Too Big To Miss

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Few days, my foot. Since Sophie died, my life had been non-stop lunacy. She had been gone only two weeks to date, and I felt like I'd been trapped in a carnival fun house for years. I was no longer young and dynamic, and I was feeling the news in spades. Come to think of it, I don't think I was ever young and dynamic. If so, I'd remember. But, of course, the mind is the first thing to go. That and the ass, followed closely by the boobs.

  "What are you going to do tomorrow?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "Get some rest. Maybe talk Zee into going with me to get a massage and a facial. You know, girl stuff. Might see a movie. We'll see. I also have a lot of paperwork from the attorney to go over about Sophie's estate. Maybe I'll look at that, too."

  Sophie's place itself was off limits. The police were still sifting through everything looking for the tape.

  Frye had called earlier to touch base, reporting two things. One, that they hadn't found the tape or anything else that might incriminate Hollowell yet. And, two, that they had apprehended Glenn Thomas at John Wayne Airport in Orange County, but not his sister. Seems Clarice Hollowell had the limo driver drop her off at LAX, but disappeared before getting on the plane. Airline personnel recalled seeing her at both first-class check-in and in the VIP lounge, but no one remembered her after that. Her bags had flown from Los Angeles to Chicago, but she never got on the plane.

  She had either been abducted, or was one smart cookie. After spending over an hour with the woman, I voted for the latter.

  "Whatever you do," Greg said, looking a bit dejected, "have fun and be safe."

  I smiled and walked over to him, Seamus still in my arms. He rubbed the cat's scruff and scratched him behind his ears. Seamus, being easy like his mother, started purring. I bent down and gave Greg a kiss goodbye. That kiss turned into another, this time deeper and longer. Then another. We were so engrossed in our long goodbye, neither noticed Wainwright creeping up to get a whiff of Seamus.

  Suddenly, the cat in my arms became a tangle of claws, teeth, and bloodcurdling howls. The animal broke from my grasp, but not before inflicting scratches on my arms and one small one on Greg's chin. Once free, Seamus made a dash for a high place. The highest ledge in the room belonged to the top shelf of my wall unit. On the shelf was one of my most expensive nativity pieces. I held my breath as the cat landed next to the porcelain image and tiptoed around it. Then he crossed to the next shelf, putting distance between the dog and himself. He finally settled on the last top shelf. Resting on that, waiting to be properly hung on the wall, was the needlework sampler Sophie had left me. I blew out trapped air, knowing my valuables were safe and sound.

  Peace restored, Greg and I said goodbye again. This time a quick kiss sufficed. I held out my hand to Wainwright. As polite as ever, he sat down and offered me a paw. We shook. Then, like father, like son, the animal lunged his large head forward to give me a kiss. I felt his big tongue lap my chin. At the same time, I caught a glimpse of Seamus flying over my shoulder heading for the dog. Pandemonium reigned as a startled Wainwright fled the outraged cat. Greg, helpless to give chase, barked orders at Wainwright. The poor dog, cornered and trying to avoid the claws coming at him, snarled at Seamus and showed his teeth. Thinking twice about attacking, my green cat turned yellow and scampered up the wall unit again. This time he wasn't so dainty. Down came the sampler, smashing its glass front.

  The room became eerily still.

  Sharply, Greg ordered his dog to him. This time Wainwright obeyed, his tail hanging sheepishly low. Scolding the Golden Retriever, Greg directed him over to the door and told to him stay. The animal lowered himself down onto the carpet by the front door and looked at us with eyes full of remorse. Seamus, on the other hand, sat on the top shelf of the wall unit looking smug and innocent.

  Yeah, right, I thought, watching him coolly lick his paw and comb his whiskers. Figures I'd live with the evil child.

  "I'm sorry, Odelia," Greg said, wheeling closer to where I knelt retrieving pieces of glass from the carpet.

  I picked up the broken sampler and handed it to Greg. Only the glass seemed shattered. The frame was intact, the stitching unharmed.

  "That's okay," I told him. "I should've known better. Seamus is very jealous and possessive of me. He probably thought Wainwright was going to bite me, not lick me."

