Total Sarcasm (Mary Cooper Mysteries #1, #2, #3)

by Amore, Dani

  He got to his feet and Mary did the same.

  She stuck out her hand.

  “Thank you for the information and I’m sorry again for what happened.”

  He smiled. “Valerie always said that’s why she liked numbers so much. They were always the same, you could always count on them to do what they were designed to do. Unlike people.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Mary sat back down at her desk. She drank the rest of her coffee, which was now ice cold. She tossed the paper cup into her trash can, thinking about what Barnes had said.

  Numbers. People.

  Numbers vs. People.

  She thought about what would happen to Valerie Barnes’ huge house. The brother was probably going to put it up for sale. Mary felt a twinge of sadness. Valerie Barnes had been so young, she must have worked very hard to afford that house.

  Suddenly, Mary sat straighter in her chair.

  Numbers. Vs. People.

  Mary dialed Dr. Blevins, but got the answering service. She left a message for the psychologist to call her back as soon as possible. Mary wanted to know if Craig Locher had ever been involved with group therapy, and if so, if it had been prescribed by Dr. Blevins, or, later by Fallon.

  Unpredictable people. Dr. Frank Fallon would have loved the beautiful Valerie Barnes.

  Had she assumed he would act like a number?

  Mary retrieved Craig Locher’s file that had been dropped off by his fiancé.

  She had little hope that the information would be included but she decided to dive in, even though she had looked through the material once already.

  It took her more than an hour to look over every intake sheet, treatment order, and prescription order to determine that there was nothing included about a support group.

  Mary was tempted to drop it. What were the odds that the support group would turn out to have anything to do with Valerie Barnes’ death?

  Slim to none.

  Still, Mary was driving toward something only she could sense. But she hated the idea of taking her foot off the gas.

  Thirty-Eight

  In the morning, Dr. Blevins called back.

  “I can tell you that Mr. Locher was referred to a group therapist. I know this because that office contacted me about his records, wanted them forwarded.”

  Mary couldn’t believe it.

  “What can you tell me about the people requesting the records, the details of the support group?”

  Mary heard the rustling of papers.

  “The program was run by a medical services company named Altadena Alternative Therapies.”

  It clicked for Mary. Altadena was directly north of Pasadena. Literally in the shadows of Synergy Labs. Could they be one and the same?

  “Have you ever heard of them?” Mary asked.

  “No, I haven’t,” Dr. Blevins said.

  “Do you have an address in the paperwork?” Mary asked.

  “Sure do.”

  The doctor read the address off.

  Mary jotted it down.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They disconnected and Mary immediately began researching the web for any information on Altadena Alternative Therapies.

  It didn’t take long to find out the company did exist, but that they had no formal website, no newspaper stories, nothing official.

  Just a scattered presence on the Web in Internet chatter and the like.

  She plugged the address into Google’s street view function and saw that it was a private residence.

  But not just any private residence.

  It was a mansion.

  Mary grabbed her keys, hopped into the Accord, and headed for Altadena.

  Traffic was a nightmare and she drove side streets, avoiding the freeways and ignoring speed limits.

  As she drove, she thought about the case. Craig Locher seemed to have no enemies. Derek Pitts certainly did. But what about Ann Budchuk?

  Murder, in Mary’s opinion, always involved one of several things. Greed. Passion. Money.

  The majority of times, it was money.

  And only one of the victims, from what Mary could see, had money.

  But what sent tingles of electricity down Mary’s spine wasn’t that Valerie Barnes had money. Half of Los Angeles was rich.

  No, it’s that Valerie Barnes worked with money. She was a young partner in an accounting firm.

  So she handled other people’s money.

  It was nothing more than a guess, but Mary felt her instincts kick in.

  And when she pulled up in front of the address for Altadena Alternative Therapies, her instincts went berserk.

  Living in L.A., Mary was used to big homes. Beverly Hills, Malibu, etc., all featured some beauties and some monstrosities.

  She’d seen them all.

  But the mansion in Altadena was something she hadn’t quite seen before.

  She pulled the Accord into the circular drive and surveyed the acreage.

  The property itself seemed to be on its own – no sign of any neighbors. Mary had no idea how many acres the site was comprised of, but it would probably be the equivalent of a cattle ranch.

  Mary parked and went to the front door, noting the security camera discreetly mounted flush with the coved overhang above the front door.

  Mary pushed the button on the intercom.

  It took several minutes before the door opened and a man in a gray suit looked at her.

  “Hi, I’m looking for the support group Altadena Alternative Therapies,” Mary said. “I’m a nymphomaniac and I really am feeling the urge to act out. Is this the right location?”

