A Dead Daughter (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery Book 3) Read online

  She had been tempted to tell Jessica the whole story. But the awkwardness of that moment in the kitchen had thrown her for a loop. It shook Alexis to see her daughter so apprehensive at the sight of her own mother, even though she pretended not to notice.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t you get my postcard, Jessica? Hank's being honored. I wouldn’t miss that for the world. Let’s go have lunch on El Paseo and find something scrumptious to wear,” Alexis gushed, as she so often did to hide her true feelings. It had all come crashing down upon her. She rushed forward to embrace her daughter, nearly crushing Jessica.

  “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?” Jessica had asked, that little worry-wart expression spreading over her lovely face. Alexis chickened out and kept the bad news to herself.

  “It’s Giovanni, Jessica. We’re through. I’m not going back.” That she was not returning to Giovanni was a truth revealed to her own heart when she blurted it out to Jessica. She would never let him see her sick. It wouldn’t feel safe to be that weak around him. Nor would she allow him to remember her that way.

  “Oh Mom, I’m so sorry,” Jessica had said, hugging her. “It’ll be okay. You said that about divorcing Jim, and now I know you were right. You want to talk about it?”

  Blessed Bernadette had swept into the room then, saving Alexis from the war she was having with herself about how much to reveal to Jessica. Earlier that afternoon, she and Bernadette had decided Alexis would wait to tell others about her health scare. It wasn’t just all those test results she needed before Alexis knew, with certainty, what she faced. The celebration for Hank was a few days away. It would be better to wait rather than put a damper on the joyous event. The docs all agreed she had time to consider her options, and could afford to wait.

  There was Jessica to think about too. It had taken Jessica months to come to grips with reality that her own marriage was over. That was even after walking in on her faithless husband, caught in the act with the toast of Tinsel Town. Alexis could have told her the guy had social climber written all over him, despite the boyish charm he used as cover. He had money of his own, and by the time he and Jessica wed, he had acquired a position with a prestigious law firm. So he was no fortune hunter in any conventional sense. Still, it had done him no harm to insinuate himself into the circles in which the Huntingtons moved.

  The polished, bespoke-suited man who turned up at a high-profile social event a few years later, was no surprise at all to Alexis. James Harper was a smooth-talker and a skilled name-dropper. That wasn’t the only thing she disliked about him. There was a slickness about him that had made her wary, even earlier, in his tennis shoes and hoodie days. He scanned the room with skill while he spoke to you. No way was he going to miss a chance to mix or mingle if a more important figure ventured by. That night it had broken Alexis' heart for her daughter, when Jim’s wandering eye lingered on the women in the room—in particular a flashy-looking bit of arm candy from some former country of the Soviet Union.

  Euro-trash, Alexis had thought. It takes one to know one. She wasn’t sure what the equivalent label was for American women. It was, no doubt, applied to her when she joined the yachting crowd, after fleeing her first marriage. From the beginning, Alexis had wanted to tell Jessica how she felt about Jim Harper, but Hank warned her off. Jim’s ruthless betrayal was not a surprise when Jessica told her about it. Alexis hoped she hadn’t seemed too cavalier about the whole thing. She felt relieved that the slimy chameleon had shone his true colors while Jessica was still young enough to start over.

  What Alexis learned from Bernadette was that the nasty circumstances leading to divorce had not been the only traumatic events in Jessica’s life that year. She had since gone through a harrowing set of encounters with thugs hired by some nouveau riche mob boss trying to move up in the underworld. Alexis had never heard of the man even though his name appeared in the L.A. papers on numerous occasions. He was later implicated, somehow, in the murder of Jessica’s best friend’s husband, Roger Stone.

  Even more recently, Jessica had fought for her life to evade minions dispatched by a twisted little prince of darkness who ruled over an entertainment empire. Alexis had heard of him. Poor Kelly Fontana, a frequent visitor at the Huntington house when Jessica was a teen, had the misfortune of getting mixed up with him. Jessica was dragged into the unsavory little man’s realm while investigating Kelly’s death. That ordeal was still fresh for Jessica when Alexis arrived in Rancho Mirage.

