Municipal Blondes
29
Unexpected visitors
IT’S WAY PAST TIME to get back to my studies. I’ve moved. I have a new office. I have an assistant. I have no clients. Lars reminded me on Christmas that my thesis is due in just three weeks. It’s almost done but I really have to focus these next two weeks. I’ll have Cinnamon proofread this again when I’ve finished this time.
On retainer
About 10:30, Cinnamon knocked on my door and asked if I could take a visitor. I didn’t even think about not doing it. I should probably consider having appointments instead of interruptions.
Angel walked in and closed the door behind her.
I’d never seen her like this. Her makeup is always perfect. She dresses perfectly. She’s just so perfect all the time. But the Angel standing in my office didn’t have any makeup on and it looked like she’d been crying.
“I look a wreck,” she declared. “Deb, I am a wreck. I don’t know what to do!” She burst into tears and I dredged up some motherly instinct from somewhere and hugged her. We sat on the sofa together and I dried her eyes with a tissue. God knows I’ve been doing enough crying the past month. I ought to know what to do about it. That’s a myth, by the way. Doesn’t help at all.
“What is it, Angel?” I asked. “I owe you my life. Please don’t ever regret saving it.” I just knew she was off on having shot Ray. She’s never talked about it but I know it’s on her mind. It’s been on mine. We both know it’s just something between the two of us. Neither of us will ever talk about it to anyone else.
“It’s not that,” she replied. “I don’t regret for a minute what I did out there. I’d do it again right now. Faster this time.”
“What is it then?”
“Simon.” That said it all. You know, I have to admit, when I first heard about Angel and Simon I kind of kissed it off. Rich man. Golddigger. Get what you can and get out while you can. But when I saw them together in Croatia… I mean, the way he looked at her like she was the beginning and the end of the universe. And she was the happiest I’d ever seen a person when she was around him. Pull out all the clichés you want about old men and young women; these two were crazy in love.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I got a message,” she answered. “He’s hiding and isn’t coming out until he’s sure Brenda is permanently out of the picture.” Maybe I should have told Angel Brenda was on the loose again but it didn’t cross my mind. I’m not sure if I could have told her even if it had. “He says until then, we’ll have to live apart. It was such a beautiful love letter. But he didn’t tell me where he’s hiding so I can’t run off and join him.”
“You want me to track him down?” I asked apprehensively. So much for getting my thesis finished. But if Angel asked me to track down Simon, you know I’d do it.
“No. He’s right. I’m thinking I should find a nice secluded retreat somewhere and disappear for a while. I wish I knew how to disguise myself and get a false identity like you do. That woman! She’s a spiteful horrid bitch. She’ll hurt me just to hurt Simon.”
“I could be your mutual point of contact,” I said, volunteering before I thought it through.
“I might need that if I decide to go. But that’s not why I came.”
“What’s up?”
“Simon says give you a retainer.” She was fishing in a purse the size of Lake Washington and I was sure she’d come out with a floppy salmon. Instead, she emerged with a little business card box. She handed it to me and I opened it. It was full of credit cards—the kind of ATM card she sells through her travel agency. There must have been, OMG! a hundred of them.
“There’s a limit on how much I can put on an individual card and not draw attention,” she explained. “$9,999.99. If I put $10,000 on one, someone comes to investigate. I could be liable for all kinds of civil and criminal penalties if I don’t have every bit of paperwork in order. Your friend Jordan would arrest me. That’s how we’ve always worked it. The guys come in and buy $10,000 minus a penny at a time and give me a $2,000 fee. It’s pretty much like having a pocket full of $10,000 bills.” She pulled a dollar bill out of her purse. “There’s $999,999 on those cards. This makes it an even million.” She handed me the dollar bill. “Simon says he wants a good detective on retainer, just in case he needs to be found again. He’ll leave you a clue.”
“Angel,” I exclaimed. “I can’t take this.”
“Sure you can,” she said. “Simon says. He’s a good man, Deb. He knows a good detective has to be able to put her hands on cash at any time. This is invisible. Just put them in your private safe and pull them out when you need one. It never hits the books if you are careful. If you are extravagant and live beyond your means, the treasury will come down on you for tax evasion. If you keep it quiet, you’ll always have a cushion. You’re smart. You’ll do what Simon says.”
