Too Big To Miss

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  My first instinct was to back my face away from his touch, but I held firm.

  "She was probably right."

  I thought about that. The Sophie I knew didn't have a jealous bone in her body. During our friendship, I'd met several of her male friends. She didn't seem insecure about that at all.

  To protect them.

  "I take it your relationship wasn't exclusive. In fact, I know Sophie dated other men."

  "True. In the last few years, I encouraged her to see others. I'd been trying to break it off with her, but she wasn't happy about it. The relationship had run its course, but she kept calling me, inviting me over. Very sad."

  ...he sort of popped in.

  Caught Sophie by surprise...

  Made her mad...

  He was lying. Looking me straight in the eye, holding my hand, he lied to me. And he was good at it. As smooth and as cold as vanilla ice cream, the expensive stuff. He surrendered no hint of conscience or hesitation. He could have been telling the truth. There were a lot of things about Sophie I was obviously in the dark about. But Greg had known the same Sophie I did. So had Marcia and Peter Olsen. Only Hollowell's story wasn't fitting.

  Fortunately, the entrées arrived just as I was about to say too much. I concentrated on my grilled salmon and steamed asparagus, using the time to plot a new course. I decided to dig in a different direction.

  "You said last time you suggested the web site to Sophie. May I ask why?"

  "Money, mostly." He hesitated. "You do know that she worked for me for a long time?"

  "Yes," I answered, "but I only learned that recently."

  "A few years ago, we started going our separate ways, doing less business together. But after years in one company, she didn't want to start over at another. Besides, she liked it, the web site. And was good at it. Have you seen the site?"

  "Yes, I have." I thought about the photos posted in the Members Only section. "John, are you the man in the photos on the site? The one having sex with Sophie?"

  He stopped eating and leaned back in his chair. He looked at me in silence for a bit, only opening and closing his eyelids every once in a while. The action reminded me of a lizard sitting on a rock, it was easy to make the leap to the reptile family.

  Finally, he said, "Why are you so curious about me and Sophie, Odelia?"

  I shrugged. "Just nosey, I guess. I feel, now she's gone, that I really didn't know her very well. It's hard for me to understand what drove her to suicide."

  He looked at me again in silence, his face still a blank page, except for his eyes, which were busy evaluating. "Do you have any idea what Sophie did for my company?"

  "She was a computer consultant."

  "Yes, initially she was a computer consultant." He gave me his sly grin. "Later, she was a consultant who used her computer."

  He paused, moving closer to me before speaking.

  "Her title was Acquisitions Consultant," he told me in a low voice. "But in truth she was the company whore."

  ...Hollowell's private whore.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and put down my fork. My appetite hadn't been good all evening. Now it was totally gone.

  "I don't understand," I said. "You and she were together, weren't you?"

  "Yes, we were. But she also worked for me." He took a bite of his salmon and chewed slowly, thoughtfully before continuing.

  "After she came down here from Santa Paula, I spruced her up, bought her clothes and had her learn about the finer things. She was so incredibly sexy." He paused and smiled, more to himself than to me. "I'd take her to business meetings and show her off. Now don't get me wrong, she was extremely bright. She'd listen and understand everything discussed. But her real job was to close the deal."

  He finished his meal and pushed his plate aside. The waiter materialized to take the plates away and to pour us some more wine. I took a big gulp.

  "You know as well as I do, Odelia, that many men love the bigger beauties like Sophie and yourself." He said it with a half-grin, half-leer, his eyes grazing my chest. "So did many of my business associates, especially the foreign ones. They just adored Sophie; her looks, her brains. They lusted after her in a big way. It was her job to make sure they had no doubts about doing business with my company. Sometimes she did the convincing during pillow talk."

  "You pimped her?" I asked, trying to keep disgust out of my voice. Anger was rising inside me along with stomach acid.

  He chuckled. "Not really. It was her choice. If she didn't like a man, she wouldn't sleep with him, of course. But she'd still attempt to flirt and woo him into signing the deal. I paid her a monthly retainer, a handsome amount. She also got bonuses after the deals closed.

