4 A Dead Mother
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Dead Mother
Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #4
Anna Celeste Burke
A DEAD MOTHER
Copyright © 2017 Anna Celeste Burke
www.desertcitiesmystery.com
Published by Create Space/Kindle
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission of the publisher except brief quotations for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Anna Celeste Burke
Public Domain Photo from Pixabay
ISBN-13: 978-1545318911
ISBN-10: 1545318913
Books by USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author,
Anna Celeste Burke
A Dead Husband Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #1
A Dead Sister Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #2
A Dead Daughter Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery # 3
A Dead Mother Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #4
A Dead Cousin Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #5
A Dead Nephew Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #6 [2019]
Love A Foot Above the Ground Prequel to the Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery Series
Cowabunga Christmas! Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #1
Gnarly New Year Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #2
Heinous Habits, Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #3
Radical Regatta, Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #4 [2019]
Murder at Catmmando Mountain Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #1
Love Notes in the Key of Sea Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #2
All Hallows’ Eve Heist Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #3
A Merry Christmas Wedding Mystery Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #4
Murder at Sea of Passenger X Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #5
Murder of the Maestro Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #6
A Tango Before Dying Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #7 [2018]
A Body on Fitzgerald’s Bluff Seaview Cottages Cozy Mystery #1
The Murder of Shakespeare’s Ghost Seaview Cottages Cozy Mystery #2 [2018]
Lily’s Homecoming Under Fire Calla Lily Mystery #1 [November 2018] Love Under Fire Romantic Suspense Box Set
DEDICATION
To mothers and their struggles.
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
1 An Arraignment to Remember
2 Motion for Continuance
3 Just Dancing
4 The Mother of All Dustups
5 The French Connection
6 She’s Dead!
7 Unnatural Causes?
8 Lending a Hand to Lady Justice
9 It’s a Zoo Out There
10 Our Araby
11 An Old Detective Friend
12 More Mensch than Mooch
13 Motherly Tip-off
14 Nurse Versus Purse
15 Paint Wars
16 True Detective
17 An Upwardly Mobile Man
18 Cedric Baumgartner III
19 Contorniates, but No Brooch
20 A Neighborly Confession
21 Money Matters
22 A Diva Delivers
23 Tutus and Tricks
24 Allies or Alibis?
25 Overexposed
26 Birthday Surprises
27 Lost and Found
28 Secrets, Fears, and Feelings
29 Undercover Dog
30 A Cabin in the Woods
31 Burnt Umber
32 A Crudslide
33 Strangers on a Train?
34 Why She Died
35 Bunny Hop Takedown
Epilogue
RECIPES
Arroz Con Pollo with Verde Sauce & Linguica
Bruschetta with Figs, Honey, and Feta Cheese
Red Potato and Green Bean Salad with Bacon and Dijon Vinaigrette
Lemon Pilaf with Peas and Pistachios
Mediterranean Roasted Vegetable Salad
Mexican Chocolate Chip Cookies
Honey-Pistachio Spiced Roasted Pears
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my husband, Victor, for his devotion and support for this crazy venture into writing. I’m grateful that he’s so willing to be the first reader of my books and for his frank input on an early draft of A Dead Mother.
Special thanks to Peggy Hyndman who has become the editor for this series. She is amazing! I’m grateful for her tireless efforts to edit my grammar and punctuation, to find discontinuities and other gaffs before I embarrass myself in public. I’m trying to learn not to change anything once she’s done her final edit—unless a lovely reader finds something that Peggy, my husband, and I have missed. It happens, but much less often now that at least three sets of eyes ogle the pages before I hit publish.
Thanks as well to Doward Wilson, Donna Wolz, Michele Bodenheimer, Karen Vaughan, Tara Brown, Andra Weis, Karin Tillotson, Kay Sarginson, Michele Hayes, Bonnie Dale Keck, Denise Austin, Michael Benson, Lynne Moody, Ying Cooper, Penney Wilfort, Robyn Chappell, and Laura Langs who read the book, sent me feedback, and reviewed it.
1 An Arraignment to Remember
“Ms. Huntington-Harper! Ms. Huntington-Harper!” A man close to me hollered as other reporters tried to out-shout him. They hurled so many questions at once that I couldn’t make sense of most of them. “Did he do it?”
“No comment,” I replied. “And it’s just Huntington—Jessica Huntington no Harper.” I shoved the microphone out of my face and tried to fight my way to the door of the courtroom where guards kept the reporters from entering.
“Is your husband guilty of assault, Ms. Huntington?” another reporter asked. He was elbowing those around him to get close enough to me that I could hear his question clearly above the noisy crowd gathered in the lobby of the courthouse.
“Ex-husband!” I corrected him as I kept moving. Someone grabbed my suit jacket from behind trying to slow me down. It worked. In fact, I was pushing so hard to get through that crowd the woman’s grasp yanked me backward, and I fought to keep my balance. Cameras flashed. I could see the headline now, Jessica Huntington Stumbles! Jilted Wife Arrives at Courtroom Drunk!