  “Let’s give her a breather for now, Bernadette” Alexis had said, deciding to wait before sharing more bad news.

  When Bernadette charged into the kitchen that afternoon in July, she took command. She sat them all down in the morning room right off the spacious kitchen. Then she changed the focus from Alexis’ troubles, and asked Jessica to share the whole story about their adventures in sleuthing.

  “Tell your mom what we did. We’re like Cagney and Lacey,” Bernadette said, as she filled their glasses with ice cold lemonade that had materialized out of nowhere.

  “I’m not so sure about that, Bernadette. More like Lucy and Ethel.”

  “I bet that’s what Detective Hernandez thinks. He gets mad like Ricky Ricardo. He was real polite when he called to thank me for my salsa recipe. I got him wrapped up under my thumb, now.”

  “You mean wrapped around your little finger, don’t you, Bernadette?” Jessica asked.

  “No, I said thumb, Jessica. You’re Lucy, I’m Ethel. I know the difference between a pinky and a thumb. I got the man right where I want him.” That sent Jessica into a fit of the giggles as she tried to explain, to Alexis, who Bernadette was talking about.

  “Mom if you met this guy you’d understand why this is so funny. He’s Ferdinand the Bull around Bernadette. This big blustery detective comes barging in here. The moment we see each other, it’s like I’ve waved a red flag and he’s snorting and pawing at the ground. But then Bernadette charms him with her sweet smile, salsa or some other goodie, and the guy is ready to flounce among the flowers. Though I will remind you, Bernadette, he threatened to arrest you for shooting that thug in the trasero.”

  “Yeah, but the last time he stopped by he returned your dad’s gun. More proof I got him right where I want him.” Alexis must have had a bewildered look on her face as she spoke.

  “Gun? Shot him in the trasero? Am I hearing this right, Bernadette? You shot someone in the behind with Hank’s gun?” That set off another round of laughter.

  “I shouldn’t be laughing, but the stealthy maleantes who figured out how to get past the guard gate and into our backyard must have been shocked when Bernadette opened fire. The desperados were lucky that our beloved, pint-sized loose cannon here only grazed one of them,” Jessica said. “Lucky for her that they didn’t shoot back. She won’t do that again, right Bernadette?” Jessica then started from the beginning and told the story of the whole dreadful ordeal surrounding Laura’s dead husband, Roger.

  Now, in the cool December twilight of the ICU, Alexis savored the memory of that sunny July afternoon. The warmth of the golden California sun had streamed in through the semi-circle of 20-foot windows that defined the area of the morning room. One of the most beautiful spots in the house that Hank built. The glow emanating from inside Jessica had competed with the one descending upon her by the setting sun pouring through those cathedral-like windows.

  In her thirties, Jessica was even more amazing than when she was younger. A lot of her youthful reticence vanquished, it seemed to Alexis. What prevailed was the courage Jessica long possessed alongside the anxiety and self-doubt. Survival in the face of all the recent carnage must have made her stronger. Alexis wished she could have uttered those words that day and could have told Jessica how she felt. Instead, she had said nothing. Worse than the inability to put her feelings into words was the fact that as she sat there that old devil, envy, crept over her. Alexis was jealous of the easy manner and open affection that passed between the two wom
en she cared most about in the world.

  Envy passed, though, and the terror about being sick had also fled. They talked for hours. As if by magic, Bernadette whipped up a glorious black bean and sweet corn frittata while the stories unfolded. Jessica had pulled out a great bottle of Pinot Grigio and poured glasses for them as she continued harrowing tales about tracking down killers.

  The story ended with her account of a rather tumultuous meeting, earlier that day, with the priest from St. Theresa’s in Palm Springs. Jessica had left that meeting perplexed by his advice. He concluded that all the shocking events in her life could be regarded as a “wake up call,” one she needed to address.

  “Heed the call. Look deeper into the mystery... huh? The more I try to figure things out, the more screwed up my life becomes. What does he want me to do—besides give up my black AMEX card? He was clear about that. Am I supposed to wander around in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights, like a penniless beggar? Or sit cross-legged in the sand like a Yogi contemplating my navel. Do you get it, Bernadette?”

