A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) (20 page)

“Drugs, like what kind of drugs? I’ve seen her pretty drunk on more than one occasion. In at least a couple of those situations, you were about as looped, I might add, and I wasn’t so clear-headed myself. I caught her smoking dope once or twice, too. Are you talking about something else?”

Jessica nodded her head yes. She tried to hide the fact that she was getting choked up, but you could hear it in her voice. “It’s another reason I couldn’t bring myself to read through that file this afternoon. Art Greenwald claims Kelly was an addict. There were needle marks on her arms when they found her, and a hypodermic near her body had her fingerprints on it, like she was about to shoot up when she was killed. Apparently it’s all there in photos taken at the scene.” Jessica looked up at Frank. “Art says heroin, Frank. How is that possible? Did your dad ever say anything to you about it during the investigation or later on?”

“Not a word, Jessica. Not from Kelly, either. Of course, if she was in that kind of trouble, I don’t suppose her cousin, the cop-in-training, would be the person she’d seek out for help. She would have been more likely to come to you with that.”

“Not a chance. Remember what I said the other day about how things were between us, Frank? Kelly and I were not getting along those last few months. New Year’s Eve, when she got so angry with me, I just got mad back. She was loaded. We all were, even though none of us was old enough to be drinking, legally. That was my fault. I slipped a limo driver some extra bucks to look the other way while Kelly and I stocked the car that night with champagne.” She paused to see if Frank was going to object in some way or call her out for doing such a thing.

“Hey, you wer
e nineteen. Lots of college-age kids drink when it’s not legal. Another of the many reasons I’m dreading having teenagers of my own. So what are you trying to tell me?”

“She cussed me out and went on a rant about my being a spoiled, snooty, poor little rich girl. You said it yourself that she was hard to figure out. Kelly could be the most endearing person, vulnerable and sentimental, even a little wistful or melancholy at times. Then this wild thing took over. One of the reasons I was drawn to her. Sort of an alter ego to the part of me that was so anxious and shut down, always needing to be in control.” Jessica realized she was probably revealing more than she should. This all suddenly felt too intimate; she felt her cheeks growing warm, and she stopped speaking. “I’m sorry this is embarrassing, too personal and too critical of my dead friend.”

“Jessica, you are one of the people who knew Kelly best. Maybe you had your own issues with her or your own issues, period. But New Year’s Eve was less than two weeks before she was killed. So please, go on.”

“Well, things started out fine. She seemed happy to see me and cheery enough as we loaded the limo with our contraband for the night. Everything went well until we were on our way home. Then, the Jekyll-Hyde switch got flipped. She was really drunk by then, so maybe that did it. Kelly, the fiend, suddenly went at it. That Kelly had a mean streak. She called it ‘mischief,’ I called it ‘mean girl’. That night ‘mean drunk’ was more like it. I don’t know, but when she went off on me, it hurt. I had the limo driver take her home and I just put her out, practically on the curb. Now I wonder i
f acting out like that, shoving me away that night was tied to the fact that she was in trouble.”

“Did she say anything that night that made you think she was in trouble, more trouble than usual?”

“Most of her rant was about money and how hard she had to work to get it, unlike me. How I like throwing money around, making people feel bad about how much more money I have than they do.” Jessica stopped, her cheeks growing warm again from a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“We both know that’s not true, Jessica. You do know how to spend money, I can vouch for that! You’re like your dad, though, Jessica. You know, down-to-earth, a solid-citizen who happens to have a ton of money. Hank would have kicked your butt if you even thought about becoming one of those 90210 brats.”

“Thanks, Frank, that’s kind of you. I’ve gone over and over that conversation on New Year’s Eve. It was so long ago, but Kelly might have said something relevant. What I thought she said, at the time, was something nasty about how much I looked down on her because of what she did to make a living. I assumed she was talking about working at the spa and casino. Now I’m pretty sure what she said was more like ‘If you knew what I have to do to make a living, you’d look down on me.’ What if she
was
doing something illegal, Frank?”

