A Clause for Murder Page 13

  &ldquoI wasn&rsquot exactly proud of it. And after she dumped me, I couldn&rsquot bring myself to tell anyone. But when that guy Bart told us that Courtney dumped him for a woman, I figured you&rsquod guess.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhy should I? You always had boyfriends.&rdquo

  &ldquoNothing compared to you. But then I&rsquom no knockout. But I guess I dated a few guys.&rdquo

  &ldquoBut why Courtney? What made her so special?&rdquo Because straight or gay, everyone wanted to bang that girl&rsquos brains out.

  Arlene took her time before answering. &ldquoIt didn&rsquot start out as an affair. It was all pretty innocent. Not that anything Courtney did was innocent. It started last fall. She asked me to go Christmas shopping with her. I was flattered. Before that, she never seemed to notice I was alive. I figured, why not? So we went to the mall. And she acted different from the girl we knew. I remember admiring this really expensive bathrobe. And there it was, all wrapped in a box for me. She just gave it to me for no reason. Afterward we had dinner. And she insisted on knowing all about me. Like she was fascinated by every detail. At that point, it all seemed just friendly. Innocent. But later, when I went to put my packages in my car, she came up behind me. When I turned, there she was. Standing so close that our faces almost touched. I felt her breath on my skin, smelled her perfume. Even then, I wondered what she wanted, what she meant to do. She took my hand and I remember thinking: What is this? Then she kissed my palm. Weird, huh? I couldn&rsquot wait to call you. But then ...

  &ldquoShe kissed me on the mouth. I thought, no, this is a mistake. But by then her arms were around me. I felt so confused. All muddled up inside, &rsquocause I liked it, but inside I kept thinking it was wrong. A mistake. But I guess I always had something in me, a curiosity. And she sensed it. Brought it out. Like she understood what I needed. To feel ... accepted, loved.&rdquo

  &ldquoShe seduced you. Charmed you,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoI never felt so completely overwhelmed by anyone. After all, she was gorgeous and rich. Hell, we were all in awe of her. You, me, Tabitha, even Lisa. There&rsquos no denying it.&rdquo

  I listened, transfixed.

  &ldquoThat&rsquos how it began,&rdquo she said. &ldquoFor a few months, she treated me like royalty. Like I was the only person on the planet. She called constantly, told me how smart I was. How funny. We did things together like best friends. We talked late at night and early in the morning. We went away to Mexico for the weekend. Until, well, I would&rsquove done anything for her.&rdquo

  I was stunned, even jealous. Not by their physical affair, but because Courtney had managed to steal my best friend, too. &ldquoI had no idea. Where was I?&rdquo

  &ldquoBusy with Ken and Sofia. Working hard. Taking night classes. It wasn&rsquot tough to fool you. To avoid the group.&rdquo

  &ldquoThe mutual fund class,&rdquo I said, recalling those weeknight classes. &ldquoWhen did you find out about her job? Her money problems?&rdquo

  &ldquoI never even knew she worked. She&rsquod just claim to be busy because of some charity board meeting or social planning committee. And I believed her. Then, after about six weeks of seeing each other&mdashwhen I was really hooked&mdashshe said she couldn&rsquot cover a check. A big one.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow much?&rdquo

  &ldquoEight thousand.&rdquo

  &ldquoSo you paid?&rdquo

  She nodded, looking sheepish. &ldquoStupid, huh? But by then, I was in deep.&rdquo

  &ldquoDid she pay you back?&rdquo

  She snickered. &ldquoYou kidding? That was just for starters. Suddenly, she was afraid of losing her condo. She became hysterical. Said she&rsquod have to take some awful job unless I forked over another ten grand. In the end, it was eighteen thousand. And she still needed more. So I told her to sell her condo and move in with me. That was when she changed. That was when the real Courtney Farrow appeared. It happened in a fucking millisecond. Suddenly, my phone stopped ringing. And she stopped returning my calls. I&rsquod drop by and she&rsquod slam her door in my face.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow cruel,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoThat was just for starters. One day, I drove down to La Jolla and followed her. She met this old guy at an outside café. The two of them were holding hands and giggling like lovers. I pretended to bump into them by coincidence. Courtney didn&rsquot miss a beat. After squeezing the guy&rsquos boney knee, she gave him this big shit-eating grin and excused herself. She insisted we talk privately. I actually felt hopeful when she led me to the ladies room. But that&rsquos when the friendly act faded, and she turned into a fucking monster. When she told me how she despised my ugly face. That I disgusted her. That I was nothing but a big fat lesbian.&rdquo

