A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) Page 2

  Jim was stunned. Jessica wasn’t sure if that was because she had cut him off mid-spiel or if her willingness to expedite matters caught him off guard. She was a little surprised, too, by how much she wanted closure in this part of her life.

  “Why yes, Jessica I did bring a copy. I thought you might have, uh, uh, destroyed or, uh, misplaced the copy sent to you, and that’s why you hadn’t responded. You’ll sign it then?”

  “Sure, hand it over.”

  It was like a balloon had been pricked, all the air gone out of him. For a moment, the confidence he wore crumbled and something more unfamiliar took its place on his countenance. Was it doubt? No, not that. It was more like apprehension or maybe dread. He lied as he spoke again.

  “I am so relieved, Jessica. I was afraid you might need more time and I just don’t have it. Cassie wants to get married as soon as possible. She, uh—we—uh, had an accident of some kind. And, and, anyway, she’s pregnant, Jessica.” There was nothing resembling relief in the look on his face or the sound of his voice as those last few words tumbled out of his mouth. Jessica cocked her head. What she saw was the look you might expect to see on a bear with its foot caught in a trap. The analogy worked better if she visualized a different body part caught in the trap.

  “Wow, you’re going to be a dad. Congratulations, right?” she asked, with only the slightest tone of sarcasm in her voice. Three years ago, when Jessica had embarked on the baby-chase, Jim had been more than a little ambivalent. Each month she failed to get pregnant, each false alarm, and even the miscarriages fueled Jessica’s determination to go on. Jim lobbied harder to call it quits. The effort became a wedge between them, rather than a rallying point to salvage their relationship and find a new way to be a family.

  “Of course, thanks.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck as he picked up the satchel at his feet. A sleek, exquisitely crafted piece, it was made from finely-tooled leather and bore his monogram. It was exactly the sort of thing that Jim hated. Way too small to be useful in his work as a lawyer putting together mega-deals. Too pretty for a man who had lived in a hoodie and tennis shoes until he decided to become a master of the universe. Not to mention the fact that James Harper did not do monograms! Jessica quickly surmised it was a gift from the she-beast. She could not resist twisting the knife a little, as he pulled items from the bag.

  “What a gorgeous bag,” she said sweetly, “and your initials, so you can always spot it in a crowd at the club.” It didn’t matter what club. He would find it irritating to behold at any of the many clubs and other venues he frequented. Jim looked up, distracted, but that faded as their eyes met. The jig was up. He knew she knew he had a tiger by the tail with his latest “joint venture,” a savage creature with a rapacious appetite to get her way.

  “Jessica, there’s something else. Cassie wants me to sell the house in Cupertino. I know we’ve talked about that and I do have an offer. What I want to know is if you’ll agree to take it. Prices have come back a lot in the area already but I’m sure we can do better if we hang on for another year or so.”

  There was almost a pleading tone in his voice. The sort of tone that, a few months ago, she imagined he might use to get her to take him back. At the moment, she was not sure if he was pleading for her to sign the papers or to refuse to sign, giving him an excuse to hold out for a better deal.

  “Ouch,” Jessica thought, but did not say aloud. This was the unkindest cut of all. The predacious tiger lady was already costing him money. Worse than that, he was being denied the bragging rights that would have gone along with making a killing off the little piece of paradise she and Jim had created. Of course, back then, they had cared more about making a comfortable home for themselves than making a good investment, as they painstakingly renovated the pricey fixer-upper. Or, at least, she had.

  “Let me take a look,” she said, getting anxious for this little tête-à-tête to be over. Reviewing the sales agreement she had to suppress a gasp. The offer on the house was substantial. It was way more than they had paid for the house. More than she imagined they would ever realize from a sale after the real estate bubble burst. The market was making a comeback. Jim would have plenty to crow about. So, what was the problem?

  “Jim, this seems fine to me. How do you want to handle this?” After another of those “huh?” glances that lasted only a microsecond, Jim went to work in a very lawyerly fashion.