  "A few of these men saw her regularly afterward. They gave her expensive gifts, jewelry, trips. They'd fly in from Brussels, London, even from the Middle East, and do business with me, monkey business with her. It wasn't like she was turning tricks on a seedy sidewalk. She kept them happy, which made me happy. Most were married, of course."

  "Of course," I echoed. "And, no doubt, to skinny women who looked good in society photographs."

  Hollowell put his hands up, palms outward. "Hey, I didn't make the rules, only played by them."

  I wanted to slug his lights out, and was astonished by my self-control.

  According to both Peter Olsen and Greg, Sophie was so in love with Hollowell that she was addicted to him. If she could give up her son for the scumbag, she'd do just about anything to keep him.

  But one big piece wasn't fitting. She had Hollowell's son. Why didn't she use him for leverage?

  "Sophie was in love with you," I said, looking at him squarely. "She probably would've done anything to please you. And you took advantage of that."

  He grinned and leaned back again in his chair. "Maybe at first I did, but you can't tell me that later on she didn't enjoy it."

  He was obviously trying to shift the initial responsibility away from himself. It was okay to use and manipulate someone, as long as they eventually got used to it and maybe even accepted it. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth to produce a fake and faint smile.

  "So once she stopped working for you, she started the web site?"

  He smiled again, but this time is was a slick, oily smile. "More like she fell into it. You see, some of these guys enjoyed being filmed with Sophie and she accommodated them, for a price. That was her own business. Later, when computer cameras became so hot, she'd put the photos on disk. When these adults sites began getting big, I suggested she try that." He took a long drink of wine, almost draining his glass.

  "Let's face it, she wasn't getting any younger. And even though Sophie was still very beautiful, these wealthy and powerful men wanted younger women. Middle-aged they could get at home. The jump to an adult website was a natural, a new twist on an old favorite, so to speak. Many of these guys paid handsomely to be seen live on the Internet screwing her brains out. They'd pick a time, tell their friends, then broadcast the sex. From what I saw of those sessions, identities were well concealed."

  I took my own big gulp of wine. "Was Sophie still on retainer to your company when she died?" I asked after I swallowed.

  "No. I haven't paid her anything in over a year, maybe more." He gave his annoying chuckle. "Those photos you saw weren't me. They were of her special friends. Her paying customers." He waived the waiter over. "Odelia, you look like you need a good strong cup of coffee."

  I nodded numbly. Hollowell told the waiter to bring two coffees and the dessert menu.

  "Will you excuse me, Odelia?" he said, pushing his chair back. He left the table and headed in the direction of the men's room.

  Elbows on the table, I lowered my head, resting my cheeks in the V of my open palms.

  Sophie—a high-priced corporate call girl. It seemed unbelievable and utterly fantastic. She was bright. She was educated. She could have gone anywhere, been anything. Why this? Was it just the money? Was she that in love with this cold-hearted bast
ard?

  The more my overloaded brain rummaged through what Hollowell just told me, the more I wondered what other kind of hold he could have had over Sophie. But from the newspaper articles recovered from the baby shoes, it seemed more likely Sophie might have had something on him.

  And what about Robbie? Hollowell didn't give the slightest indication he knew that Robbie Olsen was his son. He just grazed over any mention of him. Was it possible Sophie successfully hid Robbie's parentage from his own father?

  "Talk to me, Sophie," I muttered into the air.

  "You feeling okay, ma'am?" It was our waiter, hovering by my elbow.

  "Yes, I am. Thank you."

  I straightened up as he placed two cups on the table and poured fresh coffee into them from a silver pot. He left behind cream and sugar, also in silver containers, and two dessert menus.

  I wanted to leave. It was just nine-thirty, but I didn't know how much more I could stand hearing. Music drifted in from the bar area. It was a pleasant tune, a popular ballad. I could hear someone singing, telling me it was a live band. The melodious voice ran over me like warm milk. I gave into it, letting my brain relax for the moment. This detective stuff was hard work.