  “We’ve talked about putting that card away. Not that it means you need to be broke—just stop thinking that buying stuff will make everything better. You don’t need more wandering around in the desert. That’s what you’ve been doing since you got here. Most of the time there’s been some maleante chasing after you, and that’s not your fault. Father Martin wants you to figure out a few things about your life, that’s all. He gave you all those books to read, Jessica. I bet that’s a good place to start. I’m not sure about the cross-legged yogurt thing, but I have a rosary you could use. That helps me be calm when I’m trying to figure out stuff.” Bernadette had been so sincere, tender and concerned; still the whole priest bit rankled as Alexis listened.

  There had been more but Alexis’ mind wandered. She was glad Jessica hadn’t asked her what the priest meant. If she remembered him correctly, Father Martin looked more like your typical country club golf addict than a priest. There wasn’t anything about him that struck Alexis as enlightened or the least bit holy. Alexis had little use for any priest or what he was selling. It wasn’t just her Anglican bias against Catholicism, but a more general disregard for all things spiritual. She had long-since lost interest in the notion that there was any master plan at work in her life, or anyone else’s. The world was too big a basket case to make that believable. Even as one of the “winners” in a game set out to favor the one percent, she knew better. Life was a mystery all right. Just not one worth pondering—life’s a bitch and then you die. What else was there to know?

  Devour life. Don’t predigest it by ruminating like a beast lolling about in a pasture, or wander about in a desert. That would have been Alexis’ best advice if Jessica had asked that day. If Jessica found consolation in what the priest said, so be it. Her conversion as a teen when she ended up at St. Theresa’s, after being kicked out of two other private schools in the area, had not hurt her. Mass couldn’t be any worse for her than enjoying a concert, or a good movie, or some other similar form of entertainment. So Alexis had kept her views to herself.

  What she had shared with Jessica and Bernadette was news about her recent travels, and life on the Mediterranean, avoiding any references to Giovanni. She didn’t want to be questioned about ending her fourth marriage. In a matter of seconds, like her little silver Porsche sitting in the garage, Alexis had shifted into high gear. In full-blown, jet-setting socialite mode, she gushed, sharing gossip about celebrities and royals that had crossed her path in the past year. The ruse worked, although she caught glimpses of concern from Bernadette.

  Alexis sighed, remembering how time had passed that day. The whole afternoon and then, on into the evening, the three of them had talked. The chatter had allowed her to avoid thinking about the things she considered, now, as she gazed at her daughter. Her powerlessness over events weighed Alexis down. The thought of losing her daughter was far more disturbing than facing her own death.

  It wasn’t so much that she feared dying. Oblivion was a precious thing. A state she sought through physicians and friends with some powerful drugs at their fingertips. No, death didn’t worry her. The terrifying part of being sick was the thought of having to give herself over to the care of others, to let them get close whenever they needed to be close. That prospect sickened her more than the disease itself.

  That night in July, back in her room alone, after all that convivial chatter with Jessica and Bernadette, she had sought escape, as she so often did, in oblivion. The doctors in her life did one thing right. They kept her well-supplied with the best drugs that money could buy, making life so much easier to bear.

  “Better living through chemistry,” she had toasted aloud as she washed down a couple of sleeping pills with a swig of vodka. Managing all that good chemistry took some work. She didn’t always do that so well. It also added a layer of complexity to the health issues she was facing—or not facing. She had time, they said. She would use it.

  As Alexis sat, clasping her daughter’s hand, her mind drifted to the other great love in her life, Hank Huntington. For several nights, back in July, she and Jessica stayed at the Brentwood Estate, to be close to where the celebration in Hank’s honor was held. When they arrived, Hank was already there. A flood of memories had enveloped Alexis as she and Jessica crossed the threshold of the Brentwood home. Once, she and Hank were so much in love, in that house with its lovely gardens overlooking the city of angels.