“You’d better let her go,” Bernadette said to the woman who had almost landed me on my behind. “She can sue you.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of freedom of the press?” the reporter asked in a nasty tone. She did release the edge of my jacket, though. Then, she shoved her microphone my way. “Why are you here since he’s your ex-husband? Are you on his legal team?” the woman asked.
“No. I’m not on his legal team. Freedom of the press does not allow you to put your hands on me or anyone else. That’s battery—look it up.” One of the guards stepped away from the door and cleared a path for us. When Bernadette and I entered the courtroom, all eyes turned toward us. More flashes and clicks. Cell phones, not cameras, this time.
The room felt as if it was closing in around me as I took my seat amid the relentless gaze of those sitting in the courtroom. As the minutes dragged on, I fought the urge to run. Even though I wasn’t the main attraction, I still felt like an exhibit in a carnival freak show. Nothing is as fascinating, apparently, as a very public, very nasty break up. Especially one involving celebrities. Add a brawl, sex, drugs, and the custody of a baby awaiting a ruling requiring King Solomon’s judgment, and you’ve hit the media jackpot.
If you’re not a fan of that sort of entertainment news, you could ignore it. Not me. My ex-husband, Jim Harper, is a party to the scan
dalous break up with his new trophy wife, Cassie Carlysle-Harper, but that’s not why he’s in court today. Jim also happens to be the defendant in a criminal case.
The packed courtroom was unusual for an arraignment. James Harper, Esquire, high-end lawyer and would-be master of the universe, was about to hear the charges the District Attorney was bringing against him after a violent incident at a party in his home. I could add a few offenses I’d like to hear read aloud in court. Fortunately, for Jim that’s not allowed. He can use all the good fortune he can get.
Jim’s not the big draw, however. Nor am I. Rumor had it that the second Mrs. Harper, a famous, well-endowed platinum blond movie star planned to make an appearance. I’d prefer never to see the she-beast again. I let out an enormous sigh as I tried to get comfortable in my seat near the front of the courtroom.
“It’s okay. This drama will all be over soon.” My long-suffering companion patted my arm. Bernadette, my surrogate mother, manages the Huntington estate where I had returned like a boomerang kid when my marriage and career imploded. She’s a rock. Even she was caught up in the hoopla this morning.
Bernadette’s a saint, but she has a weakness for tabloid news involving celebrities. My beloved friend even had a newsworthy moment of her own recently. As my sidekick in a splashy standoff with a well-heeled heel, killed before he could be brought to justice by the law, she’d been caught on camera. I’d marveled at how Bernadette had taken it all in stride and even shrugged it off. Today, though, she couldn’t completely hide her excitement about the prospect of having a front row seat at the next installment of The Hollywood Harpers Unhinged in LA-LA Land. It’s almost as if Jim’s second marriage had become a reality TV show!
“Too bad my name is still tied to this mess,” I muttered. In some circles, especially social media, I remained Jessica Huntington-Harper no matter how hard I tried to lose that hyphen and the name that follows it. The Huntington name is an old one in California with plenty of history behind it, so it’s not unknown. As a prominent architect and a generous philanthropist, my father, Hank Huntington, garners mostly good press for the Huntington name. My mother, who divorced my dad decades ago, has splashed more than a little mud on it. That included a recent stint in rehab that became newsworthy when it didn’t end well.
“At least one reporter called you Ms. Huntington no Harper even though he called Jim your husband when he should have said, ex-husband.”
“How stupid is that?” I grumbled. “I hope the judge isn’t waiting for Cassie-the-worm-hearted to make her grand entrance like the rest of this crowd.” Worm-hearted is only one of the many names I have for the vile and despicable Cassie Carlysle-Harper. Over the past year, the deranged star of stage and screen had gone on one rampage after another. She didn’t slow down even during her well-publicized pregnancy, going into labor at a trendy restaurant, and cursing everyone around her. I tried not to dwell on what spectacle might be in store for us today.
“Nah, the judge probably got caught up in traffic or something. It’s good you’re willing to sit here and wait. I’m sure Jim would understand if you stepped out for a few minutes until Cassie gets here and takes her seat.”
“With my luck, if I leave now, I’ll end up face-to-face with her just as she sweeps into the courtroom. That would be a photo op like no other.”
“It could happen,” Bernadette agreed. “That picture could go virus.”
“Viral, not virus,” I said not sure why I bothered to correct her. “Besides, I’m not worried about Jim. It’s Paul. I don’t want to abandon him. It’s not his fault he’s been swept into the vortex of heinousness that’s engulfed my life.”
“You don’t have to tell me how worried you are about Paul. I saw how hard you were working last night to make up for all the heinousness,” she whispered.
“Oh, come on. Nothing happened. You know that.”
“It wasn’t nothin’, but this isn’t the best place to talk about it, is it?” She dropped her voice even more since we were only a few feet away from Paul Worthington, Jim’s lawyer and my boss. Bernadette looked me in the eye and spoke again, sympathetically.
“Last year was a hard one, but it’s over. It’s starting off a little rough, but maybe this year will be better. Our Brien does have a way with words, though, doesn’t he? The reporter who heard him say that surfer heinous vortex stuff loved it! Whatever a heinous vortex is. That picture with you swirling around on Tweeter looked like Dorothy in a tornado. Even Brien said so.” Bernadette shrugged.