  The man appraised her before answering.

  “Your name is Mary Cooper and you’re a private investigator,” he said.

  Mary hid her surprise and noted that he hadn’t moved, and that he had positioned himself with his hands free and she could almost see the butt of his pistol in a shoulder holster inside his suit coat.

  “Well, aren’t you a smarty pants?” she said. “So you know I’m looking into the death of a man who took part in AAT’s support groups. I’d like to get some information, please.”

  “May I see your license?” he said.

  Mary knew this guy was a professional. She handed him her private investigator’s license and he looked it over, then handed it back to her.

  “Mr. Torrance will see you in the study,” he said.

  Thirty-Nine

  Mary followed the big security man through a house that was ridiculous to even be considered a house. It was an auditorium. It was a convention center, disguised as someone’s home. The hallways were three times larger than a courthouse, the ceilings five times higher than a gymnasium.

  The whole thing looked like the last place you would find a psychiatric support group. What, did they pull up French Renaissance chairs into a circle for group discussions?

  She was led to a library that matched the proportions of the rest of the place. Two-story bookshelves, a desk the size of South Dakota, and a fireplace big enough to house a family of four.

  A man with wavy gray hair and yoga pants with a white cotton peasant shirt, barefoot, turned and greeted her.

  “Ah, the private eye!” he said, his voice rich and hearty, but high-pitched.

  “Yes, and you are?” Mary said.

  “Ha! My name is Peter Torrance, but everyone calls me Tor. What’s your name?”

  Mary felt like she was in kindergarten. “Mary Cooper.”

  He came toward her and she couldn’t help but stare at his outfit. He was barefoot. The yoga pants were way too tight and his bulging crotch was hard to miss. The cotton peasant shirt could only be described as “flowing” as it seemed to go on and on. Mary also thought it looked dirty, like he’d rolled around on the floor in it. Maybe yoga? Yoga, in a heavy, long-sleeved shirt?

  “How can I help you, Mary Cooper?” he asked.

  “Tell me about Altadena Alternative Therapies,” she said.

  “Why, of course
! It’s a little alternative healing practice we set up in the Garden Room. Very interesting. We disbanded that some time ago, but it was a fascinating experiment. I think the results were inconclusive.”

  “What were you studying?”

  “That’s confidential, I’m afraid, Ms. Cooper. But the short answer is the human mind, of course. The human mind is what we study, day in and day out.” He swept his arm toward the two stories of bookshelves. “This is all about the human mind.”

  “Got it. The human mind,” Mary said. “My mind is wondering what the hell a support group was doing in this house that’s worth what, a few hundred million?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Unusual, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Who’s to say what’s usual? I’ve never followed the sheep, Mary, which is how I was lucky enough to amass enough capital that I need not worry about what others are doing.”

  “What was your field?”

  “Pharmaceuticals.”

  “Synergy Labs? Is that your company?”

  “Yes, how did you know that?”

  “The human mind, Tor,” Mary said.

  “Yes, that’s one of my companies. I have many.”

  “Do you work with Dr. Frank Fallon?”

  “Yes, I do, he is a consultant to the company.”

  “And do you know a man named Craig Locher? A woman named Valerie Barnes? And a woman named Ann Budchuk?” Mary asked. “Any of those names ring a bell?”

  Torrance bent over in a yoga pose, breathed out, then straightened up and looked at Mary.

  “No, I can’t say that I do,” he said. “But I wasn’t intimately involved in the groups.”

  “Dr. Frank was, right?” Mary asked.

  “I believe he was.”

  “Did you take part in the group sessions?”

  “Me? Ha! Of course not.”

  “Then who would know more about the groups?”

  “I have no idea. I allowed the groups here, I had no hand in running them.”

  Mary didn’t believe him for a second.

  “I’m afraid I have to go now, Miss Cooper,” he said. “I’ve got a session of Tai Chi scheduled for the Daffodil Room. Would you like to join us?”

  Mary sensed the presence of not one, but two security guards now behind her.

  “No, I don’t believe in any of that crap.”

  “Well, I hope I’ve answered all your questions as we won’t be doing this again, even though it was a pleasure,” Torrance said.

  “The pleasure was all mine,” Mary said.

  She allowed herself to be shown out.

  Forty

  Later, she would chastise herself for not listening to her intuition.

  Because the thought crossed her mind as she was being led to the front door of the huge mansion.

  A person could disappear here.

  She thought that.

  And then something nudged her in a small part of her warning system.

  Fabric faintly rustled behind her and then pain exploded from the base of her neck, a hot numbness flashed across her brain and everything went black.