  He must have expected the worst. Why the hell not? The day she found Jim in her bed with another woman, she had lost it. In addition to foul-mouthed epithets, she had thrown every movable object in the room at them. Her aim, blinded by fury and disappointment, hadn’t done them any physical harm. She scared the hell out of them, though, as they scrambled, buck naked, for the bathroom to evade the bombs she was lobbing. The room was trashed by the time Jessica left. Drapes ripped from the windows, and the flat screen television, lamps, art and mirrors all smashed.

  She had gone straight to her lawyer’s office to file a petition for divorce. Jim was served immediately and vacated the premises. Jessica could have kept the house, but the idea made her nauseous. Like the thought of her friend Laura moving back into the house where her husband had been murdered. The Cupertino house was a crime scene too. She had taken a bullet to the heart, figuratively speaking, but just as vicious as the more tangible projectiles that had felled poor Roger Stone.

  Jessica slept in one of the guest rooms in the Cupertino house while she made arrangements to get out for good. With the help of a team of movers, she sorted through years of accumulated “stuff.” She packed and moved out of there in a matter of weeks. That included helping herself to the contents of the wine cellar. The wines were now ensconced in the room her father had built at the Mission Hills estate. She also took her favorites from the art pieces she and Jim had collected over the years. Those were packed away. Still too painful to display or sell.

  Since that awful day when she discovered the inescapable truth about her marriage, Jessica had ridden a roller coaster of emotions. Those emotions ranged from shock, to rage, to unbelievable sorrow and regret. At times, she was overcome by the shame of being betrayed and of reacting so violently to that betrayal. What bothered her most was the disorientation she felt. The abrupt end to her marriage had smashed her compass, and she had lost true north.

  That had been in March. Now, well into June, she was more in control, but still far out to sea in so many ways. At the moment, all she wanted was to get this traitorous son-of-a-bitch out of her life, once and for all. “Grrr!” she thought, as she gritted her teeth.

  Within minutes, Jessica had signed the divorce papers and the sales agreement. She signed other documents, too. They allowed Jim to handle the sale of the house, at the agreed-upon price, without another face-to-face meeting with her. When the transaction was complete, she’d get a check for her half of the proceeds of the sale. At least his baby would never occupy the nursery Jessica had spent hours designing and decorating.

  Jim lined up all the papers she had signed before putting them back in the leather satchel. Jessica made a stab at being polite. “So, have you found a new house?”

  “We have, Jessica—in LA, though. Cassie figures she needs to be close to where the action is for her career, so we’ve bought something in Beverly Hills. We’re planning to have the wedding there, nothing too big. She’ll have to take some time off late in her pregnancy, but can better manage her work and a baby if we’re living in town. I’ll do the commute. I spend a lot of time on the road anyway, and some of that’s in LA, so it’s no big deal.”

  No big deal? What was he saying? One of his arguments against having a baby was the distraction it would be from their careers. He was adamant that someone would have to give up something to raise a child properly! The implication that she would have to choose between her law practice and a baby did not sit well, even though Jessica’s career had tanked with the collapse of the real estate boom. Jessica was having another of those “who the bleep
did I marry” moments. The man was a mass of contradictions. She must have been shaking her head or something.

  “What? What is it?” Jessica was about to speak and would have said something that filled her with regret later. Terms like wimp, jellyfish or wuss, and even more vulgar words sat upon her lips. Fortunately, Bernadette opened the sliders at that very moment and called out to her.

  St. Bernadette, as Jessica called her on occasion, was a surrogate mother, friend and confidant. She had been hired as a housekeeper by Jessica’s parents when they built the house decades ago. She soon became much more to all of them. She did little housekeeping herself, but managed the estate, overseeing service providers required to keep it in tip-top shape. Things hummed smoothly even in the midst of the chaos wrought by warring spouses and a daughter bent on wreaking havoc. Bernadette kept it that way, even after everyone left but her, making it easy for Jessica to take refuge on a moment’s notice. The fact that her mother was absent, jet-setting around the Mediterranean with husband number four, also helped. Bernadette, more than the house itself, represented safety and comfort to Jessica as her life careened out of control.