  Hollowell returned to our table, settling himself in his chair as if nothing unusual had been said. He seemed smug. His physical beauty existed no more in my eyes. Replacing it was an ugliness no genetics or plastic surgery could cure.

  When the song was over, I felt revived and recharged. I called upon my so-called moxie to keep going. Hollowell could be lying, covering for his own despicable deeds. And even if he wasn't, it didn't take away the fact Sophie was a good-hearted woman who loved people and helped many, including yours truly. She was still my friend, and she needed me.

  I wasn't through with Mr. John Hollowell just yet.

  "Tell me something, John," I said, leaning forward on my elbows, my hands clasped in front of me. "Why didn't you ever marry Sophie?"

  For the first time, I saw Hollowell falter and thought I saw fleeting and genuine pain cross his face. Just as quickly, he collected himself.

  "Like I said, Odelia, I don't make the rules, I just live by them. It's no secret fat girls from poor country families are not exactly executive wife material."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BRINGING THE CELL phone proved to be a good decision. So was parking with the valet. I silently gave thanks for Greg's good sense.

  After coffee and dessert, Hollowell and I adjourned to the bar where we danced and sipped brandy. Well, he sipped brandy, while I had a ginger ale. I wasn't used to this much drinking in one night; a before-dinner cocktail and wine during dinner had been my limit. It was also best to keep my head clear in his presence.

  We danced and chatted superficially until eleven, when he said he had to head home to get ready for his trip to San Diego in the morning. He invited me to go once again, and once again I declined coyly.

  Between dinner and saying goodnight, I tried my best to loosen more information from him. It was the only reason I tolerated his presence. But he had given up all he was going to for the night, and deflected my subtle and not-so-subtle queries deftly. Even letting his hands wander around my hips and butt during slow dances didn't let down his guard.

  In front of the valet, I had allowed him to give me a chaste kiss. Without witnesses, I'm sure I would have been prying his mouth and hands off of me like leeches. He chuckled yet again as I climbed into my car, saying he hoped I'd be friendlier the next time we met. It made me wonder if he was looking for another Acquisitions Consultant.

  Driving away from the restaurant, I dialed Greg on my cellular. Might as well get it over with and give him some relief. I was glad I had the phone. Talking to someone I liked and cared about would cleanse me. And I needed that right now. He picked it up on the first ring. His voice was alert, sounding like he'd been sitting by the phone waiting since our last conversation.

  "Hi," I said cheerfully. "Just checking in, safe and sound."

  "You're not home?" he asked.

  "No, and not going there. I'm heading for Sophie's. I learned a few things from Hollowell that I want to check out on her computer. Give me your password so I can access the web site."

  "You can do that from your own place," he said. I detected frustration in his voice.

  "The site, yes, but not the hard drive," I explained. "I need to check out both."

  What I planned to do was closely inspect the pictures posted in the members area again, the ones with the man or men. Then I intended to search the hard drive files for stored captured photos of these sessions, hoping somehow to discover clues to identities.

  Greg sighed. I could picture him shaking his head.

  "It's late, Odelia. Why don't you wait until tomorrow? I'll meet you there and help you."

  "Because I'm wide awake and curious now."

  I turned the car onto Pacific Coast Highway and headed toward Sophie's. The drive was only ten to fifteen minutes.

  "Greg, did you know Sophie was a paid escort for Hollowell's company?"

  The silence on the other end of the phone wasn't lost on me.

  "Greg?"

  "Yes," he said in a small voice. "I knew."

  I couldn't believe my ears. My question had been meant to shock him with some new and startling information. I didn't expect to be answered in the affirmative.

  "You knew? Why didn't you tell me?" If we'd been having this conversation in person, I would have been tempted to throw something at him.

  "Because it was behind her," he said, "and part of her past. She got out of it about the time she started Reality Check." He paused. "And because I didn't want your image of her tarnished any more than it already has been with the web site."