  &ldquoOh my God.&rdquo

  Tears filled Arlene&rsquos eyes. &ldquoI thought I&rsquod die. The pain ... but I was afraid to tell anyone.&rdquo She paused and took a long swig from the water bottle by her bed. &ldquoThat was just the beginning. Before the blackmail started. Before she threatened to tell you and everyone else about me. So, yes, I could&rsquove killed her. But I didn&rsquot.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou should&rsquove told me. Why didn&rsquot you? Maybe I would&rsquove been shocked at first. But I would&rsquove understood. We could&rsquove diffused all of this with the truth. Then she couldn&rsquot have hurt you. Or blackmailed you.&rdquo

  &ldquoI almost did tell you. I wanted to. But you were so unhappy. You&rsquod just broken up with Ken.&rdquo

  I pictured us sprawled across Arlene&rsquos sectional, drinking, crying. &ldquoYou poor thing. You never even got to talk things out, or tell me what was going on inside you. I thought you were the most sympathetic friend in the world.&rdquo

  &ldquoIt helped that I&rsquod started seeing a therapist.&rdquo

  &ldquoDr. Spunkhoffer?&rdquo I said.

  She nodded. &ldquoHe had amazing insights into how Courtney operated.&rdquo

  &ldquoThen why did you invite her to our party? None of us wanted her there.&rdquo

  &ldquoShe insisted. She promised to bring all my letters. For a mere five grand, I could have them back.&rdquo

  &ldquoBut she never gave you the letters.&rdquo

  &ldquoNope. But I had to take the chance. It would&rsquove looked suspicious if I didn&rsquot invite her. And by then, she seemed desperate. I figured she had something really awful up her sleeve.&rdquo

  &ldquoDesperate about what?&rdquo

  &ldquoMoney.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow come your name wasn&rsquot in her lizard book?&rdquo I asked.

  Her face turned red. &ldquoIt was. I crossed it out.&rdquo

  &ldquoThat&rsquos your name under that blotch? But when did you do that?&rdquo

  &ldquoRight after you found the book. You gave it to me just before that crazy woman barged in. After, when we were straightening up, I managed to cross out my name and number. But that day in La Jolla when you found Courtney&rsquos other letters, I knew you&rsquod find mine, too.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow many did you send her?&rdquo

  &ldquoThree. Two when things were going well. One after she refused to take my calls.&rdquo

  &ldquoThat&rsquos the one I have.&rdquo

  &ldquoThe police must&rsquove found my other letters when they searched her place. Which was why they called me in for questioning.&rdquo

  &ldquoI never heard about that.&rdquo

  &ldquoI guess they saw my desperation in those letters and figured I had a damn good motive for turning her into toast. I still can&rsquot figure out why they let me go. But one thing I do know. You&rsquove got to get rid of that poisonous little book. You&rsquove gotta give it back or even burn it. But definitely get it out of your life.&rdquo

  Her advice made sense. I had a daughter to raise. A business to run. And a lover giving me the runaround. My best friend was in the hospital because of this case. This was no time for death threats. And Courtney&rsquos dirty past was getting in my way. It was time to focus on something besides Courtney Farrow. I intended to cut the ties that bound us.

  So a little before noon
the following day, I dropped by Courtney&rsquos place to return her little book. Like before, Courtney&rsquos key was hidden behind her cactus plant. Aunt Perdith hadn&rsquot changed the locks even though the condo was for sale. Breaking into Courtney&rsquos place had been exciting with Arlene. But with her in the hospital, Tabitha in New York at a conference, and Lisa down with horrendous morning sickness, I was forced to drive over alone. I convinced myself that everything would be fine. After all, nothing bad had happened on my last two visits here, and I wasn&rsquot planning on being inside for more than a minute or two. I intended to march straight into the master bedroom, drop the lizard book on the night table, and run like hell. I&rsquod wash Courtney and the Marlboro man out of my hair for good.

  But when I opened Courtney&rsquos door, a blinding stench hit me. Like every toilet in La Jolla had backed up into her condo. Big green flies had taken over the place. Meaning Aunt Perdith needed to call a plumber fast.

  &ldquoHello,&rdquo I called, one foot inside the place and the other out, in case someone responded.

