A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) (27 page)

Once she had the five hundred thousand dollar, double indemnity payout from the insurance company, she could afford to buy another house. Right now, living alone in a house seemed too isolated
to a woman widowed by the murder of her husband only a month ago. The thought of an apartment or condo seemed too close, almost claustrophobic. That closed-in feeling might have come from being back under the watchful eye of her parents. After only a couple weeks with them, she was feeling the need to do something, but what?

Laura was at loose ends, and growing antsy. She wanted to restart her life but she wasn’t sure how. “Tell me about it,” Jessica thought, as she tried to support her friend.
Jessica suggested she speak to a financial counselor who could help sort through the financial issues related to her housing options. Figuring out her finances was one thing, dealing with the fear and loss she felt was another.

The ever-conscientious Laura was on top of that, too. She had joined a bereavement group at the Eisenhower Medical Center. Mostly older women who had lost husbands to aging or disease, their
issues weren’t exactly the same. She found some solace, though, in hearing how others were coping with the loss of a husband. That did not counter the deep sadness on her face as she spoke.

At the moment, her
face bore a stubborn look. Jessica had seen it before, many times. Her determination to go was underscored by arms folded across her chest, as she sat on the couch with her legs stretched out on a cushy ottoman.

“That means me too, Jessica,” said Bernadette
. She moved closer to Laura, mirroring her expression and folding her arms, too.

Jessica thought about the prospect of taking the whole cat pack to the hotel, spa and casino downtown. They could certainly get the lay of the land quickly that way, covering a lot of ground in a relatively short period of time.

“With a picture of Mr. P, we could ask around and see if anyone recognizes him. Maybe someone in management or at the front desk or the spa will remember if he
was
a regular at the time that Kelly was employed. Heck, he might
still
be a regular, for all we know.”

“Yeah, we can all ask around, Jessica. Talk to people and get all the gossip. You shouldn’t forget about the housekeeping staff. They have to clean up the mess. I bet they know plenty that goes on. I can talk to them for you, Jessica,” Bernadette offered.

“That’s awesome Mrs. B. I can talk to the pool guys and the guys who hand out towels and stuff like that. I can tell ‘em about my experiences in the pool business, talk to them pro-to-pro, you know? And I’ll hang with the maintenance workers too and see what they have to say.”

“Ooh, that’s a great idea, Brien. We can talk to the bartenders, too. We do know our booze, don’t we?” Brien was beaming, nodding his head in agreement as Tommy continued.

“Bartenders
always
hear things, Jessica. And we can all take the waters at the spa and get treatments. That Mr. P has a mouth on him. If he was there, he probably spilled his guts to his masseuse or esthetician about all sorts of shit. You can chatter with the women on your side of the spa. Even if they weren’t around back then, Bernadette is right about gossip. I bet there was a lot of talk
after
they found Kelly dead. Stuff that came up that no one told the cops. Besides, I’m all tensed up from that long flight home. I could use a massage. Why don’t we go tomorrow?” There was that twinge of pain in his eyes again. A quiet desperation hovered beneath his clownishness.

“Tomorrow? Are you serious?” Jessica asked. He was. She thought about the week ahead. It was either tomorrow or put
if off until next weekend. Friday would be her dinner and film noir night with Paul, so that meant next Saturday night at the earliest. “Okay, I guess that actually makes sense. I can’t figure out another night that might work, not this week, anyway.”

“What about you, Peter, can you join us? Maybe you could find out what sort of security arrangements were in place when Kelly was killed? How could Mr. P
, or anyone else, have been in the lot at that time of night? Wouldn’t someone have noticed and spoken to him if he was sitting out there in his car like that?”

“I was
wondering about the same thing. That Chester Davis could come and go as he said he did is a little far-fetched, too. Granted, security wasn’t as tight back in the 90’s, when Indian gaming took in a hundred million a year rather than about 30 billion, like it does now.” Laura gasped.

“Thirty billion? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding. That’s the total for the entire country, but about a third of that is made right here in California or over the border in Nevada. That’s the hardest thing for me to believe about what this Chester Davis character is saying. Casino operators are absolutely paranoid about cheaters. Surveillance is everywhere. They watch everybody, customers and employees, and the guys doing the watching have guys watching them. No casino wants their players to get robbed in the hotel parking lot after winning a jackpot at the slots. His story seems odd from my point of view.”

“That bothers me too, Peter. The police did talk to someone in security ba
ck then. I can give you a name, if you want it.”

