A Dead Husband (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) (25 page)

“Okay you two have a good time
.  I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but it’ll be before Tommy and Jeremy get here for dinner around six.  And dinner’s on me, Bernadette. I’ve invited the boys over again.” Jessica had the number for Café Courier up on her smartphone, trying to decide what to have them deliver. She couldn’t face pizza again. 

“It’s a deal, mi niña,” Bernadette said as she scurried down the hall with the laundry basket that was almost as big as she was.

CHAPTER
24

What to wear to a business meeting in the desert
, in the summer. A dilemma of sorts, given the triple digit heat. You wanted to look professional, but casual since it’s a resort area, rather than a big city like Los Angeles. Jessica preferred a tailored look for the office. Nothing with even a touch of the slutty fashion that had taken on a kind of Bratz doll look.  Okay, so she could go for spiked heels, but paired with classic lines and no décolletage. Just enough leg, with nothing so short your ass was exposed if you bent over. 

She didn’t like the “retro-hippie-flake” look any better
. No sheer flouncy fabrics and empire waist lines, whether “granny dress” or “mini-skirt”.  Even with her hair cropped short there was not a bit of the waif in her. That was a role she was definitely not cut out to play given her propensity to put on pounds at the drop of a hat. Who wanted to look like Ann Hathaway in Les Mis, on the job or anywhere else, for that matter? Jessica had definite ideas about appropriate work attire. There was no place for slut or waif in the courtroom or conference room.

T
he multiple-piercings-tattoo-thing didn’t grab her either. Her ears were pierced, of course, like every good Catholic school girl. And she had one small tattoo, in a place easily covered, that she now wished wasn’t there.  She must not have been drunk enough when she got it. The pain from that tattoo was one of the reasons she couldn’t understand the desire to cover your body in them. Still pondering the matter of pain, Jessica bent over to have a look at her legs. Okay, so she was willing to endure some pain for the sake of beauty. Fortunately, her self-indulgent binging during the last week had included having her legs waxed. They still looked good so she could get away with wearing a dress or skirt. 

The biggest concession of the day would be wearing pantyhose
in this heat, and a body shaper. The Wolford lightweight translucent tights weren’t much of a concession. They felt great and looked even better, adding a faint sheen and hint of sparkle to her legs. But the body shaper was just waiting to ride up on her. Maybe she needed to try another brand or, more likely, go up a size.

After wriggling into the panty
hose and body shaper, Jessica tackled hair and makeup.  Re-wetting then blow-drying her hair got it to sit exactly as it was supposed to do. Normally the blond streaks added to her light brown hair, would have picked up little flecks of gold in her green eyes. The bruising around her right eye overwhelmed the effect of the highlights.  Skillful application of makeup helped, but she saw no way around keeping her dark glasses on during her meeting with Paul.

“
Maybe it’ll add an aura of mystery,” Jessica mused, as she made her way into the closet to tackle the problem of what to wear.

Pulling a cobalt blue Max Mara dress with a fitted waist and straight skirt from her closet, Jessica put it on and took a look in the full length mirror
.  The fit was perfect, flattering to her hour glass figure even a couple sizes larger than she would have bought before the baby chase and divorce binges. The short sleeves hid the bruising on her arm. The techno-knit dress had a cotton lining she hoped would keep her from sweating like a pig in the time it took to walk from her car to the office. Putting on her black Jimmy Choo, open-toed, pumps she was ready to roll. 

A last look in the foyer mirror assured her that she would make a reasonably good impression on Paul Worthington
. She was prepared too.  With her computer tucked into her black Rosalie shoulder bag she marched stalwartly to her car.  She had pulled together her notes about the case and had made a printed copy for Paul.  A brief synopsis of the police reports was included, although copies of the reports were attached so he could review them later.