Brien Williams, my surf-loving pool boy, making a career change into private security, has a way with words all right. He’s a master of the malapropism. Playing fast and loose with words, Brien sprinkles his vocabulary with surf lingo.
“It’s Twitter, not Tweeter. Thanks for bringing that up, by the way.” I closed my eyes at the recollection of that horrible meme with a pregnant Cassie tumbling around in it, too, like the flying cow from that movie, Twister. “I don’t want my picture anywhere near a tornado or a vortex or any storm Cassie can whip up. All I need is for that ‘rivalries among the rich and famous’ garbage to start again.”
I shouldn’t be complaining about Cassie and Jim creating unwelcome notoriety for me. My involvement in several high-profile murder investigations hasn’t helped keep my name and face out of the news either. In fact, Brien made that vortex of heinousness comment soon after Bernadette and I survived an incident in LA that gave Bernadette her fifteen minutes of fame.
Still, nothing compares to the incessant coverage the psycho blond bombshell can command as she romps wildly around tinsel town. Until she cuts Jim loose, I’m along for the ride like it or lump it. Even if they divorce, the public may forever remember me as the woman who was dumped by her husband for Cassie Carlysle. I sighed as I searched for any sign that the judge might be on his way into the courtroom.
I’ve got a well-known blond of my own on my hands, I thought, as Paul Worthington suddenly stood up and stretched. I sat there trying not to gawk at the attractive lawyer representing Jim. Paul is not only my boss but also a friend. We’re doing our best to keep it just friends despite a mutual attraction that, on occasion, threatens to overpower the boundaries we’ve placed on our relationship.
The sandy-haired, blue-eyed defense attorney is a natural blond, not the bleached type like Cassie. As a defense attorney to the stars, he’s a celebrity in his own right. Impeccably dressed, as usual, he stepped away from the table where he’d been sitting next to Jim. Paul appeared to be calm, cool, and collected.
I wish I could say the same for myself. It wasn’t just the courtroom drama about to unfold that had me on pins and needles. When I leaned forward and handed Paul a tie-clasp he’d left behind last night, I caught a whiff of the familiar fragrance that hangs about him. The citrusy blend of bergamot and amber triggered a wave of longing for lemon meringue pie. Paul had become paired with that delicious confection a few weeks ago during a drug-induced stupor.
The drugs had been administered during a brief stint in the hospital after I’d tumbled from an overlook on Mt. San Jacinto near the Palm Springs Tramway. The cast I still wore ought to be a warning. I could practically see the words emblazoned on the cast: Slow down! Be more cautious about how you live your life!
You’d think that would go double when it comes to men. It would be a few more weeks before I would celebrate the one-year anniversary of filing for divorce. Finding the weasel in our marital bed with that floozy had been a shock. I’d hurled every object I could get my hands on at the two of them as they took shelter in the master bathroom behind locked doors. Then I’d systematically trashed the bedroom, hoping my fury would demolish the truth of what I’d just witnessed.
That had only been the first in a series of tantrums and binges that had failed to bring closure to my raging emotions about the end of my marriage. Signing the divorce papers had not succeeded in doing that either, but that wasn’t my fault. The jolts from Jim’s ruthlessly vulgar infidelity kept c
oming. A hastily announced engagement was followed by a quickie wedding, and then a baby a few weeks ago. Poor baby.
As Paul stood only a couple of feet away from me, I found it difficult not to think about men. I felt an impulse to wrinkle the freshly laundered shirt he wore, to loosen his tie, or remove it altogether. Something like that explained how his tie-clasp had been left behind at my father’s house in Brentwood where Bernadette and I were staying.
Stop! I shouted in my head. It was time to use a few of the cognitive skills I’d learned in years of therapy before venturing too far down the track to where that train of thought led. That train had almost gone off the rails last night.
Then Paul turned around. His piercing blue eyes met mine as he scanned the room. A smile flickered across his lips. I returned the smile, grateful that I was sitting down. The charge that passed between us left me feeling a little weak in the knees. The goodness in the man was staggering, but he was not, after all, a saint as last night had proven. Nor was there anything saintly in the sparks that had flown during that brief exchange.
Bernadette noticed. This time the pat on my arm was more on the order of “down girl.” Then, she leaned over and spoke one word.
“Tiramisu.”
That was code for the other man in my life who holds an almost irresistible attraction for me. Frank Fontana, an old friend, and a homicide detective had also been pulled into the chaos that followed me everywhere since, in my early thirties, I’d suddenly become a calamity magnet. Not just infidelity and divorce, but murders, old and new, including a cold case involving his cousin Kelly.
Despite all the murder and mayhem, Frank and I had rediscovered each other. Our relationship had developed in an entirely different way than it had years before as teenage friends in high school. An image of his dark, unruly hair and even darker eyes, lit by a tempestuous glint, sprang up before me. An expression of concern quickly replaced a devilishly handsome smirk on his face and then exasperation as moments from our recent engagements drifted through my mind.