by Anna Burke
Jessica was squirming in her seat. “That sounds about right, Tommy. I didn’t know she’d had a fight with her boyfriend. Hell, I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend! She was drunk, upset, and nasty so we took her home.”
“Kelly said she was a real bitch. She used that word, not me. I told you before she was trying to work up the courage to apologize. For what it’s worth now, Jessica, whatever happened that night was really a wake-up call. She made all these New Year resolutions. The truth is, even as big a bitch as she was, Jessica, she was better than him. Way better than Bobby Simmons. He was up to no good. I don’t know what kind of no good, but something.”
“What makes you say that, Tommy?” Jessica asked.
“I’m not sure. I only hung out with him a few times, at Kelly’s apartment. He was smug, thought he was going places, a big shot because he was a croupier and all that. He had this lounge lizard look going. Bobby was sort of good looking in an open shirt, gold chain, pinky ring kind of way. He didn’t like me and I didn’t like being around him, either. I asked Kelly once what she liked about him and she drew a blank. Can you believe that? I told her she needed to raise her standards so she could fill in the blanks on a question like that. I had such a fresh mouth. I know I hurt her feelings, but it was true. That was before your New Year’s Eve bash that ended so badly. Oh, and another thing about Bobby the lizard. One time, he flashed a roll of cash. That made me really uncomfortable because dealers at the casinos around here don’t make a lot. Not if they’re legit, anyway.”
“What do you mean by legit?”
“I was only 15, so I hadn’t spent much time at the casinos then, but I considered becoming a dealer. One of many stops along the way to ‘wtf do I want to be when I grow up,’ you know? What I found out right away is, the pay sucks. So, how does a loser like Bobby get cash like that? I was worried maybe he was into drugs or something worse. I didn’t know then that dealers can get pulled into scams at the casinos. They cut deals with players to give them an edge at the table, and split the take from games they win. That’s risky, since everybody watches everybody all the time on the casino floor. He didn’t seem all that smart to me, so maybe that’s what he was doing. Sometimes dealers can get big tips doing things like making referrals to off-site games around town or arranging things for players—especially the high-rollers who come to town. Kind of like a concierge, but shadier than the sort of things that get set up at that little desk in the lobby.”
“Okay, so Bobby Simmons goes to the top of the list of people we want to talk to again. Can you find him, Jerry?”
“I’ll give it a try. If he’s not dead or in jail, it’ll surprise me.”
“I can ask around, too. If he’s still local and into the sleazy side of things around here, I have connections.” You could see the wheels in Tommy’s head turning.
“Take it easy, Tommy. I don’t want you getting in over your head,” Jessica said.
“Yeah, Tommy,” Frank chimed in, “we don’t have a clue what we’re dealing with yet, so we’re all going to work at this around the edges. Art and his team will be stomping around soon. Let’s see what kind of dirt they stir up. If you can ask around and keep it confidential, go ahead, but nobody sticks their neck out too far until we know more.”
“Well, Frank,” said Jessica, “I wasn’t trying to sound the alarm and set off the police-detective-warning system. I don’t want anybody to get hurt, but I don’t see how we can avoid asking a bunch of people a bunch of questions. Like Uncle Don said, it’s about asking the right question. Maybe digging through the trash the rats will scurry, but it’s the only way we have a prayer of getting the right answer.”
“I’m just saying...we should be a little cautious, Jessica. That’s all.”
“Ooh, a lover’s quarrel.” Tommy was gloating at Jessica’s growing agitation. This little bit of comic relief was helping him cope better than Jessica had ever dreamed he would.
“We’re not lovers. I’m barely divorced. Actually, it’ll be another month before the state of California even makes that official. This is just a difference of opinion, a disagreement, for God’s sake.”
“Let’s not argue in front of the kids, Jessica. That’s one of the first things I learned when my marriage hit the rocks.” She tried to glare at him, but his ear-to-ear grin melted her resolve. She couldn’t help smiling back at him as she tried to get back to the matter at hand.
