A Body to Spare

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A Body to Spare Page 7

by Sue Ann Jaffarian


  Near the end of the party I saw Clark, Dev, and Fehring in a corner, their three heads together, brows furrowed with concern. I had no doubt it was about Zach Finch and my involvement, since every now and then one of them would look my way. Had Clark not been in the mix, I would have thought for sure that Dev and Fehring were discussing me as the top suspect. I also wondered if Clark was picking up anything useful. He might once have been a cop and he might be a close friend of Dev’s, but the bottom line was that he was no longer law enforcement in the legal sense. Whatever they told him would only stretch so far.

  “So what was that pow-wow about last night?” I asked Clark as I placed a mug of fresh coffee in front of him.

  “What pow-wow?” Clark asked before taking a large gulp of the hot coffee without so much as a flinch. His palate must be made of the same stuff used to line oven mitts.

  I grabbed a mug of my own and joined him at the kitchen table. “I saw you, Dev, and Fehring clustered together in a corner last night.”

  “Just swapping war stories, sis.” He looked around the kitchen. “Got any eggs on ya?”

  I blew over my coffee and took a small sip before getting up. “If you wanted breakfast, you just had to ask,” I told him. I went over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. “Omelet? Fried? Scrambled? Name your poison.”

  “Scrambled with some onions and mushrooms, if you’ve got them.” He gave me a wide smile. “Any bacon in that fridge?”

  I turned to my brother. “Did you see a Denny’s sign in front of this house?” Instantly, I was reminded of Special Agent Shipman’s snotty remark to me about Starbucks. Oh well, what can I say? I’m a plagiarist.

  In response, Clark’s smile turned upside down. “Mom only has high-fiber cereal and soy milk on hand for breakfast.”

  “And that’s why she’s skinny and we’re not,” I shot at him as I grabbed a few veggies, bacon, and some cheddar cheese from the fridge to go along with the eggs. “Sourdough good for your toast? And we only have turkey bacon.” Clark nodded and winked at me. He knew I wasn’t really peeved at being pressed into service as a short-order cook. I loved spending time with my half brother, even if it did mean wielding a spatula. I chopped some onion and sliced a couple mushrooms, throwing them into a skillet sizzling with a bit of butter and crushed basil. Before I cracked an egg into a bowl, I zeroed my eyes in on Clark’s. “Eggs for information.”

  “What information?” he asked.

  “What were you, Dev, and Fehring talking about last night?” I tapped the egg gently on the side of the glass bowl, emptied its contents into it, and grabbed another egg. “Two or three eggs?”

  “Just two, sis.” He patted his middle. “Gotta watch my girlish figure.” My brother wasn’t skinny, but neither was he fat. When we first met, he was battling a hefty bulge around his middle. Since then he’d lost his gut and had settled into a stocky but solid physique that he maintained with regular exercise and semi-healthy eating. “Oh, what the hell,” he said, “let’s live dangerously. Make it three.”

  I gave the cooking veggies a stir and beat the eggs with a little milk, hot sauce, salt, and pepper. The bacon was the precooked microwavable kind. I placed a few slices on a paper towel and slipped it into the microwave. As soon as I had the eggs in the pan, all I had to do was poke the button to get it going.

  A few minutes later, I placed Clark’s breakfast in front of him, refreshed his coffee, and joined him again at the table. While I’d been cooking, Muffin came in from the bedroom, where she’d been having her first nap of the morning, and said hello to Clark. The small animal loved attention and my brother, and she had whined until he’d put her on his lap and stroked her until his food came. When he put her back down on the floor, she went in search of a suitable place for her next nap. Being a much-loved and well-fed cat in our house was exhausting business requiring no fewer than a dozen long naps a day.

  “So,” I prodded, “what was the pow-wow about last night?”

  Clark swallowed the eggs in his mouth and looked at me. “Tell me, sis, would you mind terribly if I asked Andrea Fehring out?”

