A Body to Spare

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  I rolled over, got to my knees, then to my feet, and staggered to where I’d left my purse. Grabbing my phone, I looked at the display. Sure enough, there were six messages, all from Clark—four texts and two hysterical voice mails. I turned my ringer back on, glad it was off before. The thing must have been vibrating in my purse like a runaway sex toy while I was talking to Seth and the police.

  “Was that body really in Odelia’s car?” Clark asked, finally checking the volume on his voice.

  “Yes, it was,” called out Mom. “I told you that in my text.”

  “Just confirming, Mom,” Clark said.

  “What? You don’t believe me?” Mom said, getting all huffy. “It happened at the car wash today. The dead man was tucked into her trunk as nice as you please, except that he was naked.”

  “Yes,” Greg confirmed before a family phone brawl broke out, “there was a dead body in the trunk of Odelia’s car. We have no idea how it got there. And yes, he was naked.”

  “Who was he?” Clark asked. “Some guy who made fun of Odelia’s obsession with Thin Mints?”

  “Really, Clark?” I snapped as I moved closer to the phone.

  “Sorry, sis,” Clark swiftly apologized. “It just sort of slipped out. As macabre as the situation is, it’s also pretty funny. A new low for you. Or should that be a new high?”

  “We’re not laughing here, Clark,” Greg said, his own voice getting edgy.

  “Have you been drinking, Clark?” Mom asked, her brows scrunched with worry. Both she and Clark were recovering alcoholics, and both take their longtime sobriety seriously.

  “No, Mom, I haven’t been drinking,” Clark assured her. “It’s just that this is the sort of stuff that winds up on TV, and I’m not talking about the news.” He paused. “So what are the details? Did the cops ID him yet?”

  “Yes,” Greg answered. I was glad he was fielding the questions because I’d answered more than my share already today. “His name is Zach Finch. He’s around twenty-three years old and from a small town in Illinois outside of Chicago. Sound familiar to you?”

  There was silence while Clark gave it some thought. “It does sound familiar,” he finally said, “but I can’t place from where right now.”

  That was when I decided it was time to get involved. I indicated for Greg to give me the phone, which he did. I switched it off speaker. “Hi, Clark,” I said into it. “It’s just me on the line now.” I started moving toward our bedroom for some privacy. Just before I closed the door shutting the master suite off from the rest of the house, I heard Greg say, “I’m going to unpack the food and get ready to eat. I’m starved.”

  “Clark,” I said to my brother, “attached to the body was a note that said ‘found me.’ The cops are wondering if it has anything to do with some of my past run-ins with criminals, including Willie and Elaine Powers—you know, the mother of hitmen, or should I say hitpersons.”

  “The police asked you directly about Willie?” Clark asked with concern.

  “Not right away,” I explained. “At first they danced around my connections to known criminals, but after I lawyered up they asked about them by name. They’re wondering if whoever left the body was trying to get to one of them through me—at least that’s one of their theories. Another is that it’s payback for someone I messed with along the way.”

  Clark was silent again on the other end of the phone, putting his cop training to work. “But ‘found me’ sounds like you’ve been looking for this guy, or at least someone has. Are you sure you’re not sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

  “My nose is clean and is minding its own business, thank you very much.”

  “At least for the past few months.” Clark snorted. “I’m proud of you, sis. You made it through Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years without a corpse, although you were damn close to Thanksgiving with that last one. Too bad you couldn’t have made it to Easter.”

  “Not funny, Clark. You and everyone else seem to think I do this for laughs or out of boredom. Well, I don’t.”

  There was a short silence from Clark’s end, except for the occasional huffs and puffs and grumbles. Clark is in his early sixties and can come off grumpy and snappish, but he’s solid as granite. He lives outside of Phoenix, Arizona, in a swanky fifty-five-plus community and oversees security for the company everyone believes is linked up the food chain to Willie.

  “Tell you what, sis,” Clark finally said. “Let me check around on my end and see if the name rings any bells with either of your underground friends.”