Angel stood up to leave. I didn’t know what to say. Is that where the money Dag left me came from? The instructions were almost the same.
I’m twenty-seven years old. What have I gotten myself into?
“Cinnamon?” I called.
She came bouncing into my office and perched her cute little derriere on the edge of my new desk. Damn. I could hear Dag chuckling from far across the great divide.
“What’s up, Sugar?” she said. I finally got it. As far as she was concerned, we were Cinnamon and Sugar.
“Here’s a dollar,” I said. “Fill out a retainer contract and receipt. Make it out in the name of Simon Barnett.”
“You want me to take this to the bank?”
“No. Just staple it to the contract and file it.”
“This is a strange business.”
Secret keeper
I’d studied most of the night, revising the conclusion of my thesis. It was much stronger now, but my eyes were scarcely open. And I had to make that call I’d been avoiding. Maizie tugged me along on the leash to Tovoni’s and I felt much better after Jackie served me and gave Maizie her cookie. I just sat there inhaling the aroma. It woke my senses and I felt better even before I’d had a sip. When Maizie finished her cookie and got a drink of water, we waved goodbye and headed down to the office.
I pulled the card I’d received at the memorial service from my pocket and stared at it for five minutes before I finally made the call. I hoped she was awake. According to the information I had, she was shooting on location in Nassau. I was shocked when she answered her own phone.
“Miss Marx, this is Deb Riley in Seattle.”
“Please, Deb. I thought we established that I’m just Cali.”
“Thank you, Cali. I didn’t want to disturb you earlier but you asked me to call about the plans for Dag’s ashes.” I heard a deep sigh. She didn’t say anything, so I went on. “He asked to have them scattered on a beach up north of here. I feel like I’ve been negligent in fulfilling his wishes because of… well, I had to finish a job he asked me to do and it’s eaten all my time this month. I think I should do it on New Year’s Eve. I wanted to let you know.”
“Thank you, Deb. It’s the beach that’s in that painting, isn’t it? Shooting has shut down for the holiday and I’ve been doing nothing but sitting in my room reading. Can I call you back at this number when I know my travel plans?”
“You’ll come?”
“Yeah. I loved Dag as the father I never knew. I’ll definitely be there.”
It was a surprise to me that Cali Marx was coming home to Seattle for the scattering of Dag’s ashes. I thought I was just making a courtesy call. I hoped she didn’t want to stay with me. Or maybe I hoped she did.
Ack! Get back to it. The effect of Johnson v. Palmyra, 387 S.W.3d 683 (Tenn. App. 2008) on the receipt of evidence from anonymous sources in criminal prosecution. I printed a dozen pages and took them to Cinnamon to proofread as I attacked the next section.
About 3:00, she knocked on my door. I’d been shuffling pages back and forth all day and I assumed she had another batch to give me. She’d been asking questions about portions of the thesis and we were both getting into sharing insights. It was good practice for defending the paper in a few weeks. She slipped inside and closed the door.
“Miss Riley,” she said. My head jerked up to see why she was so formal. “There is a Miss Horseshoe here to see you. At least I think that’s her name. She’s really nervous and has a very thick accent.” It didn’t sound familiar but I could use a break. I gathered my papers into a neat stack and set my laptop on top of it. Closed.
“Okay,” I said. “Show her in.”
Well, at least I wasn’t dealing with another blonde. She had coal black hair and stood about five-one. Petite. Anxious. She looked around furtively and finally faced me. She was beautiful.
“Are you Miss Deborah Riley,” she asked with a Scandinavian accent so thick I was tempted to call the Swedish American Center to get an interpreter.
“Yes,” I said. She rummaged in her purse and produced a letter that she put on the desk in front of me. Now I knew who she was. Teresia Hjortschoe. I had no idea how it was pronounced. I sent the letter to her at Dag’s request when he died.
“Did you read this?” she demanded. God, I’d thought about it. Miss Nosy Pants.
“No,” I said. “Dag left me a letter asking me to send this to you after he died. I’m so sorry for the loss of you cousin, Miss Hjortshoe.” That did it. I had an ocean being cried in my office again. Please stop, I thought. I can’t take any more of this. If I let it come out again, I might never stop crying. I led her to the sofa and offered her a tissue from my unending supply. I better tell Cinnamon this box is running low. She pulled herself together.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Dag was my favorite cousin. He’s always been there for me.”