  With the largest pieces of glass in my hand I went into the kitchen to dump them and bring back the hand vacuum. I wanted to get all the glass now before I forgot and missed some of it.

  While in the kitchen I heard Greg call to me. "Odelia, come here quick."

  I dashed into the living room to find him fondling the front of the sampler. There was a slight bulge in the middle. Outlining it with his fingers, we could both see it was a semi-flat rectangle.

  My heart was in my throat, my fingers crossed.

  Greg turned the frame over. It was thick, like a shallow shadow box frame. He started pulling off the cardboard backing. Sure enough, underneath was a cassette tape surrounded by padding.

  The phone rang, bad timing unless it was Frye. I looked at the Caller ID read out and noted it was a blocked call. Damn. I danced around indecision. It just might be Frye calling. I grabbed the phone.

  "Hello," I answered.

  "Odelia, it's me, Glo," the caller said in a southern twang. "I heard you got clunked on the head. You okay?"

  "Yes, I'm fine, Glo. Sore, but fine." Grabbing my tote, I dug around in it until I found Frye's card. On it he had written his private cell phone number. "But I can't talk now," I said excitedly. "You know, I never thought Sophie committed suicide, and neither did Zee. Now, I think I finally have enough evidence to prove it, and maybe even who's behind it. I have to call the police."

  "But she shot herself," Glo said. "People saw her."

  "I know, but I think someone made her do it. Possibly John Hollowell. I'll talk to you later, maybe tomorrow morning."

  "Okay." She hesitated, then added, "And, Odelia, if it's true, I hope you put him away to rot forever."

  I smiled into the receiver. "Thanks for calling, Glo. It was very sweet of you."

  After hanging up, I dialed Frye. Within minutes, he returned the call. He was at the hospital, less than three miles away. Soon the three of us were seated in my living room listening to Hollowell's recorded bragging and threats. I had insisted on hearing the tape before turning it over to the police.

  My body shook as I listened. Greg noticed and reached over to clutch my trembling hand.

  I knew Hollowell was dangerous, but the sound of his voice so coldly boasting about his past deeds and future plans made me dizzy with a combination of fear and anger. It was inconceivable to me how anyone could use and discard human beings in this manner, reducing them to the status of single-use paper goods. I knew, of course, that people did it all the time. I wasn't naïve. The cold, hard facts exploded in our faces almost daily from the news. But those things happened to the proverbial other people, not to my friends and certainly not to me.

  In my dogged search for the truth, I had uncovered the underbelly of Sophie's life. And in turn, it had exposed me to the shadowy side of the street on which I lived, worked, and played every day in blissful ignorance and contented boredom.

  My life would never be the same. In the split second it had taken for that bullet to travel from the gun's chamber into Sophie London's mouth, penetrating her brain, I had been unwittingly altered forever. It was still to be determined if it was for the betterment of my future existence.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  WALKING WAS DEFINITELY not on my list of favorite things to do on a day off. As I parked my car and forced myself to get out and look for the others, chocolate glazed donuts danced a can-can in my head. The lure of sweet pastry, devoured along with hot steaming coffee, tempted me to forget the whole thing and leave.

  Decisions. Decisions.

  For the time being, good sense won out. I locked the car and wandered over to the starting point. It was about fifteen minutes to six
by my car clock. I was early, but thought I could use the extra few minutes to enjoy the morning and reflect on recent past events. I was surprised to see Glo there already, stretching and waiting. When she saw me, she waved cheerfully.

  This was good. Just what I needed. Donuts never looked happy when you approached and were physically incapable of waving. Exercise with good friends never left you feeling guilty, either.

  I smiled at her. "Good morning, Glo."

  "'Mornin'," she said back. "You ready to get that blood movin'?"

  "The spirit's willing, but the body's reluctant."

  "I know what you mean." She stretched a bit more. Today over her usual shorts and t-shirt, Glo was wearing a light wind breaker against the morning dampness.

  Overhead, birds soared. The air was filled with nature's music. The day was fresh and clean, like yesterday had never happened. There was a new beginning every twenty-four hours, like a cosmic do-over.

  There were very few people exercising this morning, just a couple of diehards jogging devotedly. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity, then exhaling to depletion. Then I inhaled again. A sense of peace washed over me. I really was glad to be here.