  “You know how to get in touch with Elaine?” I asked, my mouth falling open.

  “Not really, but I might be able to find people who know people who do. One thing I’m pretty sure of, though: I doubt she did this. It’s too flamboyant. Hitmen work behind the scenes, in the shadows. They don’t wave flags to get attention.”

  “That’s what I told Seth.”

  “Is Seth Washington representing you?” Clark asked with surprise. “He’s not a criminal attorney, is he?”

  “No, but I don’t think I’ll need one. He helped me through the questioning. He’s done that before.”

  “Well, if things heat up, don’t hesitate to get yourself a good criminal attorney,” Clark advised. “I think the world of Seth and Mike Steele. Both of them are top-notch guys and attorneys who would go to the ends of the earth to protect you, but neither have the expertise to help you if this gets messier and deeper on your end.”

  “Seth already said that,” I told my brother. “He already has someone lined up, should we need him.”

  “Good,” Clark said with relief. “In the meantime, keep Mom out of it. I’ve already told her in a text that she’s not to post anything about this on her blog or on Facebook or Twitter. Damn social networking,” he groused. “Why can’t she just knit or watch talk shows like most women her age? Having this splashed across the net just might be what the perps are hoping will happen.”

  Clark had been right earlier. In spite of the situation’s gravity, there was an underlying current of the ridiculous to it—a gallows humor that hung over it like a noose shown via shadow puppets on the wall. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “Seth gave her a very kind but forceful lecture on the subject before we left the police station. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll beat it into her.”

  He laughed. “I’ll be out there tomorrow. We can beat her together.”

  “You’re coming to California tomorrow?” With great speed, I searched my memory but couldn’t remember Clark telling us about this trip. “I hope you’re not coming here because of this. We have it under control, Clark.”

  “Nope, it’s a last-minute trip,” he explained. “Dev asked if I’d come out and go to dinner with him and you guys tomorrow night. At first I wasn’t sure I could make it, but today my calendar cleared up a bit so I’m driving over bright and early. I’ll be in town for a couple of days unless something crops up at work.”

  “Are you staying with us or with Mom?”

  “Frankly, I’d prefer staying with you and Greg, but Mom would be hurt if I do that. Besides, if I stay with her I can keep an eye on her shenanigans until her interest in this latest corpse dies out.”

  “Why don’t you take her back to Arizona with you like you did before?” I suggested. “Just until this blows over.”

  “She’d never fall for that ploy again, Odelia. She’s too sharp to be bamboozled twice.” He hesitated, then added, “And so am I.”

  It was my turn to be quiet for a few seconds. “Clark,” I ventured, “do you know why Dev is gathering us up for dinner tomorrow night?”

  The hemming and hawing on the other end of the phone was more than sound—it was solid and touchable.

  “He’s retiring from police work, isn’t he?” I added when the stall continued.

  “Yes,” Clark admitted. “He is. It’s something he’s been discussing with me on and off for a few months. He wanted another cop’s perspective on life after t
he badge, but he asked me not to say anything. He wants to retire and enjoy life. He’s only sixty, but he’s been on the job for close to forty years. He got into it right out of school. How did you find out?”

  “Andrea Fehring told me today at the Long Beach police station. Apparently Dev just announced it at work, and the news traveled fast among other cops.” I smiled to myself. Dev worked hard and was one of the best people I’d ever met. He deserved to retire and enjoy his life. “Do you know yet what he’s going to do with his time?”

  “I’ll let him tell you that at dinner,” Clark said. He took a deep breath. “Okay, sis, I’m going to run and pack for my trip. I want to be on the road before dawn. Will you be at work tomorrow or is it one of your days off?”

  “I’ll be going in for a bit. Steele’s off on his honeymoon and wants me to keep a lid on things in his absence, although Jill’s perfectly capable of that herself.”

  “That’s right,” Clark said with a chuckle. “Mike Steele got married this past weekend. How was it?”