  When no one answered, I stepped inside. I&rsquod meant to march right into Courtney&rsquos bedroom. But today, Courtney&rsquos costume chest stood directly in my path in the middle of the living room. Not that it should&rsquove mattered if the darn thing stood up on its own and danced around the room. Because I had one simple goal: To dump the lizard book and run. But the darn box was right in front of me. The top of the chest was lying open on the marble floor. And those huge green flies seemed to be streaming from inside the box. The atrocious odor, too. Curious, I edged closer.

  After all, a brilliant October sun filled the condo. I&rsquod just stuffed myself with a cheese quesadilla. And though the smell was sickening, I&rsquod spent years changing Sofia&rsquos poopy diapers and wiping up baby puke. So holding my nose, I crept toward the box. Flies streamed toward me. And the smell ... as my mother would say, &ldquo... like something died in there,&rdquo should&rsquove warned me off. Instead, I peered in almost retching at the sight of an army of plump maggots. Not to mention something dark and hairy under a pink tutu. Something with ... fingers.

  13

  A ... hand. A human hand. Ramming my fist in my mouth, I stymied a scream. Terror gripped my intestines. His face was purple. His eyes were open. He was naked. And his penis stood out like it was delighted to see me.

  I ran. I don&rsquot remember shutting the door. Or making it down the path to my car. But a few seconds later I got rid of my quesadilla and diet soda in some shrubbery. Wiping my mouth with a tissue, I climbed back in my car. I drove six blocks then pulled over. I dialed Arlene&rsquos cell phone number but got her voice mail.

  I couldn&rsquot stop picturing the corpse&rsquos face. The thick lips, heavy brows, and dark hair laced with grey. A dead man.

  Twenty minutes later, at the University Town Center mall by La Jolla, I found a pay phone by the ice-skating rink. Possibly the last pay phone in San Diego County. After shoving in quarters, I dialed Detective Raines&rsquo number. And got another officer.

  In a low voice, camouflaged by a paper bag and a phony southern accent, I described what I&rsquod found. &ldquoNo, sir, ah am sure it was a dead man,&rdquo I drawled. &ldquoNo, ah did not check his breathing. But you all need to go down there and look for yourselves.&rdquo Then I gave the cop Courtney&rsquos address. Twice.

  Afterward, I called Jasper.

  Jasper returned my call a little after five. Which was when I confessed everything to him.

  &ldquoMaybe I should go down and talk to the police,&rdquo I said. &ldquoMaybe it&rsquoll look better in case they discover I was there.&rdquo

  &ldquoIf you don&rsquot want to squander what&rsquos left of your youth in a prison cell, keep your trap shut. At least you got rid of that damned book.&rdquo

  Which was when I remembered I hadn&rsquot.

  Later, while I set out a rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn for Sofia and me, a montage of recent events kept flipping through my head. Arlene&rsquos accident. My death threats. The dead man in Courtney&rsquos costume box. If only I could talk things over with someone. But Arlene currently sounded like a recording on slow play, thanks to drugs. Tabitha was still away. Lisa had her phone turned off. And Ken was MIA.

  That night, even with all four door locks engaged, I felt vulnerable. Every noise made me jump. At last, when I&rsquod just about slipped into a deep sleep a TV announcer said, &ldquo... Tranquillo was found dead yesterday in the late Courtney Farrow&rsquos La Jolla home after an anonymous phone call tipped the police off. Owner of a local restaurant, Tranquillo was an American citizen who&rsquod lived in the United States for over twenty years. Police are asking anyone with information to come forward.&rdquo

  Meaning me. But I couldn&rsquot come forward. Not with a daughter to raise.

  A few mornings later, in the middle of making my bed, I stumbled across an empty can of tennis balls lying under my bed beside a shoe. The very tennis ball can which had housed a copy of Courtney&rsquos lizard book. Now it was empty. I&rsquod moved the original book to an old laundry detergent box under the kitchen sink. In a flash, I took in my room. My scarf drawer was open. And the door to my tiny closet, where I keep my ski and tennis gear, which I hardly ever open, stood ajar. Okay, no one would describe me as the Good Housekeeping poster girl. But some things stayed put.

  My skin began to tingle. The hairs on my arms stood out. Sticking my nose in the air like our old dachshund Chester, I sniffed the air for cigarette smoke. Encountering none, I gazed around my room. Someone had been here. Someone&rsquos curious hands had handled my things. Possibly my bras and panties. Maybe he&rsquod even had a cigarette afterward.