  My coffee cup was to my lips and coffee was flowing into my mouth just as his question hit my brain. I didn’t know whether to spit the coffee back into the cup, try swallowing it without choking, or just spray it all over my brother. It was a toss-up, with door number three in the lead. At the last minute I swallowed the coffee in my mouth slow and easy to avoid a coughing fit. The exercise took several starts and stops while Clark continued shoveling eggs into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a week—or just dropped a big-assed bomb in the middle of my kitchen table.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I finally squeaked out.

  He shrugged like he couldn’t see the problem. “Dev says she’s currently unattached, and I think she’s pretty interesting and attractive.”

  I put my coffee cup down on the table and stared at my brother with my right eye closed as if that might help me focus better. Obviously, one of us was seeing a box of demons and the other a fistful of daisies. “The fact that you live in Arizona and Fehring lives here aside, you don’t see even a teensy-weensy bit of a conflict?” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. When he didn’t answer, I tacked on, “You know, like the fact that she’s trying to nail my ass for murder?”

  Clark tore off a piece of buttered toast and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and washed it down with coffee. He held up his mug. “Got a refill?”

  I got up and fetched the glass carafe from the coffeemaker. Day to day Greg and I used our little Keurig coffeemaker, but since our bigger coffeepot, the one we used for large gatherings, was still out from last night, I had brewed a whole pot when Clark showed up this morning. I knew my brother was a coffee hound. Now I was considering using the heavy glass pot as a weapon to knock some sense into his thick skull. That would really give Andrea Fehring something to question me about. As if reading my thoughts, Clark held out his coffee mug to me but leaned his head and body backward as if offering a placating treat to a growling dog. I poured the coffee and put the carafe back in the kitchen to remove any temptation to violence.

  “Andrea is not trying to nail you for that murder,” Clark said after taking a swig from his full mug. “It’s pretty clear to both Dev and me that she doesn’t think you did it, though I can’t vouch for the feds. If Andrea had any proof at all about your involvement, you wouldn’t be here making me breakfast.”

  I returned to the table with my ears pricked with interest. “Did she say they are no longer considering me a suspect?”

  “Not in so many words,” Clark answered. “One thing is for sure: I don’t think she likes that Greg Shipman much.”

  “That makes two of us,” I huffed. “What did she say about him?”

  “Again, not much. It was more of what she wasn’t saying. I got the definite feeling Andrea is being shoved aside by Shipman on this investigation. Dev got the same feeling.” He polished off his eggs and wiped his mouth with a napkin he pulled from the holder we kept on the table. It was a blue and white ceramic windmill with Solvang printed along the bottom. It didn’t match anything in our kitchen, but we’d picked it up on our first day trip together after we’d gotten married—a kitschy but useful doodad representing our new domesticity.

  “Did you tell her last night that Willie had nothing to do with this?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t sure how to,” he answered, “without tipping her off that I might be connected to him, along with you and Greg.” He selected a banana from the bowl we kept on the table and started peeling it.

  While he bit off a third of the banana with one bite, I went back to staring at him in disbelief. “And you don’t think that little bit of information—you know, your connection to Willie Proctor—might be a deterrent to your dating life?”

  He shrugged. “Could be if anything came of it.” He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I was just going to ask her to dinner, Odelia, no
t ask her to move to Arizona and live with me. Besides, I work for a solid and legitimate company. I don’t work for Willie directly.”

  “Right.” Again I crossed my arms and gave him a one-eyed stare, wondering how such a smart and accomplished man could be so dense. “Do you think, Clark, that maybe you could put your libido on hold until after I’m no longer a suspect in a murder investigation?”

  “Sure, sis,” he answered with a grin. “But I really don’t think you’re a suspect. At least I don’t think you’re near the top of the list, if there is one. Besides, I didn’t plan on asking Andrea out immediately. If she’s half the cop I think she is, she’d never say yes while all this was going on.” He tossed the banana peel onto his plate and wiped his mouth again.

  “Nice to know,” I said with thick sarcasm as I picked up his plate and took it to the kitchen sink. On my way back to the table, I asked, “Is that why you came over this morning—to ask my blessing in your pursuit of Detective Fehring?”

  He grinned. “I also wanted a home-cooked breakfast.” He leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and patted his full stomach. “And there’s something else.”