  “Lovely, just like his bride. The ceremony and reception were tasteful, elegant, and intimate—and, like Steele, not a hair or rose petal out of place.” I laughed. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow, Clark. Call me as soon as you get into town.”

  “Will do, sis. And you keep your corpse count down to just this one, okay? At least until I get there.”

  four

  Before leaving the bedroom, I changed out of my still-damp jeans and panties into dry, comfy yoga pants. The food was already on the table, along with plates and utensils. Greg was pouring iced tea for us while he brewed Mom a cup of decaf coffee. Mom was still on the sofa poring over her iPad.

  “Clark will be here tomorrow,” I told Greg. “He’s going to dinner with us and Dev.”

  “Yeah, your mother just told me he was coming,” Greg said, putting down the iced tea pitcher.

  “He sent me a text while we were at the police station,” Mom called from the sofa. “He asked if I wanted to go to dinner with you all, but I declined. I have plans tomorrow night.”

  Greg and I exchanged glances. My mother seemed to have a very busy social life, but we were only privy to part of it. Sometimes she did things with Greg’s parents and sometimes with friends from her retirement community. For all we knew, the rest of the time she was a CIA operative. “What’s up tomorrow night, Mom?” I asked.

  “Me and a few of the girls are going to one of those Indian casinos tomorrow,” she explained, not looking up from her tablet. “We’re even staying overnight. It’s one of those bus trips for old people designed to rob us of our social security money. They’re running a special for a two-day, one-night trip. Should be fun.”

  I looked at Greg and shook my head. He just grinned. “Fun to be robbed or fun to spend time with friends?” I asked her.

  “I’m not much of a gambler,” my mother said, still keeping most of her focus on what she was doing, “and sometimes those old biddies get on my nerves, but I love to people watch at the casino. And there’s always some great food and entertainment. I’ve been on these trips before.”

  “You have?” I asked. This was news to me.

  “Sure,” she answered. “They’re usually on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, when the casinos aren’t as busy, but this one was for Thursday since Monday was a holiday.”

  “Did you tell Clark you’ll be gone?” I asked, walking into the living room from the dining area. Except for the bedrooms and bathrooms, our home has a huge open floor plan, with the living room, dining room, and kitchen flowing one into the other. Greg designed it, buying a duplex and turning it into one very large easy-care home. “He said he was staying with you while he’s here.”

  “He’s a big boy, Odelia. He can stay by himself a day or two. And he has a key to my place.” She looked up at me. “But I guess I should tell him, shouldn’t I?”

  “Ya think?” I scowled at her. Grace Littlejohn had never been mother of the year, and she wasn’t about to start now. She’d had three kids by three different fathers. Clark had been fathered by Leland Littlejohn. I was conceived with Horten Grey, whom my mother had married after taking off and leaving Clark with his father. When I was sixteen and my parents were already divorced, Mom left me and ran off with some guy who impregnated her with our half brother Grady. She returned to Leland after Grady’s father abandoned her, and Leland adopted Grady and gave him his name. And that’s where she was when I finally caught up to her several years ago. Both my father and Clark’s are now deceased, and so is Grady.

  For better or for worse, that leaves me with just two blood family members. Clark and I have become quite close; we are a lot alike and even resemble each other a bit. And both of us have this love-hate relationship with our mother, which has improved over the past few years. I have friends who complain that their aging parents have no life outside of that of their children, but Clark and I worry about the life Mom has away from our watchful eyes. What’s worse, she seems absorbed in my occasional trips to murderland and sees us as a sort of mother-daughter PI team. I can’t tell you how many times Greg has told me how thankful he is that his parents are normal. They are, and I love them for it.

  Mom looked up at me through her glasses, the thick lenses enlarging her eyes. She looked like a startled lemur. “But maybe I shouldn’t go.”

  “I’m sure Clark won’t mind, Grace,” Greg told her. “And you’re only going to be gone one night.”

  “I’m not worried about him,” Mom told him. “I’m worried about that dead body. Odelia might need me to help figure out where it came from.”