“Sure, that would be helpful. One of the current security team members at that casino used to work for me. I’m sure he’ll fill me in as much as he can without giving away too many secrets. The other thing I was wondering about is all those comps casinos give out. Casinos climb all over each other to attract and keep the whales coming back. They have to have a system in place to do that. Gaming commissions and casino operators keep an eye on who gets comps, how much, and for what. If he was in their system as a loyal customer or a member of a premium players club, those records might still be around. That’s way more likely than video surveillance or other security records. Those probably got dumped long ago, even if they had them.”

“That’s great, Peter. So we’ll count you in. How about you, Frank? We’ll even make you an ex officio member of the cat pack if you want to join us.”

“Thanks for including me, but I have two kids at home. We have plans for tomorrow night. The only reason I got tonight night off is that Jessica was such a big hit at our Fourth of July p
icnic. I will take the cat pack membership, though, if that’s an option.”

“What about it, gang?” Tommy scratched the air and let out a round of meows.

“That is so gay, Tommy,” Jerry said, tousling Tommy’s hair. Tommy pretended to lick his hand before smoothing his hair back into place.

“I suppose that means you’re in, Frank.” Jessica said, with those in the room nodding in agreement.

“Okay, thanks. After listening to Peter talk about Chester’s story from the security angle, maybe we should all be more skeptical. As an addict who’s been at it for as long as he has, Chester Davis is a practiced liar. He’s been in and out of jail. He might have picked up what he knows about Kelly’s death from talking to one of the officers or overhearing them talking to each other. I’m going to ask Art Greenwald when I talk to him on Monday to check and see if Chester Davis was arrested anywhere around the time Kelly was killed. Given that the dead girl was a police officer’s family member, there was probably a lot of buzz.” Jessica was a little irritated, not sure if it was Frank’s unwillingness to accompany them to the hotel and spa or the sudden onset of cop skepticism that chafed.

“Okay, I hear you. One way to sort this out is to follow up on this Mr. P thing. There’s nothing in the police record about a Mr. P, so he couldn’t have gotten that from eavesdropping, right? If it turns out Mr. P was a regular, that’ll add credibility to his tale.”

“That’s true. I’m not saying we shouldn’t keep digging. We might actually get more out of Bobby, the boyfriend. Maybe
he
can tell us if Mr. P was a regular back then, by looking at a photo. More important than that is finding out if he can tag him as the ‘whale’ slipping Kelly hundred dollar bills. How about finding Bobby Simmons, Jerry?”

“If he’s still working for the tribal casino, it’ll be easy to locate him. If not, I presume there’s an address in the police record. There still might be a link to him online related to that old address. A driver’s license number or a social security number would speed things up. He couldn’t have been working as a dealer at the casino if he had a police record back then
. If Tommy’s right that Bobby Simmons was up to no good, it’s entirely possible he’s had a run-in with the law since. Has the cold case team run a recent check on him, Frank?.”

“That’s a good question, but I don’t know. I’ll see where the cold case team is with all of this when I follow up with Art on Monday. I’ll ask specifically about Bobby Simmons, his whereabouts and activities since Kelly’s death.”

“I need to talk to Art, too, Frank. I have a number of questions from my review of the case file. I’ll give you the first crack at him. If you could call me and let me know what you find out, that would be great. I’ll wait until I hear from you before I contact the detective myself.”

“I’m putting out my own query about Bobby-the-slug right now, using my connections to the looser side of life in the valley.” As he spoke, Tommy’s thumbs were flying, rhythmically punching out text messages on his cell phone. “If that guy’s still around, or if he’s been up to something
slimy I’ll find out quicker than you will, whether or not he’s been tagged for it by the law. Especially if what he’s been up to has anything to do with drugs, gambling or sex. I’ll hear about it.”

“Let’s go eat. After dinner, I’ll get out my AMEX card and arrange our field trip. That’s part of the deal, right?” Heads bobbed up and down again. “I’ll go get my laptop, Jerry, so we can print out pictures of Mr. P. I’m sure we can find a couple pics to take with you, Frank, and I’ll make copies for tomorrow night when we start asking around at the casino. There’s a head shot of Kelly in the case file. I’ll scan it so we can take her photo with us, too.”

Hours later, when the others had left, Jessica was still pent up. Maybe from all the sugar and alcohol she consumed. Jessica slipped out the sliding doors from her bedroom and stood on the patio. The night breeze curled around her, warm and comforting. After dinner, they had made reservations at the hotel and set out plans to make the best use of their time. When the others had gone, she and Frank talked through everything once more. She could tell Frank still had doubts, but was as determined as she was to take the investigation as far as they could. A somber mood had gripped them both, putting a damper on the heat between them. When he stood to leave, she got up to walk him to the door.