Jessica had identified several issues that she felt merited discussion
, like Alan Bedrossian for one. Paul would have more information even than Jerry or Detective Hernandez, given that LA was home turf to Bedrossian.  A second issue for discussion was the matter of Roger’s life insurance policy. She wanted to find out about any recent experience he or his colleagues might have had with the double indemnity payout when a homicide was involved. The AD&D rider was in the file too. She had highlighted the most relevant clause, hoping he’d agree with her conclusion that murder was encompassed by the company’s definition of accidental death. Making sure there weren’t any angles she was missing on the AD & D rider, or anywhere else, for that matter, was her main reason for meeting with him.  She was also prepared to pay for services rendered thus far, or at least, make arrangements to do so. Jerry need to get paid, but she also wanted Paul to hear how grateful she was for Jerry’s assistance.

Jessica parked in the garage behind the El Paseo Garden shops
. Paul’s firm had a suite of offices on the second floor of a two-story building, adjacent to the garden shops. Their name was already stenciled on the door, and she could see a small, well-appointed reception area just inside. 

Jessica reached for the door to go on in but it was locked
.  She peered in to see if she could see any activity, but there was none.  She checked her watch. It was 1:00, on the dot.  Maybe she should have called to confirm their meeting, making sure she had the right time and place. With all that had gone on she hadn’t done that. In fact, she hadn’t even thought about doing so.

“Don’t exactly have my working woman mojo back up and running,” she murmured to herself.

Of course, she could wait a minute or two before becoming anxious or chastising herself. Driving in from LA was always a potentially unpredictable proposition. Sometimes she could make the trip from the desert to LA in less than two hours.  At other times it could take three hours or more to drive the 110 miles or so, depending on where you were going. The Los Angeles freeway system handled twelve million cars a day, impressive but not without its frustrations. 

The afternoon heat was beginning to take a toll with all the grown up clothes she had on
. Beads of perspiration were forming on her forehead and lip. She was digging around in her purse looking for a tissue to dab at her face when she heard a click.  The door opened and a gust of cool air enveloped her. A smiling Paul Worthington invited her into the welcome relief of air conditioning. 

“Jessica, I hope you weren’t standing out there for long
. I was in the back when I remembered that the door was locked. Come on in and I’ll show you around before we go to lunch.”

“I just got here, myself, Paul
. Thanks so much for meeting with me.  I’d love to see the place.”  She was smiling back at him hoping makeup had not started to run down her face.  Paul studied her for a moment as he shut the door behind her, flipping the switch to lock it again.

“We’re keeping things locked up until we’re
officially open for business.  The firm has assigned a staff member from LA as an office manager.  Amy Klein is setting things up for us, but she’s not back from lunch quite yet.  She has a key and will let herself in whether we’re here or not.” He moved toward a little hall behind the receptionist’s desk.

“Wow, Paul, this is quite nice,”
Jessica commented as she stopped for a moment to admire the waiting area. It was casually luxurious, classic styling paired with contemporary comfort. The floor was covered in Berber carpet in a dark neutral with a rough texture. A splash of color from a Persian rug in muted rust tones separated the waiting area from the work space.  An inviting sofa, scaled to the room, and two chairs offered seating.  Overstuffed cushions, upholstered in plush sandy-toned suede, were set off by dark-stained hardwood frames. The same dark wood was used in the coffee table, side tables, reception desk, and a console table.  Clean lines and layered neutrals created a harmonious soothing effect. The room seemed more like the reception area for a shrink than a high-powered law firm. Wall art, knick-knacks, and the proverbial reading material were still missing, and the room could use a plant or two, but it was a pleasing setting.

“
Thanks, Jessica, Amy will be glad to hear that. She’s been working hard with a local decorator to get this set up. You look great, by the way.  Jerry told me you got beat up pretty bad. I was prepared for the worst.  How are you doing?”

Towering over her as he spoke, he exuded a pleasant, relaxed confidence
. He was a man with nothing to prove. That last part, nothing to prove, seemed reminiscent of the young man she had met at Stanford law school.  She had interpreted his confidence as moneyed arrogance. Back then he had not seemed at all relaxed, though. But who could be relaxed in law school?  Even if you survived the first year, did everything right after that, and finished law school, you still had the bar exam hurdle to jump. She was touched, once again, by the fact that he even remembered her. It wasn’t uncommon for law students to find themselves ignored by more senior students and faculty. As at many elite universities, you were virtually a nonentity until you proved you had staying power of some kind. 

