Sedona Law 5

by Dave Daren

  “She doesn’t know we think she killed her ex-husband, though,” I pointed out.

  “Her guilty conscience suspects, maybe,” AJ suggested.

  “Still,” I said with a shake of my head, “who’s in Ghoti and back in New York?”

  “Julianna’s here,” Vicki replied, “Olivia’s in jail, Beowulf is deceased, so that just leaves Chloe.”

  “Alright,” I said, “find out if Clare knows Chloe or if Julianna could have hooked them up. Also, we still haven’t reached a solid alibi on Clare. She said she was at yoga, and she wasn’t. Why lie?”

  “Because,” AJ said, “she was doing something really embarrassing. Something like having a boob job.”

  “No,” Vicki argued. “She couldn’t have done that because after a boob job you have to wear these plastic bags for weeks that fill up with fluid, and you have to drain them every few hours or you can get sick.”

  “Have you had one?” AJ was aghast.

  “God no,” Vicki wrinkled her nose, “I’ve had friends who have. They hurt like hell.”

  “I so want to get one,” AJ said and stared into her bustline. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Oh my God,” I groaned. “I do not need to be here for this.”

  I left the room, and I heard them both dissolve into laughter.

  “Sorry, Henry,” AJ laughed and called after me. “You can come back now. It’s safe.”

  With the clock ticking and so many loose ends, I sat down at my computer and tried to type out everything I knew. At this point, it looked like Clare killed Jerry. She had a motive, the million dollar life insurance policy. She also had the means since, like everyone in town, she had the keypad code to the back of the studio. And, if she wasn’t at yoga, like she said, she might have had the opportunity.

  We needed security footage.

  I texted Leila. Is there a security camera for the back door?

  She replied quickly. Yes. The police already have the files, but it’s a poor angle. I can get it to you.

  I wondered why a security camera would be placed at a poor angle. That kind of defeats the purpose. Could it be that it was tampered with?

  I shot Leila a quick response. Sounds good. Can you bring it by our office?

  It was about an hour before she replied. I downloaded the security footage on a flash drive. Come get it at The Black Sun.

  I furrowed my brow. Why did Leila want to meet me at an underground bar downtown?

  The Black Sun was just a couple blocks away, so rather than mess with downtown parking, I walked. The bar was a converted warehouse and had street art painted all over the front, and it reminded me of something I would see in a big city, not in Sedona.

  It was mid-afternoon, so the crowds had not gathered yet. The inside was a dark cavern with pulsating rock music playing overhead. I guessed this was where Sedona’s goth emo crowd congregated, since a handful of younger seedy types sat at tables day drinking, and the stage was currently empty.

  I found a bartender with three chin rings and asked if he’d seen Leila Jaxson. It took two or three tries in the loud room for him to hear me.

  “Upstairs,” he shouted as he pointed to a flight of industrial metal stairs.

  I gestured a ‘Thank you,’ and headed up the stairs. It was a little quieter on the upper floors than the rest of the bar, and there were tables and leather couches scattered about. Finally, I heard laughter and found a half open door.

  I slipped inside and saw Leila sitting at a table with a bunch of guys.

  “So this new album,” she was saying, “takes a different direction musically than your previous one. What influences did you have?”

  I silently took an empty seat and listened to the interview.

  “Well,” a scruffy looking hipster stroked his beard, “this is a travel album. I did a six month trip around the world, just for the sake of picking up musical influences and cultures and listening to the heartbeat of the people. I wanted to bring that into this next record. The sound, the energy, the smells.”

  The other band members laughed.

  “The smells,” another scruffy looking hipster repeated, “like the chickens in Tokyo.”

  All the other guys laughed at this, and the first one looked a little defensive.

  “Exactly,” he said. “I want the listener to be able to feel the energy enough that they can smell the gritty back streets of Tokyo. If the listener can feel that, than I will have accomplished artistically what it was I wanted.”

  “Tell me about your personal life,” Leila requested as she leaned back in her chair. “You just got out of the hospital.”

  “I did,” he replied with a serious nod. “Diabetic shock. I had no idea I was a diabetic. You know? So, it’s been a new life for me, adjusting to a whole different way of thinking, way of life.”

  “He can’t drink,” one of the other guys chimed in.

  “I can,” the first guy qualified, “but it can cause my blood sugar to spike. So, I don’t. It’s been a life changer for me. You know? I’m getting married, too. To a beautiful Indonesian chick I met on the beach, and she just stole my heart away. So, I brought her back here, and we’re in love and it’s crazy, sexy, and beautiful.”

  The band went on this way for several more minutes, and then Leila wrapped it up.

  “Sorry,” she told me as soon as she ushered the other men out. “That interview ran long, and you were fast. I thought I would be done with all of this by the time you got here.”

  I smiled. “No, I’m on a deadline. And so are you, I take it.”

  She smiled and began packing her bag--a digital recorder, a notebook, and a couple of other odds and ends.

  “Always,” she said. “I love this life.”

  “I get it,” I replied. “But Sedona? Why not L.A., or New York or somewhere with a big music scene?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll make it to those places one day. But there’s music everywhere, and Sedona’s got its scene for sure. And without the studio … well, I need the money. So, I write while I can.”