“Jessica, I’m sorry about all of this. I wish we were sitting here doing nothing but watching the sunset
and chatting. I’d rather be talking about wine or music, anything but Kelly and a bunch of lowlifes.” He was as burdened as his father had been the night before. She couldn’t ever remember Jim Harper being moved so deeply by such a sense of responsibility for anybody or anything. How could she have missed that about him?

“None of this is your fault, Frank. Count your blessings. At least you don’t have to listen to me go on and on about the lowlife I married. When this is all over we’ll have time to do those other things.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Heck, you’re a member of the cat pack now. And, don’t forget, you still owe me a home cooked Italian dinner. If all that comes of this is that we become better friends, Frank, I think that’s good enough, don’t you?”

“You’re right, Jessica. It’s more than enough, even if this is just so much ring-around-the-rosy.” He draped an arm over her shoulders and she put an arm around his waist. The two of them stood there, side-by-side, in companionable silence as the last colors of the sunset faded away.

“Goodnight friend, thanks for the pep talk,” Frank said
, kissing her on the forehead.

Later, alone in the dark Jessica whispered, “maybe all of this is a lot of ring-around-the-rosy.” Even if they were able to make a connection between Mr. P and the resort where Kelly worked, they still had no evidence that he killed her. Linking Mr. P to the same make and model sedan that had run Kelly down wouldn’t get them very far either. There still wouldn’t be any physical evidence that it was his car that hit her. The statute of limitations had long run out on the hit-and-run, so he’d be off the hook unless they could prove it was murder. The only thing that really made this any kind of case at all was the belated eyewitness testimony of a drug addict facing a third strike. If, as Chet claimed, Kelly’s death was no accident, why? Why on earth would Mr. P have done such a thing? Even if Mr. P. had the means and opportunity to kill Kelly Fontana, it said nothing about a motive.

CHAPTER
21

Saturday morning when her phone rang, Jessica was still asleep. She did her best to get to the phone as quickly as she could, but struggled. Maybe scotch was more than she could handle, even an exquisite scotch. Or maybe it was the wine on top of the scotch. She did a quick tally in her head. A couple glasses of scotch before dinner, a couple glasses of wine with dinner, and another sitting on the patio after dinner. Officially that’s a binge. Her body confirmed it. She wasn’t hung-over, but it was a close call.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” she said, as she answered the phone with a fuzzy, “hullo.”

“Jes
sica, this is Tommy. It’s Bobby Simmons. You know. Bobby the lizard, Kelly’s old boyfriend? The messages I sent out last night got a hit. Jerry’s keeping an eye on him, Jessica. He’s serving food at a soup kitchen here in Indio. We can interview him if you’d like, but I thought you’d want to talk to him, too. You need to get down here, quick.”

“You bet I do. Wait for me. I don’t want to miss anything he has to say. What’s he doing serving homeless people at a soup kitchen?” Jessica asked, as she dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom.

“He’s doing community service, Jessica. He had some kind of legal trouble, and just got out after a couple years in the state prison. It’s a condition of his parole. The community service, I mean. No way is Bobby-the-loser-lizard ever going to work in a casino again. He’s toxic. Bobby Simmons does hair now, if you can believe that!” Tommy snorted.

“You two keep an eye on him. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” The drive from Rancho Mirage to the soup kitchen in Indio would take ten, so that gave her less than that to throw on some clothes.

Jessica splashed water in her face, ran a brush through her hair, rinsed with mouthwash and put on a couple swipes of deodorant. In her closet, she pulled on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and sandals. She scanned her bedroom for the essentials—purse, keys, phone and a pair of sunglasses. In five minutes, she was dashing down the long hallway that led from her wing of the house, past the great room and to the open kitchen and morning room area.

“Please, God, let there be coffee, any coffee, made any old way!” Her prayer was answered immediately. Bernadette was nowhere to be seen, but Jessica could smell coffee, and spotted the thermal carafe on the counter. “Thank you, St. Bernadette,” Jessica mumbled, as she dug through a cupboard for a travel mug with a lid that fit. She poured it half full with coffee then added milk to the brim and drank it, still standing at the sink. The jolt of caffeine went straight to her brain and the milk soothed her acidy stomach. She refilled the cup, this time, mostly coffee with just a touch of milk.

“Jessica, you’re up! I thought you would sleep ‘til noon after hanging around with Frank for hours.” She had a wicked little smile. Jessica knew she was in no shape to go toe-to-toe with Bernadette this morning. She took a big swig of coffee from the cup, ignoring Bernadette’s taunt about Frank. Instead, all she said was, “Gotta go!” as she planted a big smooch on Bernadette’s cheek.

