little worm." He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing, scrutinizing my face. "I'm sure Sophie told you all the gory details."

  His last statement was more than a comment...it was a search party. He was pressing me for information, wondering what I knew. Gawd, what did I know? Maybe I knew more than I thought I did. Olsen had told me his side. And Greg had given me a scanty sketch of what Sophie had confided in their talks. But if this was merely a tale about an old love triangle, I didn't think Hollowell would be so curious.

  I had seen his type before. Had even almost married one once upon a time. People like this didn't put much effort into wondering what other people thought or felt. To people like Hollowell, emotions—particularly other people's—were nothing more than dead bodies to be dumped on the side of the road after the deed was done.

  What was it Greg had said that morning at the beach? Oh, yes, that sometimes people keep secrets from friends to protect them. To protect them.

  Hollowell didn't look like he needed protection. I, on the other hand, felt as vulnerable as a jelly donut at a police station.

  "Actually, Sophie never talked about you," I told him truthfully. "I'm sorry."

  "She didn't?" He cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

  I shook my head and looked at him with false sadness. I needed to get Hollowell off my trail. Sophie had kept silent about this man for a good reason.

  "No, in fact she didn't talk much at all about her past. Not even about her ex-husband or son." I gave him my best tragic sigh. "I think it hurt too much to discuss it. As her friend, I respected that."

  There it was again! That same instantaneous alteration of his face I had witnessed before. Like a subliminal message planted in a nature film, his appearance remained relaxed and smiling while other, more intense feelings darted across his face nearly undetected. My gut told me it was the personality appearing in strobe light intervals that I should be worried about.

  "Did you know about Sophie's web site?" I asked. "I had no idea that she had one of those...um...adult sites." I threw in some feigned shock. "Just when you think you know a person."

  "Yes, of course I knew." He chuckled.

  Ole Chuckles was beginning to get on my nerves.

  "In fact, I helped her set it up. Even gave her the idea." The sexy smile was back. "Why, would you like to take it over?" The question was serious, not a bad joke like Mike Steele's comment. "You'd be a smash on it, Odelia."

  His eyes slowly looked me over. Not an open leer, but an appraisal, an almost professional one.

  Now it was my turn to chuckle.

  "Nooooooo, not me," I told him with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. "My larger than life, middle-aged body is not for public consumption. They'd shut me down for being a blight on the side of the information highway."

  Hollowell tilted back his head and laughed heartily. It was the first uncalculated and genuine thing he'd done since sitting down. "Attractive and funny. That's a good combination, Odelia. No wonder you and Sophie were friends." He uncrossed his legs and shifted forward, leaning in close, giving me an unmistakable bedroom look. "I like spunky women with full curves. Maybe we should get together again? Hopefully soon."

  What's a girl to do? Especially a girl who wants to know more about this dangerous man and his relationship with one of her best friends.

  I fidgeted with my margarita and took another deep draw on the straw. My eyes were down, my focus buried in the red slushy liquid.

  I felt his touch on my arm again. His fingers stroked and squeezed my flesh discretely, sensuously.

  I sucked my drink faster, deeper, until the glass was empty.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE EARLY MORNING dampness clung to the shrubs like pavé diamonds set in malachite. I took big deep breaths while I walked, filling my lungs with gulps of cool wetness mixed with a fresh scent that smelled faintly of licorice. The bay was shrouded in a heavy haze. By noon we'd be enjoying a warm, clear day accompanied by gentle breezes off the nearby ocean.

  The walk was invigorating. I could feel my muscles stretching, working to propel my logy ass down the trail. I felt my pulse. My heart was pumping steadily. The whole activity was life affirming, giving me a boost both mentally and physically. Odelia, you should exercise more often, I lectured myself silently. Funny how I always forgot how good activity made me feel when sitting on the sofa in front of the TV.

  Next to me was Glo Kendall. We were moving at a nice pace, not dawdling, not race walking. A few yards behind us were three other ladies. Two of them were Reality Check regulars. The third walker in the bunch was Ruth Wise. After just a few days, Ruth already fit in nicely with the other women who met haphazardly for the daily walks. She was quiet, yet sociable, exuding a calm confidence that would be an asset to the group. I sincerely hoped she would attend the meetings once we started them up again.

  "You look tired, Odelia," Glo commented.

  I looked at her and smiled.