“Okay, Tommy, the last time you had any contact with Kelly was Monday night after she had a fight with the boyfriend. Any idea what time that was, and was she calling you on her cell phone?”
“I have a very good idea what time it was, because she was complaining that fighting with Bobby might make her too late for a chance to fill in for no shows on the dinner shift. That would have been sixish. She got off work at the spa at five, ran home to change and was on her way back. So maybe 6:30 at the latest. I presume she called me on her cell, since she was hoofing it back to work when she called. Can’t you tell by looking at the info on her cell phone? It should still be on the SIM card, even if the phone is dead, right Jerry?”
Jerry nodded in agreement. “The police would have checked that, and it should be in the case file, Tommy. That is, unless they didn’t find the phone.”
“You’ve got it, Jerry. No phone and no one who spoke to her after you did, Tommy, except for her supervisor in the spa. Kelly called in sick Tuesday morning, so, officially, that was the last time anyone heard from her. We don’t know what phone she used to make that call. The phone is missing, and so is the vest that a neighbor and the sleaze-ball boyfriend said she had on when she went off to work Monday night. There’s no record that she actually worked anywhere in the hotel, bars, restaurants or casino and no one remembers seeing or hearing from her that night at all. The phone call you got from Kelly jibes with what Bobby Simmons told the police about their fight and the time she left her apartment for work Monday.”
“Tommy, there’s something else we have to ask you. It’s about drugs.”
“What do you want to know? If I don’t already know, I can sure find out.” Tommy was in full-blown smart ass mode. No wonder, since he was nearly through that second glass of Macallan.
“What he wants to know, Tommy is how involved was Kelly with drugs?”
“Do you mean, like meth or cocaine or heroin? Hard drugs like that?”
“That’s exactly what we mean.”
“Uncle Don asked me if I ever saw Kelly using drugs back then, too, and I told him no. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The police were trying to be discreet, since it didn’t seem to have any bearing on how she died, but Kelly had been using heroin, Tommy. There were needle marks on her arms, and police found a loaded hypodermic close to her body, with her fingerprints all over it. The coroner said she had heroin and a bunch of other drugs in her system when she was killed that night.” Tommy sat bolt upright, all vestiges of the smart ass replaced by utter disbelief.
“No, that’s not right! That can’t be true, Jessica. You know what a freak she was about needles. When she caught me with a couple pills and a little baggie of pot once, she went ballistic. She threatened to turn me in to Uncle Don! We had a mega fight about it and I accused her of being a hypocrite, since I knew she smoked dope. She hit me. That’s the only time I can ever remember her hurting me like that.” Emotion overtook Tommy, and his eyes filled with tears. “She said she was sorry and begged me to forgive her. I did, of course, but she made me promise to stay away from that stuff. I kept my promise, too. For a while, even after she died.” Tommy had started to sob quietly. Jerry moved closer to comfort his anguished boyfriend.
Jessica felt like shit. This is how she imagined the whole scene would play out. Frank had a crestfallen look on his face. The same one she wore, no doubt. Tommy, his face flushed and streaked with tears, sat up straight and gazed defiantly at Frank and Jessica.
“You’ve got to find out who killed her. You hav
e to. I don’t believe Kelly was using drugs on her own account. You saw her on New Year’s Eve, Jessica. She wasn’t shooting up, right? It’s that creep Bobby Simmons. He must have gone after her that night and forced her to go off with him. It’s not like her to just disappear like that. She suddenly goes from working double shifts to ditching work, does that make sense? It’s not like she was totally nuts, not like she was a mental case or something.” Frank and Jessica looked at each other.
“What? Why are you to looking at each other like that?” He was dabbing at his eyes with a napkin from the bar. His eyes were red, his pale skin splotchy.