“Go? Where are you going in such a rush?” Her eyes narrowed, sensing that Jessica was up to something. Jessica leaned in and gave Bernadette another kiss. This one made her giggle.

“Tommy and Jerry have found Kelly’s boyfriend, Bobby Simmons. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

With that, she dashed from the house and hopped into her BMW. When she arrived at the soup kitchen minutes later, she spotted Jerry’s pickup truck in a spacious lot in front of the complex. Feeding hungry people was only one of the many services offered by the charitable organization, so the parking lot was large, but it was nearly empty on a Saturday morning. The homeless were mostly carless, too.

The doors didn’t open until 11:00 a.m., when a free hot meal would be provided to the public until noon. A variety of lost souls were already milling about, not exactly queuing up, but waiting for the signal that food was being served. They included the kind of folks you expected to see at a soup kitchen. Men with skin tanned and leathered by the desert sun, worn clothes, unshaven faces, and unruly hair. They looked a lot like Chester Davis. There were also a few women. Many appeared about as strung out as the men. A little clump of women had children in tow, the little ones in their mothers’ arms or clinging to them. A handful of older children played a game of tag, kicking up dust as they ran around on a playground off to one side of the building.

Jessica felt a wave of guilt wash over her, as she was reminded once again of how blithely she spent money. The clothes she wore, just jeans, a t-shirt
and simple leather flip-flops, probably cost more than what was required to feed everyone who passed through that line before noon. That was true without taking into account her Marc Jacobs handbag and sunglasses, which were a “steal” the day she bought them for a tad less than three hundred dollars. She began to wonder how much cash she had in her wallet and whether the kitchen staff could accept it. Or maybe they would take a check. She was digging through her purse, adding a couple tens to the cash from her wallet, when there was a knock on her car window.

Jessica let out a little yip before she realized it was Tommy. He and Jerry had not been in the truck when she drove up, so she figured they were among the group waiting under a canopy near the front door. She rolled the window down and chided him.

“Shit, Tommy, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Jessica, come on, will you? They’re starting to feed people.”

Jessica rolled the window up and shut the car off. As she glanced at the building, a thin man wearing a poufy white mesh hair net was standing in the doorway. He held the door open and directed the flow of down-and-outers. He stared at them for a moment as Jessica slammed her car door and walked toward the entrance, with Tommy at her side. Jerry met them as they entered the building, and they all followed the hungry throng to the dining hall that had a serving line set up cafeteria style.

“That’s him,” Jerry said in a low voice, nodding in the direction of the guy who had been staring at them earlier.

Bobby Simmons perused them warily as he took a place in the serving line behind the counter. In addition to the white bouffant hair net, he was wearing a large white apron hooked in a loop around his neck. Knee length, it covered much of his clothing. Jessica and her companions sort of hung back, watching him as the hungry patrons, familiar with the routine, grabbed trays and moved through the line. Jessica hadn’t given much thought about how to approach Bobby. She was about to confer with Jerry about what they should do when a woman dressed in similar food service garb approached them.

“Can I help you?” Jessica had pulled a business card out of her wallet while searching for cash
earlier and handed it to the woman.

“We’d like to speak with Bobby Simmons. What would be a good time to do that?”

“Is he expecting you?” She sounded like his executive assistant. She had the officious demeanor to fit the question.

“No, he’s not expecting us, ma’am. We’re sorry about that,” Jerry Reynolds answered, scuffing the floor a little. If he had been wearing a cowboy hat, he would have tipped it to her right about then. “The police department gave us this location as the best place to find him on a personal matter. It’s pretty darn important, or we wouldn’t have rushed down here this morning without calling first, Ms., uh...forgive me, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

Tommy’s friend who supplied the info about Bobby Simmons
did
work for the police department, so what Jerry said was sort of true, but not exactly. However, even if they’d had a month of Sundays, they wouldn’t have called ahead. No way would they have given a shyster like Bobby Simmons the heads up he needed to dodge them.

I
t didn’t matter at that point. Jerry flashed a devastatingly handsome smile at their inquisitor, then held out his hand to shake hers. She was obviously bedazzled, as she replied, “Ronda, Ronda Emerson.” Smiling broadly up at him, she placed her gloved hand in his. Gay or not, the man had a way with women. Perhaps it was his leading man good looks, or his chivalrous behavior, mixed with that aw shucks number he was running on her at the moment. In any case, Ronda Emerson was now putty in his hands.