“Like using drugs, or selling them?”

“She was loopy that night, maybe loopier than booze alone could account for. Yeah, so maybe she was using. But that ‘making a living’ part sounds like it’s more than
using
drugs. Working at the casino, she could have been involved in some gambling-related scam, I guess, like skimming. Or maybe she was stealing credit card information. The possibilities are endless! Screwing up an operation like that could have gotten her killed.” Jessica stopped to collect her thoughts. “Art’s pretty convinced it’s about drugs. It’s not just the photos and that hypodermic found at the scene. The tox screen produced evidence of drug use. But, Frank, New Year’s Eve she looked so gorgeous. She had on this strapless party dress. It was a short, slinky thing that didn’t cover much. Not a needle mark anywhere on her. And, as I told Art, who happens to be a bit of an ass, by the way, Kelly hated needles. She got woozy, even passed out once, waiting in line for shots at school!”

“I hear you, Jessica. None of this makes much sense at this point. I don’t know what to make of her comment about what she was doing to make a living. If Kelly was involved with drugs it might explain how she got tangled up with the men Chester Davis saw chasing her that night. It’s not hard to imagine guys like that running her down, either, if she got on their bad side.” He grew quiet, thinking, while also studying Jessica’s face. Eventually he just shook his head.

“I don’t understand any better than you do, Jessica. I’m sorry Art upset you. A bit of an ass is about right. He’s a Larry David kind of guy, not always so good socially.”

“If that’s the appropriate comparison, it’s way more than being socially awkward. Larry David calls himself a social assassin! That’s all I need. I already have an ex-husband cavorting in public places with this floozy who’s out to win a skank of the year award or something like that.”

“I saw that!” The look on his face was half amused, half disgusted.

“You saw it, too? Where?” Jessica knew the answer before he gave it to her.

“It was on one of the entertainment news shows. Isn’t that what you’re talking about? They ran video last night of her pulverizing some photographer’s camera while the esteemed member of the paparazzi looked on in horror. The TV crew does this close up of the reporter’s face that’s all scratched up and bleeding. He’s bellowing that she’s not going to get away with this! It’s a free country, blah, blah, blah. Then they switch the camera around. There’s your ex, trying to hold back this woman who’s coming apart at the seams, literally. She’s a few shreds of cloth away from a major wardrobe malfunction. Acting like a wild cat, elbowing Jim, stamping her feet and screaming. Most of her shrieking was bleeped by the censors. I almost felt sorry for Jim, but not quite. Sometimes, Jessica, you do get what you have coming to you.” He broke into a rueful smile.

Jessica hung her head, shaking it back and forth. “Well, as fate or the shopping gods would have it, I was there. I had just walked out of Max Mara’s when the she-beast appeared, claws at the ready.” Frank was flabbergasted as she told him what had gone on before she got the hell out of there and that TV crew arrived. That included the moment when Jim spotted Jessica witnessing the row. Frank went from disbelief about the timing of the event to out-and-out laughter about the tangle of blonds, shopping bags and that poor poodle.

“I am so sorry, Jessica. When I told you the first year of a divorce is the worst, I did not imagine having to include embarrassing encounters brought to you by your ex and the other woman.” Before she could stop herself, Jessica blurted out that she had seen worse.

“Oh you have no idea. This was more public, but not nearly so mortifying as my previous encounter with Jim and that bimbo at home, in my own bed.”

“Are you kidding? You caught them?”

Jessica nodded yes, her eyes downcast. No way could she look at him—maybe not ever again.

“You may not believe this, Jessica. The same thing happened to me.” Jessica’s head snapped up. She scrutinized him, putting her truth-o-meter to work.

“You walked in on Mary
and some guy, at your house, in your bed?”