  Hank’s dark eyes sparkled with happiness at the sight of them both. The woman Henry Huntington reflected back to her was the woman Alexis had always wanted to be. Years earlier, that look had won her heart, and it had caused her to say yes when he asked her to marry him. If only it had been enough. Even when her problems and his business had come between them that look in his eyes reached for her across the growing chasm in their marriage. There it was, still, decades and three husbands later.

  She had almost broken down and told Hank about her illness. Then what? She wasn’t any more prepared to depend on her ex-husband than she was to lean on Giovanni. There was so much more she didn’t yet know about her condition. The word cancer had knocked the wind out of her even when followed by all the assurances about “early stage” and “high survivability” rates. She had gone for that second opinion, right away, and had yet another consultation scheduled in August, once she returned to the desert. Then she would have a clearer picture about her options. Then she might ask Hank or Jessica for their input, so she put it off.

  The whirlwind of shopping, hair, face and body treatments for the gala, left little time for subsequent bouts of weakness. Even in darkness, light, Alexis thought. For a few days they were a family again. The celebration of Hank’s accomplishments putting them all in good spirits.

  The evening was a gala one. Much of it held out under the stars. As usual, the L.A. weather cooperated. The courtyard area in which the ceremony took place was awash in the twinkle of thousands of tiny lights strung above their heads. A gentle breeze caused the gauzy curtains, hung to define the space, to billow. A jazz combo played. The wailing of a sax set a cool urban vibe as the buzz of excited partygoers filled the surrounding space. Champagne flowed as a squadron of buffed and polished young servers hustled. Pretty people scurried to make sure all the other pretty people were well-tended.

  In the darkness of the ICU, Alexis smiled, recalling how she had been in her element that night. She and Jessica adorned in haute couture, with their hair and makeup flawless. Alexis floated through a sea of air kisses, and exchanged warm greetings with old friends and acquaintances. She promised to call, have lunch, or meet up at some subsequent event. Alexis had appeared at ease. A happy—no, make that an ecstatic—member of the one percent, untouched by life’s travails. Superficial inquiries as to one’s health and well-being met with superficial replies.

  “Wonderful, darling, absolutely wonderful! So kind of you to ask and you?” Alexis was masterful, keeping the conversation light. Compliments flew if there wa
s the slimmest possibility that a moment might turn serious. “You look fabulous, darling! Love your dress and your hair! Who did it?”

  Here and there a flirty glance or whispered comment suggested more might come of the evening for some. For the most part, there was no expectation of deeper truth, nothing exposed. All relationships, even the most amiable, adeptly controlled and kept at arms-length. The years had taken a steady toll on those with whom she shared banalities for decades. Some in her circle gone, but those who remained sported valiant efforts to thwart aging. Many had become almost unrecognizable because of aging combined with so many nips and tucks. She admired their fighting spirit. Do not go gentle—or un-remodeled—into that good night, Alexis had thought.

  The building itself blazed with lights as those invited to the gala wandered through the exhibits. Besides recognizing Hank, and half a dozen architects and designers, the event was also a fundraiser for the Architecture & Design Museum. Dining, dancing and a silent auction, took place that night, along with the awards ceremony. It all went off without a hitch. Hank was beaming and Alexis performed her best “Nancy Reagan” version of the adoring wife—ex-wife in this case.

  Jessica was aglow, stunning in Jovani couture. In the form-fitting slinky dress, made of a draped fabric that glimmered, she might have stepped from an old Hollywood film. Paul Worthington, the handsome lawyer who hired her to work in his firm’s Palm Desert office, was a stunning companion. Dressed to the nines in a bespoke tuxedo, the tall, blond, blue-eyed man was dashing. Like Robert Redford in the Great Gatsby. Smitten with Jessica, he almost never left her side or took his eyes off of her. Alexis was happy to see that Jessica enjoyed the man’s company. There was a good-natured repartee between the two of them as though they had been friends for years. They had been chums at law school, but the real connection between them was a new one. Jessica's divorce was still pending, according to California law. Yet Alexis hoped this man might bring new happiness into her daughter’s life.