“That runs out eventually,” I said.
“Yes but if you have girls, you can bring them into the family business,” Jack said. “Bambi is a grandmother and so are her sisters.”
I honestly did not know what to say.
“Zane was raised in an environment that was built on cheating the system,” Jack said. “I’m willing to bet that after I threw him out of my house he went looking for a way to hurt our family and he went after you, Teresa. I wish that I could go back and change things. I never meant to bring you harm.”
Jack’s opinion of Zane was the exact opposite of what Jim had said about the kid. I wondered which version was closest to the truth.
I thought about all the things that had been done to keep me from harm over the course of my life. My Clark family, my father and his family, Jorjana and her great wealth of friends and fortune, Richard and his ‘guys’.
And yet in spite of everyone looking out for me, there I was- broke and heading to the memorial for the guy who stole my money.
And That Woman thought she had a headache.
The Oaks Mortuary and Cemetery sat back from the road behind a forest of trees. The building was brick. A driveway curved around by the front door and was covered by a canopy. Roses lined the drive. Plenty of parking for mourners. I wondered if there was some kind of industry standard in designing these places. I’ve yet to see a funeral home painted bright yellow with sunflowers in the flowerbeds. Even Las Vegas opts for subdued décor when burying their dead. But that’s another story.
The driver helped Jack out of the SUV and double-checked the oxygen tank while Richard held the door open to the lobby. I followed my father inside.
A pale, thin man dressed in a black suit with a black tie greeted us. There was no mistaking him for a circus clown.
“Who are you here to visit?” Soft voice of course.
“Zane Daniels,” Jack said.
“This way please.”
We walked through a wide hallway and passed rooms with discreet signs directing the mourners to their deceased. The room featuring James Delaney was the most spiritual with gold carpeting and stained glass windows. Susan Thompson rested in a bright white room that looked like a beach house- I swore I heard a rendition of “California Girls” playing. Zandra Smythe’s room was starkly modern and she lay in a casket made of stainless steel.
Soft classical music played in the hallway and each room got smaller and less ornate until we reached the end of the line. Bradley may have paid for the service but he didn’t cough up the dough for the chapel room. Zane Daniels room featured cheap vinyl floors and too-bright lighting- it could have passed as a high school multi-purpose room. Keith and Bradley turned to greet us as we entered the room.
Zane lay in a simple wood casket. He wore a long sleeved white shirt and a plaid tie. His eyes were closed. His hands were folded on his chest and intertwined in his fingers was a purple bandana. He looked about sixteen years old. Jack, Keith, Bradley, Richard and I and gazed at him. None of us said a word. The kid was definitely dead. My only feeling was one of regret- I wished he had lived long enough for me to beat the whereabouts of my money out of him.
I am not completely heartless- I realized that was selfish.
We stood silently for several minutes until a voice from the hall broke the silence.
“Nice of ya to show up, Bradley. Didn’t they have a cheaper room?”
I turned around and faced a crowd. Given Jack’s earlier description, I was certain they were the Daniels clan.
There were a lot of them. They ranged in age from silver haired seniors to babies in diapers. They sported attire that was big on sequins and leather. The women were proud of their breasts as evidenced by how well they displayed their cleavage. The men were proud of their tattoos as evidenced by how far up they rolled their T-shirts. The bandana in Zane’s hands was the one accessory everyone in the crowd wore. Every one of them had a purple bandana tied around their wrists like some kind of tribal unification symbol.
“Don’t answer that Bradley,” Jack said. “We’re going to ignore them. Follow me.”
Jack walked to a bank of windows overlooking the cemetery. Bradley, Keith, Richard and I followed him. The Daniels swooped in and surrounded the casket. They weren’t any better looking from behind.
“Classy event, don’t you think?” Keith turned toward the windows to hide a smirk.
Bradley stared hard at the Daniels as they milled about. I got the impression that he was looking for someone. He tugged on Keith’s arm.
“Keith, look at that woman. Isn’t that Brandi?”
“Who’s Brandi?” I whispered to Jack.
“Brandi is Bambi’s twin sister,” Jack whispered back.
I followed Bradley’s gaze. A woman walked away from the casket, wiping her tears on her purple banana. She was tiny; she probably bought her jeans in the tween department at Wal-Mart. She had dull brown hair than needed the attention of a good stylist.
“Yeah, that’s got to be Brandi,” Keith said. “Jesus, she looks just like her sister. I guess identical twins age identically as well.”
I felt the blood drain from my head. I’d last seen a woman who looked just like Brandi in the aisle at Ralph’s grocery. She’d stuck a needle into my backside.
Zane Daniels mother was the one who drugged me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Richard, I have to leave. Now.”
I grabbed his arm, partly to get his attention, partly to remain standing. My head spun and it wasn’t from the drinks at the country club.
Richard took one look at me and all but carried me out of the room.
The funeral director guarded the hallway; likely ensuring the light sconces remained on the walls.
“Mrs. Fox is not feeling well,” Richard said. “Please let Bradley know that we have to leave.”
Richard and I were out of the funeral home and in the SUV faster than you could say ‘seen a ghost’.