  I took a deep breath, then said in a very tight voice, "How dare you decide what I can and cannot handle; what I judge and not judge. I'm not a child, Greg Stevens. I don't need you to protect me from bogeymen."

  Silence, then another sigh. "I'm sorry, Odelia. You're right. You're not a child."

  "And did it ever occur to you that maybe one of these men might've had something to do with her death?"

  "Yes, that did occur to me, Odelia, but after thinking it over, I decided it was unlikely."

  "You decided it was unlikely. I thought we were in this together. When do I get to mull things over and make such decisions? After all, it was my ass Hollowell was groping tonight, not yours."

  "Again, you're right and I'm sorry. I truly am, Odelia."

  His apology, no matter how genuine, irritated me. Wasn't it just like a man to say I'm sorry and think it would all magically be healed, like kissing a boo-boo. Sheesh.

  Grumbling unintelligible words into the phone, I turned onto Sophie's street. Parked in front of her house was a truck with the security company's name on the side. I pulled into the driveway. There must have been a false alarm or malfunction for them to be out here at this time of night.

  "Greg, a truck's parked in front of Sophie's. It's from the security company."

  "That's odd. You think Iris Somers called them?"

  "Don't know. There aren't any lights on in the house and everything appears quiet."

  "Odelia, this doesn't feel right."

  "Protecting me again, Greg?"

  Quietly I got out of my car, cell phone still in my hand, and looked up and down the street. All was still. Except for a few lit windows, the houses seemed tucked in for the night.

  "Everything seems normal," I whispered into the cell phone, holding it close to my mouth. "Maybe someone in this neighborhood works for the security company and brought the truck home."

  I started up the walk to the front door, then heard a noise. It seemed to be coming from the side of the house, between Sophie's and the home belonging to Iris Somers. I stood still and listened, hoping it was a cat or some other small animal.

  "I just heard something," I whispered again into the phone. "Hang on."

  "Odelia," I heard Greg say, "please go hom
e. I'm sorry if this sounds overprotective, but something's wrong, I can feel it."

  "Shhhhhhhh," I said.

  I listened again and once more heard the sound. This time it sounded like a moan, a human moan. Cautiously, I walked to that side of the house, feeling my thin, spiky heels sink into the grass with each step.

  The space between the two houses was narrow, only allowing for a small strip of grass. A low white fence ran down the middle, separating the properties. The hair on my arms stood like a forest as I stepped warily away from the glow of the street lights. I heard the sound again. It seemed close, maybe only a few feet away, yet I saw nothing.

  I took another step and felt something under my foot. There was a soft crunch as my weight pressed down on it. Looking down, I saw something shiny. As bits and pieces of light caught the item, it shimmered. I bent down and picked it up. It was a clump of foil, more like a hat covered in crinkled aluminum.

  I heard the soft moan again, and moved toward it quickly. After a few steps in the near darkness, I almost tripped on a small, crumpled figure lying on Sophie's side of the fence, next to the house.

  "Iris?" I asked quietly, falling to my knees next to the inert form.

  The figure moaned.

  I leaned closer, almost nose to nose, and saw it was indeed Iris Somers. Her eyes were shut. I stroked her head, the gesture evoking another, deeper moan. When I withdrew my hand, it was wet and sticky.

  "Ahhhhhh!" I sucked in my breath along with the muted scream. The phone dropped to the ground.

  Fear coursed through me, coldly flowing through my veins like an icy stream, numbing me limb by limb.

  Out of the darkness, without making a sound, came a shadowy form. It hovered over me. I threw up my hands to protect myself and half-covered Iris with my body.

  Something struck my head, the blow causing me to fall forward on top of Iris. Pain seared my brain, bringing tears to my eyes. Somewhere in the background, I thought I heard running, followed by the sound of an engine. I lifted up my heavy head but saw nothing. It was too late.

  Moans, not much more than whimpers now, continued to come from the body under mine.