“I didn’t know,” I said. “Losing Dag was hard on all of us but it must be devastating for you.”
“Did Dag tell you about his trip to Sweden last fall?”
“I was here, holding down the fort, so to speak. He was very disappointed he didn’t make it in time to see his aunt before she died. Having two losses in such a short time must have been very hard on your family.”
“Cousin Dag saved my life,” she said flatly. Dag hadn’t told me about that. In fact, the first I’d heard of a cousin Teresia was when I was instructed to send the letter. We talked for quite a while and I pointed out the view of the ferries leaving dock that Dag loved so much. She wanted to know about what I was doing behind his desk and how I planned to continue the business being ‘so young.’ She even asked about the business name, D.H. Investigations. Well, I’m Deborah H. Riley, so I’ve decided to keep the company name as is. I had the impression, once she settled down, that she was interviewing me, trying to find out what kind of person I am. She never got around to telling me exactly how Dag saved her life. We’d talked for nearly an hour when she pointed at the letter still lying on my desk.
“Please keep this in your safe place for me,” she said. “Cousin Dag kept it as surety for my good behavior. His requirement of me was he would send this to authorities if I was ever accused of a criminal offense. It will guarantee I am convicted. Will you keep it safe against the same end?”
Damn! Heavy stuff. I looked at the envelope. As far as I could tell, it was the same one I’d tucked in a mailer with the letter about Dag’s death—still unopened. I just knew I was going to regret this for the next God knows how many years. I put the envelope in my pencil drawer. As soon as she leaves, I thought, I’ll put it in the vault.
“As Dag’s partner and friend,” I said, “I will keep this just like he did. I will not look at its contents and will only forward it to appropriate authorities if I hear you are accused of a major crime.” I used her words as closely as I could remember them so there was no room for misunderstanding. I’ve just become some kind of secret keeper. Where will it end?
I’ll take Teresia and Cinnamon to dinner tonight and explain the plans for scattering Dag’s ashes on New Year’s Eve. Just two days away. I’m glad Teresia showed up when she did.
Into the nightmare—again
Maybe it was having someone near who was so close to Dag in a life I knew nothing about. Maybe it was the crash from all the adrenalin I’d burned this month. Maybe because I was sleeping with Maizie in Dag’s apartment in Dag’s bed. Maybe it’s because I’m just a bad person and they are punishment for my sins. Whatever. The nightmares were back.
I sat in my chair, unable to move, tied by unseen bonds. I held my eyes tightly closed so I couldn’t see them. The ghosts of my mother and father, the taunting children in my school, the refrigerator-like Oksamma and his sidekick Bradley. Maybe Ray Hawkins would join them to taunt me from his watery grave. They would laugh at me. Call me Freak, Bozo, Baldy. They would tear out my hair by the fistful and throw it in my face. They would laugh as I cried out to stop. If I opened my eyes, it would all be there in front of me.
I forced them shut. I screamed that I wouldn’t look, but inevitably my eyes were pried open and I looked around me in the dreamworld I had created. It was worse. The dead were all there—even Dag. But they were silent. They stared at me and waited.
“What? What!” I wailed. “What do you want? Just do your worst. Stop staring at me!” I looked pleadingly at Dag but his image dissolved and his cousin Teresia was staring at me instead. The dead all faded, only to be replaced by the living. Simon, Angel, Lars. They were joined by everyone I knew. Mrs. Prior, Jordan, Cinnamon, Geoff, Teri, even Davy. The dead had all been replaced by the living—except Dag was back among them. He still stood there staring at me in silence.
“What? What!” I screamed again. “What do you want?”
“You have it all,” Dag whispered as he gently touched my bald head and comforted me. “You have friends, money, trust, power. You have it all. Now what kind of person are you going to be?”
They all just stood there looking at me. All asking. What kind of person am I going to be?
I was awake now, rigid in my bed. Even awake within the dim light of Dag’s apartment, I could see them. When I closed my eyes, they became more real. The tears flowed. It was worse.
It was so much worse.
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