  “Jessica, somebody’s here to see you. Are you and Jim about done?”

  “Oh, we’re done, Bernadette. Jim is just putting things back in his scrumptious bag so he can leave.” Jim shot her an irritated look and then went back to shoving papers into the bag. It had been a lot easier to get them out than it was to put them back again.

  Bernadette moved out of the way and a mountain of a man stepped through the open sliding door and onto the patio. Peter March, with his square jaw, bulging muscles, six foot four frame, and marine-style buzz cut, looked menacing. Even while standing there holding an astonishing bouquet of flowers. Peter and Jim looked each other over. It was hard to determine who regarded the other with more suspicion.

  “These are for you, Jessica. I intercepted a delivery guy as he was bringing them to your door. Once I made certain he was who he said he was, he was more than happy to let me complete the delivery. They’re from Paul, so I accepted them for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t mind, Peter. That was very thoughtful of you, wasn’t it Jessica?” Standing beside him, Bernadette looked even more diminutive than usual. Her tiny, sixtyish, maybe seventy-year-old frame belied a will of iron and a heart of gold. If she stood up straight, she might be all of five feet tall; dripping wet, she weighed a hundred pounds. Bernadette exuded kindness from every pore, but could be tough as nails when she had to be. Jessica had learned that before the age of twelve, and had seen her in action again in the past week. Her smile was sheer comfort, and the sparkle in her dark eyes challenged you to believe anything was possible, but Bernadette did not suffer fools. Jessica and several of her friends were convinced she possessed special powers that made it unwise to get on her bad side.

  “Jessica, stand up. I got you something for you to put on before everybody gets here.” Bernadette helped her slip out of the sling, removed the stained robe. The plum Karla Colletto one-piece asymmetrical tank suit that lay beneath it, had been the easiest thing to put on with only one arm to wriggle through. It fit perfectly.

  Despite the extra pounds put on while desperately-seeking-baby, Jessica’s 5’4”, 34-year-old figure was well-proportioned. The skinned knees and bruises here and there were not what caught the attention of the men in her presence. Bernadette dropped a slinky, diaphanous cover-up over Jessica’s head and then put the sling back in place to cradle her wrist. Bernadette stood by while Jessica sat back down on the chaise. She whipped out a hairbrush and gave Jessica’s hair a few swipes, then, placed a floppy hat on Jessica’s head.

  “Aren’t those gorgeous flowers, Jessica? That lawyer friend of yours is so thoughtful.” With that, Bernadette took the enormous bouquet from Peter and placed it in Jessica’s lap. Bracing the flowers with her free arm, Jessica looked like she had just been crowned Miss America.

  “I brought something for you too, Jessica. I made a batch of my organic super green smoothie. You’ve been through a lot. This will help, guaranteed.” Peter set a liter bottle of a bright green liquid on the table beside her. With that, he paused and glanced sideways at Jim.

  “Sorry, I didn’t get your name. I’m Peter March, Jessica’s security consultant.” He held out his hand.

  “Geez, where are my manners? Peter March, meet my ex-husband, James Harper. We were just wrapping up some unfinished business.”

  Jim stood awkwardly, still fumbling with the latch on the bag in which he had finally managed to stash the papers. He winced as he shook hands with Peter, whose grip was firm, to say the least. As Jim stepped aside, Peter slid into the chaise next to Jessica.

  “Like I said Jessica, you’ve been through a lot. This will give you a real boost.”

  “What will give you a boost?”

  Heads snapped in the direction of the voice that had come, not from the house, but from the yard. Around the corner strode Brien, their half-clad, bleached-blond 20-something pool boy. He was loaded down with brand new pool cleaning equipment. His old equipment had been ruined fighting off bad guys this past week, so Jessica had directed him to replace it all at her expense.