  In spite of the cool morning, perspiration was beginning to form on Glo's forehead. Her long, dark blonde hair was parted and caught in two pigtails. She had a cute turned-up nose which gave her a slightly pug look, small brown eyes, and thin lips. She was taller than me by three or four inches, and lighter by about twenty pounds. And although I was old enough to be her mother, she huffed and puffed considerably more as we kept to our brisk pace. I attributed the latter to her smoking. Glo wasn't what you'd call beautiful, not even particularly pretty. She might be de
scribed as a handsome woman, a term I always considered a polite way of saying plain, but not unattractive. With Sophie's help she had learned to enhance her best features and create a very appealing and perky look.

  Me? People referred to me as interesting. Attractive, pretty, maybe even beautiful on a good day, but in a non-classical way. On their own, my features were odd. My nose was long with a slight bump near the bridge and blanketed with a line of freckles. My green eyes were too close, and my mouth full on the bottom, thin on top. But somehow it all worked together to give me my own look that, over the years, many had found pleasing and even a bit exotic.

  "Yes, Glo, I am." I rotated my neck, producing a few cracks and pops. "Haven't had much sleep since Sophie died." I turned my head back toward her and displayed a small, tired smile from under the red cap I was wearing. "But it'll be over soon. The lawyer has several people coming around next week to appraise the furniture and household goods for purchase. We'll get rid of the whole lot at once hopefully. Then the house will go on the market."

  She reached out and gave my arm an affectionate squeeze. "You've done a might, Odelia," she said in her hick twang. "You've been a good friend to Sophie. If there's somethin' more I can do to help, you just call."

  "Thank you, Glo." I smiled at her again. "I appreciate the offer. Most of Sophie's personal things are about packed up. Just a few odds and ends left."

  "What are you gonna do with all of it? You know, her clothes, papers, stuff like that?"

  "Not sure, maybe donate the clothes to a women's shelter." I looked over at Glo. She was close to Sophie's size, and I knew she could use the extra boost to her wardrobe. "Would you like to have some of her clothing? I'm sure she would've liked that."

  She smiled, then said, "Sure. 'Bout the only time I'll ever get to wear such nice things."

  We walked along a bit further in silence. With Sophie gone, I was now the oldest member of the group. Zee and a couple of others were right behind me in age, but many of the women in Reality Check were in their twenties and thirties. They looked to us for guidance as they picked their way through the mine fields of a prejudiced society. Giggles could be heard from the small group behind us. I felt maternal watchfulness growing by the minute.

  "I met with an old flame of Sophie's last night," I told Glo. She looked at me, her eyes full of interest. "John Hollowell." I caught the quick way her eyes widened, then relaxed. "You know him?" I asked with new curiosity.

  She didn't respond for several feet, then she wheezed, followed by coughing to clear her throat. "Met him once at Sophie's. By accident." She looked up and grinned at me. "Quite a looker."

  I nodded. "That he is."

  "It was around the holidays, back when I was lookin' for work. Sophie was helpin' me with my resumé one mornin' and he sort of popped in."

  "Popped in?"

  "Yeah, at least it seemed that way. Caught Sophie by surprise anyway. Made her mad, too. I think he was already an ex-boyfriend by that time. Know what I mean?"

  That would have been about six months ago, shortly after Glo joined our group. I jotted this new information down in my brain and posted it on my internal bulletin board.

  "Did he stay long?" I asked, trying to seem casual rather than interrogating.

  "We were workin' at her kitchen table. She took him into her back room. You know, the one she used as her office."

  I nodded again. I knew it well. Looking ahead as we walked, I listened to each word intently.

  "Anyway, they were back there arguin'. No yellin', just pickin' at each other."

  "What about?"

  "Couldn't tell ya. But Sophie was real upset. I could tell by her voice. They weren't in there long. When they finished, he headed straight out the front door."

  "That's all?"

  "Pretty much."

  Glo glanced at me. I saw her cheeks redden and pushed my cap back for a better view. Quickly she stared down at the path we were traveling.

  "Well there's more, but nothin' important. Just that Sophie got a call and went back into her office to talk. There was a knock on the front door while she was gone, then it opened. It was John Hollowell again. He came in sayin' he'd left his keys on Sophie's desk. I told him she was on the phone." She hesitated slightly. "He waited with me until she was through, then got his keys and left."

  "Did he say anything to you?"

  "Chit chat mostly. Kinda made me nervous. Wanted to know what we were workin' on. Told him I was looking for a job and Sophie was helpin'."

  The fight could have been about anything. I knew from Greg that Sophie had been trying to break off the relationship. Maybe Hollowell had a hard time letting her go. He didn't seem the clingy type to me, but he definitely seemed the type not to take rejection very well. Hollowell was a man used to winning, someone who didn't take no for an answer. I knew that from recent personal experience.