  “What about The Herald?” I asked.

  “Oh God,” she snarled. “The Herald. Been there, done that. The place is for desperate twenty year olds with no talent other than to rewrite press releases. I’d rather cashier at Earth Market than work at The Herald.”

  “Well, Sedona does have its indie music scene,” I mused.

  “It does,” she agreed. “Those guys who were just here sold a million units worldwide on their last album.”

  “No kidding?” I laughed.

  “But most people don’t know who they are because they’re not with a big label,” she said. “So, that’s my place in the world.”

  “To give people publicity?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, “I love picking the mind of an artist, finding out how they think. What makes them tick. Artists are the most interesting people, and they’ve got such unique views on the creative process, and how it all works. I find it fascinating to listen to their perspectives, their philosophies on art.”

  “Huh,” I said as I started to piece her association with Jerry together. “What about Jerry? Did he have a band?”

  She laughed. “Jerry? A band? God, no.”

  “We found a bunch of Hindu music in his house,” I told her. “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Uh,” she frowned, “I don’t know. I know he was into weird things with his keyboard. He played around a lot and experimented with sound. He spoke Hindi. And, oh, he did a movie set in India once. It was called Krishna’s Curse.”

  “Krishna’s Curse?” I repeated.

  “Yeah,” she nodded, “it’s online. Just search for it, you can find it.”

  “I will,” I said.

  She pulled a flash drive out of her bag and handed it to me. “This is the security footage from all day that day. There’s nothing on there, but who knows? Maybe you can find something, like a tree blowing in the wrong direction that shows you the murderer was
left handed, and that there are only five left handed people in Sedona.”

  I laughed. “You writer types definitely have an imagination.”

  She smirked as she held up her hand. “It comes with being left handed.”

  “So, you’re the murderer,” I teased.

  “Totally,” she drawled as she tossed her bag over her shoulder. “I wanted to screw myself out of a good full-time job by bludgeoning my boss to death with a marble statue … you know, there is this thing called quitting. It’s a much better option than prison.”

  “Dark sense of humor,” I chuckled.

  “Not dark,” she said. “Cynical. Also a trait of writers. See you around.”

  “See you,” I echoed as I fingered the flash drive in my hand.

  Leila disappeared into the abyss of the bar, and I saw myself out and drove back to the office.

  AJ was still in the conference room, with the Hindi techno pop going, and it was giving me a headache. I felt bad for her, but the fact that Jerry had all of that stuff in his safe I knew was important to this investigation.

  I inserted the flash drive into my computer and pulled up the security file. Leila had converted it into a basic movie file to play on any computer, and it pulled up pretty easily.

  But she was right. The camera was at an odd angle. It faced away from the door, and watched a tree, not the door.

  It must have been moved.

  Chapter 10

  “Check out this camera angle,” I told Vicki as she walked in. “It looks like it was moved.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked as she peered at the screen.

  “Why would they set up the camera to watch the tree, and not the door?” I questioned. “Someone had to have moved it.”

  “Huh.” She furrowed her brow. “Did you go through the backlogs?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have the backlog. Leila only gave me the file for that day.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s an interesting twist.”

  “No,” I disagreed, “I don’t think she’s involved.”

  “Well,” Vicki said, “I’ve got a meeting with Allison now.”

  “Allison?” I repeated.

  “Allison Pierce,” she reminded me. “She played Gretchen … ”

  “Oh, right,” I remembered. “I should go with you on that one.”

  “Sure,” she shrugged, “it will be good to have a double perspective.”

  “Poor AJ.” I glanced back at the conference room.

  “Nah,” Vicki said. “She’s writing Horace’s play.”

  “Does she have an angle yet?” I asked.

  “I think she’s going for humor,” she replied with a smile. “Farce. She said she’s in a rush, and it’s easy to hide bad writing behind farce.

  I laughed. “I never thought of it that way. Make sense. If you’re going for bad, no one can fault you for sucking.”

  “Exactly,” Vicki chuckled. “What is it with us and writers this month?”

  “I know,” I said as I grabbed my bag, and we headed out to my car. “I just sat through Leila interviewing a rock band and talking about writing about their philosophy of art.”

  “I love her,” Vicki sighed.

  “Leila won’t stay in this town long,” I told her, “not with that kind of talent and ambition.”

  “What are you talking about?” Vicki asked as we got in the car. “You stayed.”

  I laughed as I pulled out of the parking lot.

  “But I had to leave to come back,” I pointed out, “and I came back a different person. There’s only so much room to grow in a small town.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “John Mellencamp would disagree with you.”

  “John Mellencamp lives in a multi-million dollar condo in Soho,” I snorted.

  She laughed, and the GPS to Allison’s house took us around the back of our own undeveloped land.

  “I made another appointment with an architect,” Vicki said after some time. “I don’t know, he’s alright.”

  “I was thinking we could use The Count,” I replied evenly. “I’m into the bathroom on the roof.”