  Forty-One

  So this is what it’s like.

  There was something to be said for recognizing life’s milestones, even when the situation is less than ideal. For instance, being confined in an insane asylum.

  Mary was pretty sure that’s where she was.

  Her arms couldn’t move because she was in a straitjacket. Her bed was white sheets. Her walls were white, and padded up to about six feet. And the door, also painted white, had bars instead of glass.

  Outside, she could hear moans and an occasional shout.

  This is it, she thought. I’m in the loony bin.

  Mary struggled against her restraints and heard the bolt to the door being thrown, and then it swung outward, allowing three men to enter the room. One of them was a security guard type in a blue wannabe-cop-looking outfit, wearing a gun and a Taser. The second was Torrance. The third was Dr. Frank Fallon.

  “This really is where you belong,” Fallon said.

  “She was so obnoxious,” Torrance said.

  “That’s her style,” Fallon answered. “If she were better looking men would put up with her mouth. But alas, she’s only average looking.”

  “Stop with the compliments, Dr. Frank. Maybe I should sue you like most of your female patients who turn you down.”

  “They are the exceptions,” he said.

  “You’re a joke, Frank. About as attractive as your buddy’s goofy outfit.”

  Was she still on drugs? She felt a little funny.

  “So Valerie Barnes was your real victim, wasn’t she? You had her cooking your books for you?”

  Fallon made the motion of applauding her.

  “How did you figure it out, though?” Torrance asked her.

  “Your joke with the baby stuff, the infantilism was too over the top. You were trying to hide something with the display. I had a hunch it was all about the Barnes woman.”

  “It was fun,” Fallon said. “We used the support group to try out experimental drugs. It fucked a lot of people up, but then we realized that we could sell the shit illegally. One of the drugs Synergy Labs made was practically like crack. Once we started making money, we needed a way to launder it. And beautiful Valerie Barnes in our support group was the key.”

  “But then what happened? She got better and realized what was going on? Blew the whistle?”

  “Oh, she tried. But we rammed the whistle down her throat before she could get a sound out.”

  Both men laughed.

  Fallon checked his watch again then turned to Torrance. “Well, should we keep her doped up for the next thirty years or will there be a deadly mix-up in her medication?”

  “You know, it’s hard to keep all of this stuff straight,” Torrance said. “So much confusion with dosages and drug interactions. I think if she dies from a nurse administering the wrong amount of drugs, while tragic, wouldn’t be surprising.”

  “Should we bang her first?” Fallon said.

  “No, I played tennis this morning and pulled a hamstring. But feel free.”

  Fallon checked his watch.

  “I can slide my morning appointment into the afternoon, which will give me time to slide the sausage into Miss Cooper here.”

  The two men laughed.

  Fallon began unbuckling his pants and turned to the security guard.

  “You can leave now,” he said.

  The security guard nodded, pulled out his Taser, and zapped Torrance who fell to the ground. Fallon tried to pull his pants back up but the security guard pressed the Taser into his neck and Fallon fell on top of Torrance.

  The security guard looked at Mary, then took off his cap and his moustache.

  “I’m sorry, you were finally going to get laid!” Jake said.

  Forty-Two

  “Well, I figured you’d wind up here eventually,” Jake said, as a team of cops snapped handcuffs onto Torrance and Fallon and led them away.

  “Don’t we have to leave her here?” Alice said, as she, Uncle Kurt, and Jason got out of Alice’s car which was parked behind Jake’s unmarked. “After all, she was committed.”

  “Very funny,” Mary said. “How…?”

  Jake said, “Derek Pitts. He was their dealer for the synthetic crack Synergy Labs was making. We tracked down his crew and they led us to his girlfriend who gave it all up. She was out of her mind from withdrawal.”

  “But you were undercover?”

  “I knew you were here, but not where, and I didn’t have time for a SWAT team. So I improvised.”

  Mary took Jake’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.

  She felt a surge of warmth toward him.

  “Were you really upset that I wasn’t going to get laid?” Mary said.

  Jake nodded. “It was in my plans, they just didn’t include those two clowns.”

  Mary slipped her arm around Jake’s
waist.

  “Well, why don’t we go back to my place and see if your plan was a good one.”

  THE END

  Also by Dani Amore

  Killer’s Draw

  The Circuit Rider

  The Recruiter

  Killing the Rat

  Beer Money

  Dead Wood

  To Find a Mountain

  About the Author

  Dani Amore is a crime novelist living in Los Angeles, California. You can learn more about her at daniamore.com

  Join her on Facebook for exclusive content and special offers: http://www.facebook/DaniAmoreEbooks