“There was something else we were wondering about, Tommy. Did Kelly say anything to you about seeing a psychiatrist, or taking prescribed medication for bipolar disorder? Apparently traces of those were found in her system too.” Tommy seemed like he was about to say no when he suddenly remembered something.
“Well this was way before she was killed, so I don’t know why it matters. She did see a doctor. He was a big guy with a huge forehead, bad skin, these nasty teeth and a scar of some kind. The way she described him, he looked like Boris Karloff. I asked her why in the world she was interested in seeing a doctor like that.” Tommy had all of them on the edge of their seats.
“And what did she tell you?” Tommy bit his bottom lip, struggling to recall what Kelly had said.
“It was kind of weird, but it didn’t seem all that important at the time. Kelly said she was talking to some old rich guy, one of her regulars at the spa. This guy tipped her very well whenever she worked at the spa or one of those extra shifts at a bar or restaurant. I guess he was some kind of promoter or producer from LA, too. Anyway, he gave her his version of that “you’re a beautiful girl...you ought to be in pictures, yada, yada, yada” line. She said something like she had way too many problems to handle all the crap in Hollywood. He said he had plenty of problems of his own, and what she needed was a good head doctor. Kelly got this business card from him with a number on the back for some shrink.”
“So, what happened?” Frank asked.
“Well, at one point she had been having a bad day. I don’t remember if she said why. Maybe she was having one of those fights with Bobby. She decides to call and set up an appointment. When she went to that appointment, they talked for a few minutes. It turns out his solution to all her problems was pills. He handed her free samples of Xanax and offered to write her a prescription right there on the spot. If that didn’t make her feel better, he said, they could try some other things until they found what she needed to enjoy her life more. I suppose he could be the one who gave her the bipolar meds. I got the impression he would have written a prescription for whatever she wanted. Kelly never said anything to me about being bipolar.”
“Tommy, can you remember the name of the doctor? Do you know when she saw him or where—a local clinic maybe?” Frank asked.
“She said all the old guy wrote on the card was a telephone number, and the appointment was at the hotel of all places. He met her there for lunch. Sounds real professional, huh? Kelly never mentioned a name, just called him the doc.” Frank and Jessica both gasped and sat up straight.
“The doc, are you sure Tommy?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. What’s the big deal?”
“Tommy, that’s what Chester Davis claimed the two guys chasing Kelly called the injured man they hauled to the Mercedes after Kelly was run down. Tommy, this is very important. Did Kelly tell you the name of the man who gave her that card?”
“What do you mean? Who chased Kelly? What injured man, what card? What is going on?” They all looked at the archway that led into the great room. Laura Stone stood with her hands on her hips and a stressed-out look on her face. She was flanked on either side by Brien Williams and Peter March, the trio awash in Hawaiian fabric. The rest of the cat pack had arrived.
CHAPTER 20
Jessica got up to greet the three friends, Laura’s question hanging out there waiting to be answered. Bernadette came bustling up behind them. She wore a long red-ruffled mu’umu’u, with a flower tucked behind her left ear. “The caterers are still setting things up. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. It looks delicious. For goodness sakes, Jessica, invite your friends to sit down and offer them something to drink.”
Bernadette was carrying a couple bowls of nuts. As she stepped around him, Brien reached out and grabbed a handful from one of the bowls.
“Who’s Kelly?” he asked, tossing a nut up into the air and catching it in his mouth.
“Glad we weren’t counting on keeping this too hush-hush,” Jessica said to the guys seated at the bar. She walked over, hugged Laura and then led her to one of the oversized sofas dwarfed by the huge room. The great room lived up to its name. Sprawling and voluminous, it could better be described in cubic feet than square feet. The vaulted ceilings and massive wall of cathedral-like, two-story windows paid homage to the glory of the desert resort landscape. Pocket doors could be opened up, making the outdoor space available, too, for large gatherings.