  "Wonder if many are coming this morning," I said, doing a bit of stretching of my own as I spoke. "I ran into Ruth on Saturday and she said she'd be here."

  Glo looked at her watch and shrugged. "It's already six. Maybe we should start."

  "Really? I thought it was still a bit early, at least according to my dashboard clock."

  "You know how undependable those things are." She gave a little laugh. "Mine's never worked, except for the day I bought the car. Besides, they can catch up, since it's not like we're speed demons."

  "So true."

  We started down the trail, shoulder to shoulder.

  "So, what's happenin' with this murder thing?" Glo asked. "Do you really think Sophie didn't commit suicide?"

  "Yes, I do. Though I'm not sure yet who exactly was there when it happened. I just know Hollowell had something to do with it, and that executive from your office, Glenn Thomas."

  "Mr. Thomas! You're kiddin'?"

  "No, I'm not. He's John Hollowell's brother-in-law, and has possibly killed for him before." I looked at Glo. "Did Sophie help you get that job at Dakota?"

  She thought about it. "No. Come to think of it, when she found out I'd gotten the job, she didn't want me to take it. I don't remember her givin' me a reason, though. Anyway, I didn't listen 'cause I needed the work."

  "She was probably trying to protect you."

  "From what?"

  "John Hollowell, most likely."

  I glanced back while I walked, but there was still no sign of Ruth. Maybe she'd changed her mind, or succumbed to the evil donut spirit in my place. I turned my attention back to Glo.

  "Seems Hollowell has a thing for big women," I told her. "He likes to woo them and use them. It's probably why none of us knew about him. Sophie was most likely trying to keep us out of his clutches. And, after meeting him, I can see why."

  Glo was quiet for several steps. "Well, thankfully, the job's turned out okay. Even with this thing about Mr. Thomas, the place is still runnin' smooth."

  "He tried to leave the country this weekend," I told her. "But the police caught him."

  "No kiddin'?" she asked again.

  "No kidding. The young man he killed was the only person who could identify who was at Sophie's the day she died."

  Now it was Glo's turn to swivel and look behind us.

  "Guess we're the only ones who made it today," I said to her.

  "Sure looks that way."

  We continued walking until we passed a bend in the path. Thick growth and shrubbery at the curve blocked the view behind us. If the others were back there, they wouldn't be able to see us until they reached this point themselves.

  Suddenly, Glo stumbled. I reached out to help her.

  "Don't worry, Odelia. I just tripped over my own laces."

  She crouched down on the pavement next to the dirt horse trail to tie the laces on her sneakers. Just as she did, I noticed something shiny on her wrist...something familiar. It was the exact same bracelet Sophie had, but in silver.

  I dropped to my knees and seized Glo's wrist.

  "Where in the hell did you get this?" I demanded, holding onto her tightly.

  "I...uh...Blaine gave it to me...this weekend," she said in a halting voice. "It's our anniversary."

  This weekend, my XXL ass. I had seen it before on Glo's wrist, but now the distinctive style meant something to me. With a wrench of her arm, I turned her wrist over to get a good look at the charm.

  "Owwww, Odelia, you're hurtin' me."

  I ignored her and read the disk. It was engraved with two sets of initials, just as Sophie's had been, but this charm had JH on one side, BS on the other. Hollowell was recycling bracelets again. Only this time, he didn't even bother changing the charm.

  "You're one of Hollowell's fat sluts," I said, using Clarice's term. My voice was low, filled with disbelief.

  Glo said nothing, but looked at me in the most peculiar way. Gone was the self-effacing naïveté; gone was the panic; in its place was hatred as concrete and solid as a freeway overpass. The face was the same, but the person I was looking at was not the same Gloria Kendall I knew. Momentary fear pulsed through me like an electrical current.

  This new Glo quickly looked around, searching up and down the path.

  I shook off my initial surprise and fright. "What do you know about Sophie's murder?" I asked in a tone so harsh I surprised myself.

  She remained silent as she brought her eyes in contact with my own. Again, I felt fear try to take hold. Instead of giving into it, I gave Glo's wrist another hard twist. She squealed in pain and reached over with her other hand to try and pry my iron grip from her wrist.