“Jessica, I’ve never told anyone this before. Not my kids, not my mom, nobody. Yes, I walked in o
n them in our house.  Not in bed, but a minute or two later that’s where they would have been.”

“No, oh my God, Frank that is so awful. I’m so sorry.” She reached across the table to pat his hands, which were clenched in front of him.

“I knew we were in trouble, that she was struggling as a wife and mother, but I had no idea, no clue. Jessica, it wasn’t a guy.” He broke off for a moment, then, continued. “You know the worst part?” Jessica, realizing her hand was still touching his, let go, pulled her hand back to her lap, and shook her head, no.

“The other woman
wasn’t
a skank or a bimbo. She was a colleague, someone I considered a friend. Until that moment I thought the problems we were having in our marriage had a lot to do with my being a cop. Turns out not only was she screwing around, but with another cop!”

“Frank,
she’s a lesbian. It wasn’t about your being a cop.” She reached out and patted his hand again. “It wasn’t anything about you at all. I know you felt betrayed, though, and that had to be hurtful. It had to be doubly hurtful since your friend betrayed you too. How on earth did you get past that?”

“I didn’t. I haven’t. Just because the first year was the worst doesn’t mean it’s the last year you spend trying to figure out what
the hell went wrong. That first year I blamed myself. I honestly was so ignorant about the gay thing. I thought I had done something to push her in that direction. You know, turned her off to men? Mary actually confronted me about that. She took responsibility for the fact that
she
was confused about her sexual orientation, and that it had nothing to do with me. Why didn’t she tell me that sooner? The lies and the sneaking around that went on right under my nose still hurts. I don’t understand how she figured that was okay. I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Well, one of the more disagreeable things Art Greenwald said to me today had to do with the fact that someday, when I get older, I would realize you don’t always know people the way you think you do. He was talking about Kelly, of course. I could have decked him, since I am dealing with
exactly that issue
as I continue to discover that the man of my dreams is an astonishing dirt bag. Your wife’s confusion about her sexual orientation was not an excuse to betray you, Frank. That’s on her, not you. That coworker you considered a friend doesn’t get off the hook, either. I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Jessica. Thanks.”

“This is so weird, Frank. Laura and I had almost the same conversation when she was wondering how she could have married a man in the sort of trouble that got
him
murdered. Here we are dealing with the same thing again. Not just with our cheating spouses, but with Kelly. Do you ever really know anyone? Is it even worth it to get out there and try?”

“Jessica, you have to risk it or nobody would ever get married or have kids. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Betrayal changes you. Divorce changes you. I’m not the happy family man with a beautiful wife and a couple great kids that
I imagined I was. It’s more than the fact that I check a different box when I file my taxes or fill out a form somewhere. I’m rewriting the story in my head about my life and who
I
am.”

“And have you done
that,
Frank?”

“I’m working on it!
By the time I get my head wrapped around the idea that I’m this single dad, juggling work and parenting, the kids will be grown. They’ll walk out that door and I’ll have to figure it all out again. I’d like to believe I won’t still be alone when they leave, but who knows? Right now there’s not much time or energy left at the end of the day or the week, so I’m talking big when say it’s good to keep trying.”

“
You
are
trying and I get how much courage and effort that takes. I hope I can do the same.”

“You just need more time, Jessica. What this conversation makes clear is that we have to keep an open mind about Kelly. Art Greenwald is correct, whether we like it or not, you don’t always know people the way you think you do. It seems impossible to believe Kelly was a drug addict, but she was in some kind of trouble. Who knows, maybe it was drugs.”

“Okay, I hear you. Here’s the last thing I need you to consider, Frank. I want to put Jerry Reynolds to work digging into Kelly’s past. You met him a couple times. You know, the P.I. who helped me with the investigation when Roger was killed? He’s attached to Paul Worthington’s firm in LA. I guess it’s sort of my firm too now, since I’ve officially signed an agreement to affiliate with their Palm Desert office.”