  I raised my eyebrows in anticipation. “You found out more about Zach Finch?”

  He shook his head and took another swallow of coffee. “No, but I did get a lead on Elaine Powers.”

  I sat up at attention. “You’ve made contact with her?”

  “Not exactly, but I found out how to make contact—or at least how potential clients make contact.” When I waved my hand in a circle of encouragement, he continued. “Most of her jobs come from referrals.”

  I nodded. “She told me that once.”

  “And also from a guy who works at a dive bar in Redondo Beach.”

  “Redondo Beach?” I asked with surprise.

  “Yep. I’m betting this guy isn’t the only contact Powers has out there,” Clark said. “She probably has a few other slimy associates throughout Southern California that help her connect with potential clients, but I uncovered the one in Redondo.”

  My skin crawled at the thought of a killer hotline. “Did you see this guy and ask him to have her contact us?”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” Clark sat up straight. He was moving from casual into a more serious mode. I’d seen him do it many times when he was about to say something he wanted to make sure people heard and understood. “We pay him to place an ad.”

  “An ad? Where?”

  Clark shrugged. “Who knows. It’s probably some online message board. Anyway, we ask this guy to place an ad explaining what we want.”

  I felt the top of my head levitate in disbelief. “Right out in the open, people say ‘hey, I got someone I need to have whacked; call me’?” I held a hand up to my mouth and ear like I was holding an old-fashioned phone.

  “Not exactly,” Clark said, chuckling softly. “I’m sure the guy has some special code or wording to fit the types of jobs requested. If Powers is interested, she’ll make contact with us through the ad, but there’s no money-back guarantee she will.”

  “What does it cost?”

  “A couple hundred just to place the ad and hope she answers,” Clark said.

  I got up and went into the kitchen. Turning on the water in the sink, I rinsed Clark’s breakfast dishes and those I’d used to make the food and placed them in the nearly full dishwasher. I added dishwasher detergent, shut the door, and turned the knob to get the machine going. Then I stood in front of it thinking while I listened to the water flowing into the stainless-steel box.

  “Are you thinking, sis, or taking a nap?” Clark asked from his perch at the table.

  I turned around and leaned back against the counter. “Let’s place that ad,” I told him.

  “And what should we say?” He drained his coffee and got up to bring the mug to me. I motioned for him to bring mine, too. He grabbed it and placed both on the counter. I opened the dishwasher, put them both on the top rack, and shut the door with determination.

  “Just say,” I told Clark after turning back to him, “‘Mother, call Dottie. Urgent.’”

  “Dottie?” Clark asked. His left eyebrow arched with curiosity.

  “Elaine once told Greg and me that I reminded her of Dottie, her dead sister,” I explained. “She’ll know immediately it’s me.”

  eight

  After Clark left I was antsy. The house was clean and everything back in place thanks to Cruz. The debris from the party the night before was gone. Even our laundry was up-to-date. What to do? What to do? It was rare I was alone with such a large chunk of free time. Grabbing my Kindle, cell phone, and a jacket, I went out to our back patio and settled on a chaise to read. Muffin followed me out.

  The weather was damp again, reverting back to the cloudiness of a few days before. There was even a forecast of more rain over the next few days. The warmth and sunshine of Wednesday had been just an oasis in a series of storm fronts coming at Southern California. Living so close to the beach, it was particularly damp in our area. Overhead, the sky was ash gray and the clouds moved with purpose, but I still enjoyed being outside and would stay until it got too chilly to sit still. Muffin was in my lap, curled into a tight little disk. I could feel the warmth of her body and feel the vibration of her purring through my pants. It was as comforting as a hug or a basket of Jill’s scones.

  I read a few pages in my book but couldn’t concentrate. I tried switching to a different book, but that didn’t help. The idea of contacting Elaine Powers weighed on me like a lead apron used by dentists for X-rays. Clark had said that the bar opened at ten. He was going there straight from our house to talk to the bartender before the place got busy and see if he could place the ad per the instructions one of his shady contacts had given him.