  The sun shone off his ripped abs, glistening with sweat or sun tan oil. How he managed to stay in shape was a mystery, given the amount of junk food and beer he put away on a regular basis. He grinned from ear-to-ear as he spotted Jessica. Setting down the equipment he was carrying, Brien rushed to her side, kneeling like a knight before his lady fair.

  “Yo, Jessica, you look more like you. Kinda’ awesome, except for a few dings, you know?”

  “Thanks. Your new equipment looks kinda awesome too.” Jessica shifted the bouquet so she could reach out and give Brien a pat on the head, knocking a lock of hair down over his eyes. He flicked his head, tossing the hair back. He was beaming like a puppy as he perched himself, gingerly, on the end of Jessica’s chaise.

  “Yeah, it helps to have the right equipment. Those flowers are righteous, Jessica. Did you bring them, Peter?

  “Well, yes and no. Paul Worthington sent them as far as the driveway. I hauled them through the house and out here.”

  “Paul Worthington? The Paul Worthington we knew in law school at Stanford?” Heads whipped around again toward the house where Jim was still standing near the back door. In the commotion, they had lost track of him.

  “Yes, that’s the one. He was a God-send this past week in so many ways,” Jessica said, burying her nose in the fragrant plumeria blooms tucked in among huge creamy white, vibrant yellow and pale pink roses. Paul Worthington had, indeed, been a lifeline as Jessica dove off the cliff into unfamiliar legal waters. Fearful that she would be accused of murdering her husband, Laura Stone begged Jessica to keep her out of trouble with the law.

  With little experience in criminal defense work, Jessica turned to the law school alum for advice even though they hadn’t been in touch for years. The man had not only given her advice, but loaned her a P.I. to help investigate Roger Stone’s murder, offered her a job, and invited her out to dinner. Jessica was drawn to this waspy middle-aged lawyer with striking blue eyes and the insouciance of a man used to privilege and success. She had never thought of him as her type. But then again, having been tied to Jim Harper for more than a decade, she couldn’t recall if she had a type.

  Paul was considerate and generous with his time as a colleague. Jessica was flattered that he not only remembered her, but held her in high regard. She was grateful, but not ready to make more of his attentiveness than that. Of course, Jim didn’t need to know that. Let him wonder.

  “He’s part of a big firm in LA with lots of high profile clients, right?” She wasn’t sure why Jim was asking. Maybe he was doing some sort of calculation on his “success-o-meter” set off by the mention of Paul’s name. Or maybe he was hoping to use the connection to make inroads among high rollers in the Los Angeles community. “Who knows? Who cares?” she thought.

>   “That is correct. As it happens, he’s also opening a satellite office here in Palm Desert on El Paseo. I may join that office in some capacity. We’ll talk about it more when we have dinner tomorrow night.” She poked her nose back in among the flowers and inhaled their heady fragrances.

  Jim’s eyes narrowed. He was getting testy for some inexplicable reason. “Criminal defense work is hardly your area of practice, Jessica.”

  In point of fact, she hadn’t practiced law of any kind for several years, except for pro bono work at the legal clinics associated with Stanford or other community agencies. She had not been paid for work as a lawyer since the Great Recession tanked her burgeoning career as an environmental law specialist. Working with progressive developers in and around the San Francisco bay area, committed to innovative eco-sensitive community development, she had hit the floor running right out of law school.

  Three years later, she was dejected as project after project, undertaken with such idealism and excitement, failed. Environmental issues were hardly relevant when development of any kind had come to a screeching halt. Fortunately, even though her law job vanished and her portfolio of stocks, bonds, and real estate took a major hit, Jessica was still quite well off. Thanks to substantial inheritances from both sets of grandparents, even in hard times, she and Jim did not have to worry about money.

  Jim and his cronies had worried, though. Their firm depended on Wall Street and the free flow of capital to fuel the deals that kept them afloat. When all hell broke loose, they were busily writing and reviewing contracts, setting up esoteric organizational entities, and arranging transactions that made it possible for Silicon Valley wunderkinds to bring the next big thing to market. Like a lot of firms, they were caught with their pants down, so to speak, when the bubble burst.