Paul was clad in a light blue linen jacket worn over a crisp white shirt, open at the collar, with a pair of khaki colored slacks
. Everything fit perfectly which probably meant the clothes he wore were tailor-made.  His middle aged body, like his facial features, had softened a bit with age, but seemed well-cared for. There was no evidence of the power lunches and single malt scotch happy hours exhibited by the high-rollers hanging around Jim.  Nor did his face display the hard, driven look worn by many of Jim’s cronies. That look had found its way onto Jim’s face, eventually chasing away the last vestiges of the boyish earnestness that was so endearing to her when they met.

T
he pale blue of the jacket Paul wore was a close match to his eye color.  Where she had once felt there was something cold and intrusive in those eyes, she now found a kind of openness. Perhaps a willingness to be seen as well as to see, and more curious than demanding.  This older version of Paul Worthington appeared to be a man who had acquired life experience but without becoming closed off or bitter. Surprising, given his line of work, as a criminal defense attorney for well-heeled clients sometimes accused of heinous crimes. As champagne wishes and caviar dreams turned into nightmares, he must have seen the worst of what privilege and passion could do when unleashed in tandem. 

“Well I’ve been better
, Paul. I’m using the deceptive arts to hide the worst of my sins.”  With that she lifted her glasses so he could get the full effect and told him about the help from Barb-the-esthetician and her magic potions.  He turned his head side to side.

“I see what you mean
. Still, doesn’t look too bad for the kind of injury Jerry described. I heard you gave, as good as you got, by the way.”  A half-smile played at the corners of his mouth.  “Have they had any luck catching the guy who sandbagged you?” 

“I don’t know
. I went down to the Cathedral City police department yesterday, hoping to speak to Detective Hernandez. He’s the detective in charge of the case, both cases actually, since he’s also lead investigator on the murder of Roger Stone. He wasn’t there. He left the preliminary reports about the crime scene where Roger was murdered and the autopsy. I’ve made copies for you to look at later.  They’re not the best thing to read at lunch.” She paused to catch her breath then, rushed on.

“The police have a pretty good description of the guy we found in Laura’s closet
. He was sporting some tattoos that might be identifiable, and they have DNA evidence, since I cut him when I smashed his face with my cell phone.  I spoke with Hernandez again, briefly, this morning but he wasn’t in the mood to talk.”  She paused again, long enough to repress the outrage about being dressed down by the detective.

“Sounds like Jerry’s been giving you updates. Did he mention
that Roger was working, in some capacity, for a man by the name of Alan Bedrossian? Detective Hernandez was reading me the riot act about how I found that out when he called me this morning.  Alan Bedrossian is one of the things I wanted to pick your brain about.”

“No, Jerry didn’t tell me about that when I spoke to him yesterday.”
A tone of concern had crept into his voice.

“Well, I didn’t
talk to Jerry about it until last night. He made me call Detective Hernandez right away after I sort of bumped into the man. That was shortly after I introduced myself to his fiancé at the La Quinta Resort.” Her speech had sped up again. It was time to pay attention to her breathing. Spiraling into a panic attack while meeting with the distinguished Mr. Worthington would make quite an impression, but not the kind she intended. She had apparently already made an impression of sorts at the mention of Bedrossian’s name. Paul’s mood had changed, abruptly. Gone was the sparkle in his pale blue eyes, replaced instead by murkiness. 

“It was really sort of an accidental meeting
. He doesn’t know that I’m tied in any way to Roger.  I’ll explain the whole thing over lunch, after we finish the tour.”

“If Bedrossian is mixed up in this, then your friend’s murder is much more understandable
, but for any number of reasons. Yes, let’s finish the tour and then need to have a serious talk.” His shoulders were a little slumped, like she had just placed a heavy burden on them.