  It was my fault. I&rsquod let Sofia wear me down about using my new door locks during the day.

  &ldquoI could be murdered in the hallway trying to get through all these locks,&rdquo she&rsquod argued.

  I&rsquod seen her point. But here was the result.

  My phone rang. I answered with an impatient hello. A muffled voice spoke. &ldquoBe careful. Or the same thing that happened to your Marine friend could happen to you. Or your little girl.&rdquo

  My heart plummeted. &ldquoWho is this? What&rsquore you talking about?&rdquo

  &ldquoReturn the fucking book. Got it?&rdquo

  Click.

  I stared at the phone. Okay, my heart was doing the Bossa Nova. But my anger gave off a heat that could&rsquove seared a sirloin steak. No one messed with my kid. No one.

  That afternoon, when the school van dropped Sofia off at 3:15, Mrs. Odetts was waiting.

  At work, I called Detective Raines.

  &ldquoHe&rsquoll be right with you,&rdquo another officer said.

  Then I realized how foolish I&rsquod been for calling the police. I couldn&rsquot mention my threats about Courtney&rsquos lizard book, or my fears about Sofia. Because the cops had no idea the lizard book existed.

  Raines finally answered with a brusque, &ldquoHello.&rdquo

  &ldquoHello, this is Betsy Ross. Remember me? I&rsquom the one who sold Courtney Farrow insurance. Anyway, I was just wondering if her death certificate might be ready.&rdquo

  &ldquoThe beneficiary putting pressure on you, Ms. Ross?&rdquo

  &ldquoNo but&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoThen stay out of this. Homicide&rsquos got enough on their hands without you getting pushy.&rdquo

  I hung up feeling torn. I was glad to use insurance as an excuse for my call. But it would&rsquove been a relief to confess everything to the police. To tell them about the lizard book, my smoking intruder, and my death threats. But Jasper had been adamant about my keeping silent.

  14

  The next morning, before Sofia woke, in spite of threatening storm clouds and drizzle, I marched down to the corner mailbox. Using two tissues, I extracted a stamped envelope from my purse. The envelope, addressed to Detective Raines, contained Courtney&rsquos lizard book. Just to be careful, I&rsquod used a wet sponge to seal the envelope so my saliva wouldn&rsquot reveal my DNA. Now, after a f
ast glance around, I slid the package in the mail slot. And felt fifty pounds lighter. No doubt my chain smoker wouldn&rsquot be thrilled about my sharing evidence with the police. But Courtney&rsquos little book might help the authorities catch the lunatic who&rsquod killed her and Mr. Tranquillo. And just to be safe, I still had another copy hidden at home.

  At the office, I found more late notices for Courtney&rsquos policies. Never mind that Courtney was deader than a bran muffin. Aloss was still hounding her about premiums. Plus, someone named Daryl from the home office in Omaha had left a message about William McDade. I quickly slipped into an empty cubicle, dropped my stuff on the desk, and pressed six on the phone for the direct line to Omaha. Maybe Daryl had McDade&rsquos phone number and address. Maybe they&rsquod actually spoken.

  &ldquoAfternoon, Aloss Life,&rdquo Suzie Jackson answered, sounding upbeat and efficient.

  Suzie and I&rsquod met years ago at a company conference. Even though she&rsquos African American, lives in Omaha, and has four children and two ex-husbands, we became fast friends.

  &ldquoSuzie, it&rsquos me, Betsy. Is Daryl around?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoSorry, Betsy. He ain&rsquot here. He and his girlfriend went down to Costa Rica for a few days and the poor guy got bitten.&rdquo

  &ldquoBitten? By what, a rabid dog?&rdquo

  &ldquoA flea. They think he got this thing called Dung fever.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou mean Dengue? Wow, is it serious?&rdquo

  &ldquoDamn serious. In the meantime, his desk and computer are buried under ten tons of shit. We&rsquore trying to handle the urgent stuff but&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoSuzie, this is urgent. I&rsquom desperate for info on William McDade. Daryl left me a message about him Friday. I need McDade&rsquos phone number and address now. Plus, I&rsquom still getting notices about Courtney Farrow&rsquos unpaid premiums. And the woman&rsquos deader than a pork chop.&rdquo

  Suzie sighed. &ldquoHoney, we got bigger problems than a few unpaid premiums. First, your client was still in the two-year contestable period when she passed. And she died under some weird circumstances.&rdquo