“What happened, Alana?” Richard asked once we were safely in the SUV. “You were as white as a sheet.”
“Zane’s mother is a twin,” I said. “The twin sister was at the service. She looks exactly like the woman who drugged me.”
Richard, as smart as he is, still took a minute to process this.
“Zane’s mother was the woman in Ralph’s?”
“I’m sure she was the one who drugged me.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t elaborate and he didn’t ask for more details. He directed the driver to go the airport and then sent a text on his phone. I leaned back in my seat, grateful to let Richard take charge. My head was starting to ache- whether from too much alcohol on an empty stomach or the roller coaster of emotions I’d ridden that morning- it didn’t matter. I was in no shape to manage any plans myself.
I watched Richard as I rested my head on the headrest. He made a call to the pilot of the plane and made arrangements to leave within the hour. He then talked to Jim and relayed the news about Zane’s mother and her twin sister. He called Jorjana and let her know we were on our way home. I watched all of this and it occurred to me that he was doing a lot more than attorney work.
If asked to define our relationship before that trip to Sacramento, I would have said that Richard was my lawyer but I would have tacked ‘friend’ on as a clarifier. I always call him when I am in a jam but I feel comfortable enough around him to leave my shoes and other things at his house after a party. But it was clear that he was more than an attorney. Was he now also more than a friend?
Richard and I first met before my ex-husband and I were successful. He defended us in a complicated lawsuit trumped up by a disgruntled tenant. The details are not important. The important thing is that we could have gone to jail if the charges held. Richard not only proved our innocence, he revealed the underhanded tactics the accuser used to make a case against us. We emerged vindicated.
Over the years, we saw
Richard often since we ran in the same social circles. When my marriage imploded, Richard personally delivered me to a divorce lawyer who was as nasty as they come. Let’s just say that benefitted me. Which was a good thing since I have a knack for landing in trouble and Richard’s fees are not cheap. The cynic in me wondered if he was working so hard to retrieve my money just so he could get paid for his efforts. Something told me that was not the case and it had nothing to do with Tiny Lin’s comment on the type of woman that Richard fell for.
Which reminded me where I left my suitcase.
“Richard, we have to go get my stuff at Tina Lin’s house,” I said.
“Not to worry,” Richard said. “I’ve already taken care of that.
Of course he had.
On the flight home Jim took down my description of the woman with Zane and typed furiously to whomever it was that he typed so furiously to all the time. I sort of felt bad for his keyboard. He hit the keys hard enough to put holes in them.
“Should we tell the cops about this?” I asked Richard.
“I’ll take care of it,” Richard said. “You’ll need to make another statement. I’ll let you know.”
I was grateful for that and I told him as much.
“You’re welcome, Alana,” Richard said. “Keep in mind that you are still in danger. This woman is still missing. We don’t know what involvement she had in her son’s murder but I’m willing to bet that she knows who did it. Assuming she is still alive.”
That sent chills down my spine. I tried telling myself that I was not in danger. I was not entirely successful.
The attendant offered beverages. I surprised myself by asking for tea. The headache was now pounding at my temples. I closed my eyes to keep the pain at bay. I didn’t open them again until touchdown.
A York Estate chauffeur met me as I descended the stairs onto the tarmac.
“Mrs. York is anxious to see you, Mrs. Fox,” the chauffeur said.
Jim scurried by with out a word.
“I leave you in good hands, then.” Richard said as he came up behind me. “Get some rest, Alana. I’ll call you later. Sooner if Jim comes up with anything.”
And he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. Not a social kiss either. A solid kiss that lingered longer than his usual buss.
I felt a tug at my heart as he walked away from me. I felt as if I should go with him. This took me aback.
“Come, Mrs. Fox,” the chauffeur said. “Mrs. York is waiting in the car for you.”
Of course she was.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jorjana sat in the back of the York SUV dressed casually in jeans and a cashmere sweater. Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap. She smiled as I took the seat next to her but the smile was hesitant. She was worried.
“I fear for your safety,” she said.
“I’ll be fine,” I lied.
“You will continue your stay with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“No, Jorjana. I want to go home.”
I meant it. The York Estate had every comfort imaginable and a staff of people to take care of me. Not to mention a full security detail to keep me safe. But I needed to be alone. Completely alone- to think without interruption. I would just lock all my doors and keep the lights on to dissuade intruders.
“I anticipated your refusal,” Jorjana said. “I requested of Rusty to assign two men to watch your home. I will not listen to arguments on this matter. The men will not leave their posts until I am convinced that you are out of danger.”
“Thank you, Jorjana.”
I knew better than to argue and having the York security guys keeping an eye out for wayward needles and embezzlers was comforting. I spent the time on the drive back to Malibu bringing Jorjana up to speed on my adventures in Sacramento.
“Goodness, you experienced much in a short time,” Jorjana said. “Please do rest at home. Allow Mr. Schilling and his staff to resolve the issue of recovering your money. The authorities will find whoever is responsible for the Daniels boy murder. I am certain of this. But his poor mother, I pray that she is safe.”
“I hope she turns up soon. She probably knows who killed Zane and maybe even how to get my money back,” I said.