“Let me take your card, uh,” she let her eyes drop from Jerry’s face long enough to read the name on the card that Jessica had handed her, “Attorney Huntington, I’ll give it to Bobby. I can’t make him talk to you, of course.” Her eyes drifted back to Jerry, who was still smiling beatifically. “I’m sure he’ll be right over. You all take a seat at one of those tables toward the back, will you?”

“Thank you, ma’am, we appreciate your help, given how busy you are.” Jessica had to stop the impulse to roll her eyes. He was laying it on thick. Ronda Emerson bumped into two or three people as she backed away. Fortunately none of them dropped their trays or spilled the food being dished out to them.

The three of them sat down as they were instructed, waiting while Ronda Emerson spoke to Bobby Simmons. Bobby
took the card from her and put in a shirt pocket.  For a moment, Jessica thought he might run for it. His eyes darted from side-to-side, and he glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen. There must not have been a way out. Next, he scanned the area between him and the doorway that led to the front entrance. She wondered if they could get to the doorway first. Probably, so she relaxed a little. Bobby must have figured out the same thing. His shoulders slumped as he handed his serving spoon to Ronda, who stepped into his place in the serving line. She smiled at Jerry, who gave her a little wink. Flustered, she missed the plate she was aiming to supply with what looked like sweet potatoes. She didn’t notice, and the poor hungry man she was feeding didn’t seem to care that it had landed on his tray. He just leaned in a little closer as Ronda Emerson doled out another spoonful, this time on his plate.

“You want to talk to me?” Bobby Simmons asked, in a sullen tone. Jessica spoke first.

“Yes, Mr. Simmons. It’s nice to meet you.” Jessica stood and held out her hand, as Jerry had done with Ronda earlier. She also tried out her own version of a ravishing smile on Bobby, with much less luck. He did not return the smile, nor did he take her outstretched hand. “I’m Jessica Huntington and these are my associates, Mr. Simmons. Will you have a seat, please?”

Jessica took a closer look at Bobby as he sat down and pulled off the hair net. He was in better condition than Chester Davis. She still would have had a hard time believing he was about her own age. Nor did he have a swagger, or much of the lounge lizard about him that Tommy had recounted when describing the youthful Bobby Simmons. One reason Tommy
may have found it so hard to believe he was doing hair was that Bobby had none of his own. Well, almost none. He had thin wisps around the sides and back of his head. A few strands combed over on top were kind of standing on end at the moment. Bobby reached up and swiped at the top of his head, patting down the restive tufts.

“This is Jerry Reynolds,” Jessica said, gesturing toward Jerry, who sat across from her. Bobby cast a scowl in his direction but did not say anything to Jerry. “And this is...” Bobby cut her off.

“I know who he is. You’re Kelly’s little brother, Timmy, right? I remember you. Hell, even if I hadn’t seen you before, I would have known you were her brother from a mile away. You look just like her. Except for your eyes and except that you’re a boy, of course.” For some reason, Bobby thought that was funny, and actually chuckled. The glee fled as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, exposing tattoos as his sleeves rode up. Tommy said nothing, but clenched then unclenched his jaw.

“So, what is this? What are you and your
‘associates’
doing here during my community service, Attorney Huntington?”

“Mr. Simmons, some new information has
come to our attention about the circumstances surrounding Kelly Fontana’s death.
Tommy
, Jerry and I have some questions, and are hoping you might be able to help us.”

“Tom and Jerry, for real? Now that’s funny. I love those guys. They’re two of my favorite cartoon characters.” Bobby Simmons still had his arms folded obstinately in front of him, but he was back in chuckle mode. He snapped out of it quickly and spoke very deliberately. “I didn’t have anything to do with her death. That was a long time ago. I told the cops everything I knew. Ask them. They’ll tell you I cooperated completely.”

“We know that, Mr. Simmons. We’ve gone through the record, and it’s clear that you were very helpful. Especially when it came to telling the police about the last time you saw Kelly and the fact that she was on her way back to work that night. I had a question about what she was wearing. I know it was a long time ago, but do you remember what you said?”

“That’s easy, a no-brainer. I worked at that casino for almost eight years. The girls pretty much wore the same thing. Kelly wore all black when she was working at the spa, black pants and a long black top. They called it a smock or something like that, but basically it was just a shirt, but longer. The ladies that served drinks and food on the casino floor or in the restaurants, they wore black, too, mostly. Black tights and these short little black skirts and tops that were just regular shirts, you know? Kelly had them in white and black and some kind of light brown color, too.”