  “It would definitely make us eccentric,” she chuckled. “Seriously, though. I’m exhausted looking for architects. I don’t think we’ll ever find anyone who really ‘wows’ us up front. We might have to just get someone from L.A. to do it.”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed, “I’d prefer a local if that was at all possible.”

  Suddenly, the GPS announced our arrival at Allison’s home. It was a red stucco house, much like Jerry’s. We made our way up the drive to the front door and knocked several times.

  “She knew you were coming, right?” I clarified.

  “Yeah,” Vicki replied.. “She said she was home and she would love to talk to us about it. She was quite open on the phone.”

  I knocked again, this time louder, and there was still no answer.

  “Call her?” I suggested.

  Vicki pulled out her phone and called.

  “Voicemail,” she said after a moment.

  I raised an eyebrow. “We’ve been stood up.”

  “That’s so odd,” she mused with a frown. “She was so--”

  We turned to walk away when we heard the locks click. We turned, and the door opened.

  There, Allison stood, or rather staggered.

  “Hi, guys!” she slurred with a sloppy grin. “Come on in! It’s so good to see you. I just love you guys so much. You are soooooooooo great what you’re doing for Jerry. Come in, come in.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Vicki. A drunk witness. This should be fun.

  Allison ushered us into the house. It was an airy place, with generous windows, and green leafy plants and ferns as a buffer to the Arizona sun.

  “What kind of plants are these?” I asked as I fingered a tall fern.

  “Those?” Allison cocked her head sideways, stared vacantly at the plant, and then played with her hair. “Those are the plants, the green ones.”

  Then she laughed hysterically and almost fell over. One of the plants toppled, and I grabbed it before it spilled.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Allison?” Vicki suggested as she pulled a kitchen chair out, and the other woman obediently sat. “I’ll make us some coffee. Sound good?”

  “Coffee,” Allison repeated as she nodded vigorously, and then she clutched her head. “Yep. Yep. Coffee is good.”

  Vicki busied herself in the kitchen and quickly found the coffee supplies.

  I looked around. This place was a bit more high end than I would expect from a twenty year old aspiring actress. The kitchen was large and roomy, with a granite island and sparkling new appliances. The rest of the house had an open feel, with modern white furniture and cozy sitting spaces.

  “How many people live here?” I asked.

  “Lots and lots.” Allison gestured wildly with her hands. “Three. Yeah, I think three.”

  “Three people live here?” I repeated.

  She laughed. “Nope, we all live here, goofy.”

  I cleared my throat and eyed Vicki. I was trying to convey to her that we should leave. This was clearly a lost cause.

  Vicki subtly shook her head, turned to Allison, and handed her a coffee mug. “Here. Now, why don’t you drink a bit and then we can talk.”

  Allison drank a sip of coffee.

  “You know what we should do,” Allison suddenly blurted out, and she slammed the table for emphasis. “We should go skinny dipping in the pool.”

  “Uh,” Vicki chuckled dryly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

  “Come on,” Allison begged and took Vicki’s hands. Then Allison slipped off her shirt, and I instinctively turned away at the sight of her purple bra.

  “Whoa,” Vicki said. “Let’s put that back on.”

  Allison clumsily put her shirt on and pouted.

  “You’re a stick in the mud,” she slurred and pointed to Vicki. “That’s what you are. I know y
ou. You’re the stick mud lady.”

  “You know what?” Vicki said with a super dramatic voice. “I have a great idea.”

  I looked at her quizzically and she ignored me, but Allison looked intrigued.

  “Come closer,” Vicki leaned in toward her, “they can’t hear us.”

  Allison gasped. “Who can’t hear us?”

  Vicki made a shushing motion with her fingers, looked around, and then tiptoed toward the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Allison whispered and followed her.

  “I can’t tell you down here,” Vicki stage whispered across the room.

  “Oh … ” Allison said, and Vicki pointed up the stairs in a super dramatic gesture.

  I had no idea what was going on, so I caught Vicki’s eye, but she just shook her head.

  Following Vicki’s melodramatic sneaking, Allison tiptoed up the stairs and stumbled at least twice. She giggled loudly, and I heard Vicki shush her.

  I drank my coffee and read my phone while I waited for them downstairs. I also snooped around a bit while I waited and took photos of mail lying on the counter. It was mainly bills and a couple of other random notices. I tsked out loud when I saw the red notice for the electric bill.

  “Someone around here doesn’t pay bills,” I muttered.

  I heard Vicki and Allison stumble around for a few minutes, until finally I heard the shower come on, and then Allison screamed.

  “Sober up, honey,” I heard Vicki say. The house was all linoleum and open space, so the sound carried down the stairs disturbingly well.

  “Jerry’s gone,” Vicki continued, “and no amount of wallowing in booze is going to change that. If you want any chance of justice for the murderer, you’d better put on your big girl panties and talk. This is your chance for justice. This is your chance to do what’s right by Jerry.”

  “It’s true,” Allison sobbed loudly. “You’re right. You’re so right. I need to face this head on. Okay. Okay. Just give me a minute.”

  Their words turned to gentler muffles that I couldn’t make out any more, and after a few seconds, Vicki showed up back downstairs.