  I had finally agreed to meet him again, Friday night, about eight. We were going back to the same restaurant, this time for dinner. He had originally suggested he pick me up and drive us to a romantic restaurant further down the coast, but I had nixed the idea. I wanted someplace close, someplace where I could meet him. What I wanted was an emergency exit.

  While it is my firm practice not to date married men, I did want to pry into Hollowell and Sophie's relationship more. I had been nervous last night. Oh hell, who was I kidding? I'd been scared nearly deaf and dumb by his manipulative looks and comments. Also, asking too many questions might have made him suspicious. I came away from that evening a bit tipsy and starved for more data.

  I didn't want Hollowell to know, or even to suspect for a minute, that I was investigating Sophie's supposed suicide, at least not yet. Whether or not he was involved with her death, one thing was for sure—he knew something about it. I can't say how I know this. I just know it. I could sense it, feel it, even taste it. And trust me, my sense of taste is as fit as a fiddle.

  John Hollowell is a very dangerous human being, or I'm a Snickers without the nuts.

  Friday would be different, I told myself. It would be my mission to ferret out important clues and information somewhere between drinks and dessert.

  "You're thinking about her, huh? About Sophie?"

  Startled, I looked in the direction of the question, at Glo. I had forgotten where I was. My feet were on auto pilot, putting one in front of the other along the path.

  "Yes, I was. I think about her a lot."

  "Me, too," she said, almost in a whisper.

  We took a few more steps in silence before Glo spoke again.

  "Odelia, did you ever find out anything about that box of old photos Zee found in Sophie's closet when we were cleaning?"

  "Actually, Glo, I did." I looked over at her. "Turns out Sophie had a son."

  "A son?" Glo stopped walking and stood in the middle of the trail. I kept going and she skipped a step or two to catch up.

  "Yes, but he lives with his father. Sophie hadn't seen him in a long time."

  "Wow," she said, "imagine that. So, what's his name? Where's he live?"

  Looking forward, I could see we were about to cross the timber bridge that led up a small incline to where the cars were parked. Another ten minutes and I'd be heading home to shower and get ready for the office.

  "How's work going, Glo?" I asked, not wanting to talk anymore about Robbie. Peter Olsen had asked me to leave Robbie out of things as much as possible, and I intended to honor his wishes. "You still enjoy your job?"

  She thought about it before answering. "Yeah, sure. It's not what I want to be doin' the rest of my life, but the boss said I have potential." She grinned.

  "Great." I beamed at her. She was indeed one of our, one of Sophie's, successes.

  "It's just been hard and all with everythin' that's happened lately."

  "You mean Sophie?"

  "Well, that and that accident a few days ago. You know that kid who was killed by the drunk driver?"

  I stopped dead in my tracks and star
ed at her, barely able to speak. "You mean the young man who worked for that security company?"

  She stopped next to me, her face serious and sad. The women behind us caught up and started past.

  "Everything all right, ladies?" Ruth asked.

  "Yes, fine, thanks," I told her with a small smile. "Just girl talk."

  Ruth smiled back and moved on, but I caught her casting a look back over her shoulder as she walked up the slight hill. I turned back to Glo.

  "Yeah," she told me, "the one on the news a few nights ago. Well, that was the head of our company. The drunk, I mean. Shook us all up pretty bad. Not that I'm excusin' what he did, mind you."

  Chapter Eighteen

  WHAT IN THE world would Southern California do without single-story, stucco strip malls? They dotted light commercial areas, painted in various shades of gray, white, and brown, like cheap plastic buildings made for a board game.

  Ocean Breeze Graphics was housed in such a structure in Huntington Beach, this one painted tan with Spanish hacienda affectations. The little convenience mall held five small businesses, with Greg's shop taking up the most space. On one side of him was a moderately busy pizza and sandwich joint, on the other side a dry cleaner, beauty supply store, and a nail salon. There was a nice size parking area in the front.

  Inside the shop was a long counter divided into two sections. The left half was normal height, the counter to the right lower by several inches. I immediately realized that the lower counter was to accommodate Greg's wheelchair needs.

  At the higher counter, on the work side, stood a college-age kid. He was dressed in full California beach attire—baggy shorts and a loud, purple tie-dyed t-shirt. His short, spiked hair was dyed lime green, making me think of Seamus. Completing his fashion statement was a tiny gold hoop piercing his left brow. He was deep in conversation with a conservatively dressed man, discussing layouts for a brochure. The kid glanced my way.

  "Be with you in a minute, ma'am."

  I nodded at him and sat in one of the several plastic molded chairs lined up against the front window.