Jorjana looked at me in that way she has- as if she can peek behind the facade that you present to the public and see exactly what you are thinking.
“Alana, I respect your desire to take care of yourself. Your independence is one of the traits I admire most. However, I am concerned that you are allowing your pride to harm your well-being. Will you please allow Franklin and me to assist you financially until this is resolved?”
My pride does have a habit of making my life difficult. Mostly it harms relationships like the one with my mother. And my father. And the Clarks. But it was my life to make as difficult as I pleased. I had four days until I had to pay the small staff that I employed. Surely Jim Schilling would retrieve my money by then.
“Thanks for the offer, Jorjana,” I said. “But I’ll be fine.”
I was lying. We both knew it. We both let the matter drop.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“This new system is a huge improvement over what you used to have, Mrs. Fox.”
The two York security guys showing me how my fancy security system worked were enamored with the high-tech gadgets. New cameras, new digital panels, new remote controls. My beach house was as locked down as Tina Lin’s place. Or Jorjana’s. About the only place not under surveillance was my shower. I could, however, set off an alarm from there if I was so inclined.
“I’m sure I’ll appreciate this,” I said to them. “Maybe we can go over it in the morning? I’m really beat right now.”
“No worries, Mrs. Fox. We’ll patrol outside all night. You get some rest.”
They gathered up the remotes and left, earpieces in place, guns at their sides. God forbid an errant seagull landed on my back deck. The bird would be toast.
I lugged my suitcase upstairs to my bedroom. My home is modest by Malibu standards. Two bedrooms, two and a half baths. A nicer than average courtyard in the fJimt. The beach is just off the deck in the back. My ex-husband bought it for me as a consolation prize when we divorced. I’ve never loved the place. But it could bring in twenty-five grand a month if I leased it out. Which was looking more and more likely.
Richard’s warning that moving in with Jorjana might ruin my reputation did weigh on me. I figured I could by pass the local gossip if I found a celebrity tenant that needed complete privacy and wouldn’t blab about where they were holed up. It was possible no one would ever know that I wasn’t living at home. It wasn’t like I ever entertained there since I had the York Estate and its fully functioning staff at my disposal.
I put the thought of leasing aside and took a shower long enough to feel guilty about wasting the water. I dug up my fluffy robe, brushed my teeth, wiggled into slippers and walked downstairs to the kitchen. It was getting dark. I squinted to make sure I flipped on light switches and not accidentally trigger an alarm. I made it to the fridge without alerting any authorities.
My fridge normally holds just necessities- Chardonnay, lemons, diet ginger ale and pate. The freezer keeps the rest of my staples- gin, Limón cello and ice cream. I opened the fridge door to discover that Jorjana had sent over more than security guards. A whole roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, broccoli, a dozen eggs, bacon, orange juice, muffins, butter and jam filled the shelves. I rifled through the food to locate my Chardonnay. I pulled a bottle out and grabbed a glass and corkscrew.
I settled on my comfy couch, placed the bottle on the coffee table and looked at it. I had a lot of thinking to do. I was used to doing that in the company of Chardonnay. Or the Usual. My normal thinking tends to wander as I sip a drink and let my thoughts wander. But normally I am considering seating arrangements at a dinner party or who to invite to Sunday Brunch. Social niceties do involve murder or embezzlement. Not if you seat people properly.
&nb
sp; The house was quiet except for the incessant ocean waves outside. The cold bottle of Chardonnay all but smiled at me in welcome. It would be easy to open the bottle, pour a generous glass and let the numbing alcohol effects take over. It would be easy to forget the last days of my life as the bottle depleted. It would be easy to let my thought wander to planning Jorjana’s party and the endless parties that would follow. That was how I did things in my life.
But my life was changed. As changed as it was when I left Clarkstown as Teresa Bennett and started life as Alana Clark at UCLA. So I needed to approach my life differently. And with a clear head.
I got up from the couch and put the bottle back in the fridge. I returned the corkscrew to the drawer and the wine glass to the cabinet. I filled a kettle with water and put it on the range to boil. I rummaged through my pantry and found some chamomile tea. While the water heated up I found a teacup and saucer and put them on a silver tray that I forgot I owned. I sliced a lemon, added water to the teapot and dunked the teabag inside. Then I took the tea tray back to the couch.
I took a sip of tea and listened to the quiet. With no interruptions and a clear head, I had the time to think.
My thoughts started with my first encounter with Zane Daniels at Ralph’s and went all the way through to his memorial service in Sacramento. It was a long list of thoughts.
I remembered Jim’s assessment of why Zane morphed from a baseball playing Boy Scout to a predatory hacker. Jim thought that someone or something had influenced him. Who could that be? My father described Zane’s family as grifters. The women were definitely predators- having babies to collect child support. The Daniels men would never be mistaken for men of the cloth. Zane’s family impressed me as a tough bunch, scraping to get by. Yet they were smart enough to get their hands on other people’s money. And maybe they were smart enough to see how Zane’s computer skills could be put to use. The question was who had enough influence over Zane to set him on a path of crime.
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