  I had to nip this line of thinking right in the bud, and pronto. “The police are handling it, Mom,” I told her firmly. “Tomorrow I’m going to work, then later to dinner with Dev, Clark, and Greg. That’s it.”

  “I’m sure you’re going to do all that, Odelia, but I’m not stupid. Your brother, Dev Frye, and even you and Greg are going to be looking into this, and I want to help. In fact, I already have.”

  I moved closer until I was right in front of her, staring into her lemur eyes. “What do you mean, Mom?”

  In answer, she turned her iPad around. “I’ve been online looking up whatever I can on that Finch guy.”

  I was annoyed. Not because she looked up the dead man online, but because she had done it before I did. It was something I had been planning to do later. “And?” I asked, putting aside my pettiness in favor of information.

  “And if this is the right guy,” Mom said, pointing at the tablet, “the top just got popped off a whole different can of worms.”

  I sat down on the sofa next to Mom and picked up the iPad to study it closer. As I read, my eyes widened and my heart nearly stopped. I checked the date of the old news article Mom had unearthed. It could be the same Zach Finch, or Zachery Finch. The age of the person in the article about matched up with the age of the guy in my trunk, given the time lapsed. There was even a photograph, taken years ago, and I could see similarities. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the man’s face while he was in the trunk, but the police had shown me and Seth photos of him taken after the tape across his mouth had been removed. He’d had a high forehead and small eyes, between which was a long nose with a bump on the bridge, like it had been broken a long time ago. In the photo, his thin lips were gray and waxy. It was too early to be definitive, but the initial cause of death was thought to be suffocation, and the time of death was estimated as sometime late Tuesday night or in the wee hours of Wednesday morning.

  “Honey,” I said to Greg, “you need to see this.”

  “The food’s getting cold,” Greg complained as he rolled into our living room. In his hand was Mom’s coffee.

  “I’ll take that,” Mom said to him, holding out her hand. Greg handed her the coffee mug. Mom wrapped her hands around it and brought it close to her thin chest like it was a teddy bear.

  “We can nuke the food if we need to,” I told Greg. “This is important.” I handed him the tablet. “Rea
d that.”

  Greg pulled his reading glasses from a pouch on the side of his wheelchair where he kept things he needed quick access to and slipped them on. I watched as he scanned the page, then moved to the next, then back to the first one. Behind his glasses, his eyes swelled in surprise like inflated party balloons. “Do you think this is our guy?”

  “The article says that Zach Finch was from Illinois, and the age in the article would come close,” I pointed out. “The cops told me the guy in my trunk was from Illinois, but that’s all they said besides his name.” I looked at Greg while my mind wrapped around the information in an effort to contain it. “The cops had to know about this, right?”

  “If he’s the same guy in this article, I’m betting they did.” He tapped the screen of the tablet. “Kidnapping is a federal crime. No wonder Special Agent Shipman was there. It’s also why they didn’t say much to you. They’ll be playing it close to the chest until they get more information. At least I would if I were them.” He looked up at me. “Are you hearing me, Odelia?” he said, changing to his lecture voice. “The feds.” He said the word as if invoking the power of God himself. “If Shipman’s presence wasn’t enough to put you on alert, this sure should be.”

  “Are you saying to forget about it?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “I’m saying we need to be very, very careful with this or we’re going to get our asses in a sling and possibly a few of our friends’ asses too.” I knew immediately that he was talking about Willie. Although Elaine had done me a solid in the past, I didn’t think Greg cared about protecting a killer.

  He put the iPad down on the coffee table. “Nice work, Grace.” Next to me my mother beamed and took a sip of her coffee. Greg started back to the kitchen. “Zach is dead, and I’m not. Let’s discuss this further over dinner.” He stopped and spun his chair around. Looking straight at my mother, he said, again using his lecturing voice, “Grace, you cannot put this up on your blog or anywhere else. Do you understand?”

  “Clark already said the same thing,” Mom snapped back, “and so did Seth Washington. But none of you are the boss of me. Got that, hot wheels?”