  "Tell me," I demanded, "or I swear I'll beat it out of you." I raised a hand to strike her. "Tell me!"

  Another transformation took place in Glo Kendall. As I twisted her arm, she started to sob. It came out in little, mewing whimpers, growing in volume, and her face returned to the softness I was used to seeing.

  "Tell me," I demanded as I slapped her face hard, my stomach buckling as my flesh struck another's in anger for the first time in my life.

  "It was an accident," she said, choking on her tears. "We didn't mean for her to pull the trigger. Honest. We were just tryin' to scare her."

  "Who's we? You and Hollowell?"

  She shook her head. Her crying grew louder. "No, me and Blaine. It was his idea. He wanted Sophie's customers."

  "You're screwing guys for Hollowell?"

  She dropped her head low. "John Hollowell got me my job at Dakota. In return, I did him every now and then." She was sniveling, not looking at me. "Then John told me I could make some real money entertaining his customers. We really needed the cash, so I said yes. Blaine knew about it. We did okay, and it helped pay the bills, but nothin' great. John said Sophie had all the really rich customers. When he told us how much money she made, Blaine got kinda crazy."

  Drunk with outrage, I raised my hand again. After a split second of hesitation, I lowered it slowly. It just wasn't in me to batter anyone into submission. With my free hand, I grabbed the front of her wind breaker and shook her hard.

  "Sophie helped you, you little ingrate. She befriended you, cleaned you up, gave you hope." Tears flowed down my cheeks in half anger, half heartbreak. "We all trusted you, Glo."

  "I know. I'm so sorry." She let out a wail and covered her face with her other hand, the one I wasn't holding in a death grip. "I swear, we didn't know she'd do it. Blaine thought we should threaten her son, you know, just to scare her."

  "You threatened her son?" I asked, my mouth hanging open in surprise. "You didn't even know she had a son until I told you the other day while walking."

  Glo swallowed hard. "I lied. I knew she had a son. John Hollowell told me once. So Blaine told her if she didn't get out of the
business and turn her customers over to me, he'd kill her son."

  She looked at me for the first time since I'd pounced on her. Her face was swollen and splotchy, but something was still amiss. Somehow, I couldn't see Hollowell talking to Glo Kendall about Robbie, not even if he didn't tell her the boy was his. But Hollowell had bragged and been caught on tape, so maybe he would talk to a mistress after a few drinks.

  "What did Blaine say to her?" I asked, still full of rage. "Tell me exactly, then remember it, because you're going to repeat it to the police word for word."

  "What's going on here?" asked a voice from several feet away.

  I looked up. It was a jogger, running in place.

  "Nothing," I snapped at a guy wearing red running shorts and a black tank top. "Just found out my friend here's been screwing my husband."

  He shook his head in disgust and went on his way.

  Glo swallowed. Her nose was runny with slimy mucous. I gave her another hard shake to get her started again.

  She let out another wail and reluctantly continued. "Blaine said he'd tell her son she was a whore, then he'd kill him. But no matter what Blaine said, Sophie refused to cooperate. Just kept sayin' over and over that she didn't know what we were talkin' about; that she had no son and no customers."

  "You've been had, Glo," I said with bitter sarcasm, "and in more ways than one. Sophie hasn't worked for Hollowell in a long time. He told you that crap to hook you into his disgusting world. What else did Blaine say to her? What happened to make Sophie pull that trigger?"

  Glo stared at me and said nothing. I gave her wrist another turn, this time cranking the whole arm behind her back. She screamed.

  "Tell me the truth, Glo."

  "It was all her fault!" she yelled. "She's the one who pulled a gun on Blaine and pissed him off. She shouldn't have done that. She pulled a gun out of a drawer, but Blaine saw her do it and pulled his out first."

  The words spilled out of her like vomit. "Blaine went nuts thinkin' she was tryin' to kill him. He's got a crazy temper. He almost shot Sophie right there and then. Instead, he told her the deal had changed. Now she'd have to die. Her life for the boy's. When she didn't back down, he made up all sorts of gory details about how he was gonna kill the boy." She started sobbing loudly again. "He didn't mean it. He was just tryin' to scare her!"