Bernadette placed one bowl of nuts on the dark wood coffee table in front of Laura. In a flash Brien was sitting beside Laura, reaching for another handful. Peter appeared to be a bit uncomfortable in the enormous, flashy aloha shirt he wore. Open, it revealed his usual tight dark t-shirt beneath, straining to cover his enormous pecs. He settled into a loveseat adjacent to Laura and Brien, taking up most of it by himself. His thighs bulged in the shorts he wore as he sat down. Perched near one another, Peter and Brien could have been before and after pictures for some protein powder commercial. Even though the well-muscled surfer was probably more used to being the “after” photo in rooms full of men, next to Peter he was the “before” shot.
“Tommy, are you up for sharing the news about Kelly with our friends, here? If you’d rather, we can put this off until after dinner or another time altogether.”
“As long as I don’t have to do much talking, Jessica, hearing it all again might make it seem more real. Right now it’s like I’ve slipped through a crack into some kind of parallel universe,” Tommy said.
Jessica took the other bowl of nuts from Bernadette, placing it next to the guys at the bar, then stepped back behind the bar to fix drinks for the newcomers.
“Whoa, you mean like one of those places where everything’s totally flat? Like a day at the beach when it’s all glass, no surf at all? Or someplace where everybody has special powers like Extra Sensitory Precipitation?” Everyone in the room was staring at Brien trying to figure out what on earth he was saying. “You know, ESP. Like how Bernadette just knows things?” He was nodding his head up and down solemnly, looking more like a bobble-head doll than a man in the know.
Jessica and Bernadette made eye contact. It didn’t take ESP to read her mind as Brien snapped another nut out of thin air. Clearly not all the nuts were in the bowl.
“The man knows his parallel universes,” Jessica said, speaking to no one in particular. She felt the urge to correct him about the whole ESP thing, but he was wearing that eager-to-please-golden-retriever look, made more doglike by the shock of bleach blond hair hanging in his eyes. She just couldn’t do it. Correction might trigger that “sorry I peed on the floor” look instead, and none of them needed to see that right now.
“Okay, so do you all want beer, wine or something stronger?”
Jessica poured cold beer for Brien and Peter, a glass of wine for Laura and another shot of the Macallan for herself. The men at the bar polished off the rest of the single malt between them, fortifying themselves against the retelling of the gruesome tale.
“Bernadette, you want something?”
“No thanks, Jessica. I’m going to check on the dinner. When you get to that part about Mr. P or Mr. B, call me if I’m not back. I just know I heard something like that before.”
“Sure,” Jessica said, as she sat back down in the swivel lounger that was still out in the middle of the floor. Once Bernadette left the room, Brien piped up a
gain.
“Whoa, did you hear that? What’d I tell you? That woman knows things.” He was doing the nodding again. Just like one of those little surfer dolls you see on a dashboard, with one arm around a surfboard.
“Frank, can you start once again from the beginning? I’ll jump in when it comes to my conversation with Chester Davis. Tommy, Jerry, you’ve already heard a version of this, but if you have questions or comments on the second go round, you jump in too, okay?” Jessica tried to listen as Frank told the story again.
Something was familiar about the man with a name that was just an initial. Elements of the story weren’t all that original. Especially the part about the whale. If he was indeed the same man who turned up in the Mercedes sedan later: aging producer on the make woos a beautiful, starry-eyed wannabe with hundred dollar bills, offers to help her career, and hooks her up with his own personal “doctor-feel-good”. That the doc happened to look like Boris Karloff was an odd twist to that old tale. It was a b-movie script for sure. One that resonated with a number of real-life Hollywood tales of woe, however. Like Lindsay Lohan meeting up with Michael Jackson’s doctor at Phil Spector’s house.
It only took Frank about ten minutes to get to the point where he had provided enough background about Kelly Fontana, and the new cast of characters, to suggest something other than a hit-and-run accident happened that night. It was Jessica’s turn to provide details about the horrible climax to that b-movie running in her head. The whole thing was narrated by the drug addicted, three time loser, Chet Davis. Bernadette had returned to the room and listened, deep in thought.