  Would Elaine answer? More importantly, was she involved in this mess? My gut still said she wasn’t, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. And once the ad or message posting was done, how long would it take for her to answer? I put the Kindle down on the small redwood table next to the chaise and closed my eyes. While my right hand stroked Muffin on autopilot, I played out the events of the past few days in my head like a movie, the commentary being the information we knew so far about Zach and his disappearance all those years ago.

  Picking up my cell phone, I scanned my emails for the photo of Zach in my trunk that Greg had sent to me so I’d have it handy. I studied the photo of the naked kid, although he wasn’t really a kid anymore but an adult in his mid-twenties. I enlarged the photo. He looked healthy enough—lean but not skinny. I couldn’t see his chest, just a side angle, but his limbs, especially his thighs and upper arms, appeared well-defined and muscled like he spent a good amount of time working out. Wherever he’d been, he hadn’t been shut away in chains in a dark room and left to rot.

  “Where have you been, Zach?” I asked the photo out loud. “We need to know.” In my lap, Muffin raised her head and looked at me with sleepy eyes. After a long, wide-mouthed yawn, the cat lowered her chin back to my cushy thigh and closed her eyes again. She obviously didn’t have the answer and didn’t give a damn about being clueless. I, on the other hand, didn’t like being in the dark, especially in things that concerned me directly. I glanced at the time on the phone. It was almost eleven. Clark would be at the bar now trying to leave a message for Elaine. I stared at the phone, willing him to call me with an update. Bugging Clark with a text or a call was out of the question. He’d specifically told me before leaving this morning not to do that, that he would get in touch with me if something happened. In response, I’d stuck my tongue out at him for the second time. Even at my age, you could still do that to your brother.

  I ran a hand through my hair and scratched my scalp. It felt itchy. It was my nerves, I knew that. My nerves and feeling powerless to do anything. Before a full-blown breakdown could occur, my phone rang. It was Greg.

  “I just wanted to check up on you, sweetheart,” my husband said in a concerned voice. “How’s your day going?


  “I’m about to jump out of my skin with nothing to do,” I told him. “I just want to find out more about Zach, but there’s no trail for me to follow.”

  “Why don’t you give Zee a call and go shopping or something?”

  “She’s off doing something for her church today or else I would,” I told him. “I’m almost thinking about going into work, but I don’t have that much to do there either. And Mom won’t be back until around dinnertime.” I paused. I hadn’t gone on my usual walk this morning because of waking late and needing to clean up from the party. “I wish Wainwright was here. I’d walk the bejeebers out of him.”

  “You don’t need the dog to take a walk, Odelia, although he missed today’s walk too. He’s always a bit antsy when you two don’t take one.”

  “Maybe I will go for a walk,” I said. “It’s just more fun with Wainwright.”

  From the muffled sound on the other end, I knew Greg was softly laughing. “He feels the same, believe me. Go for a long, long walk, sweetheart. It will do you good.”

  “By the way, Clark stopped by this morning shortly after you left. He traded me information for breakfast. He got a lead on how to contact Elaine. It’s not a direct contact or guaranteed, but he thinks he found out how to at least send her a smoke signal.”

  “Good,” Greg said. “Hopefully, we can soon rule her out and move in another direction.”

  “That’s the problem, Greg,” I whined. “There is no other direction. Usually we have something more to go on: coworkers to talk to, family members, favorite hangouts. This kid comes with absolutely no threads for us to pull, unless we go to Illinois and start nosing around his old high-school classmates.”

  “Do you have the information on the Finch kidnapping that Clark and your mother found?” Greg asked after a short pause. In the background I could hear the industrious buzz of Ocean Breeze Graphics, his printing and graphic design business. Greg and his staff were always busy, even when the economy tanked, and over the years he and his partner Boomer had grown the company from one shop in Huntington Beach into three. The other two were Mountain Breeze Graphics, which Boomer ran in Colorado, and Desert Breeze Graphics, which Boomer’s brother ran in Phoenix. There had been talk of a fourth store opening, possibly in northern California or even Seattle, but it had been shelved until the economy turned around. Personally, I was hoping to see an Island Breeze Graphics open in Maui and had volunteered Greg and I to go over to set it up and get it running.

 

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