Authors: Emelle Gamble
“Have you been drinking?”
Jill squared her shoulders. “What the hell, Andrew, why are you questioning me like this? You sound like a freaking cop.” She pointed to the curb. “You better leave now, before the real ones get here.”
True to form, Andrew walked closer. “I’m asking what the police are going to ask. And I should stay until they get here, because I called in the report. You don’t want to explain you sent me away because you can’t stand the sight of me. They might treat your story of a break-in differently if you begin the interview by recounting a story that ends with you shooting me in the head.”
The sound of sirens echoed around Jill, louder with every second that passed. “I just winged you.”
“Dick Cheney would be proud.”
Jill scowled at his attempt at a joke. She got up. “I’m going to go in and put my clothes back on. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t touch anything else,” Andrew said. “And put some shoes on. People feel much more vulnerable to questioning when they are barefoot.”
Jill had the urge to flip him off, but instead she stomped into the house and grabbed her clothes off the floor and dressed, and then slipped on her shoes. She fretted about why Andrew was back again, and what the hell Pandora Security was.
Is he armed?
With that sobering thought, Jill stepped out of the bathroom two minutes later and found him in the living room with three Santa Barbara cops.
Shit.
“Officers, this is Jill Farrell, the victim. This is her home.”
“I’m not a victim,” Jill said. “This is my house, but I wasn’t here when this happened, officers. I’ll answer your questions. Not Mr. Denton. He’s leaving now.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
The cops exchanged glances.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. “I’ll wait in the other room, Jill. We still have something to discuss.”
“Is everything okay here, Miss Farrell?” the taller of the two cops asked.
“Yes,” she said, sending Andrew a look that should have killed him. “Okay, wait in the kitchen.”
The cops stayed for less than thirty minutes and did not dust for prints, or take pictures, or seem all that interested once they saw the damage. They said it was most likely neighborhood kids who had broken in looking for cash or jewelry.
When they checked they found the sliding glass door to her patio ajar, and the lock showed signs of being jimmied. Jill explained that she always kept a piece of doweling in the track to keep that from happening. The officers found it leaning against the inside of the window, as if she had forgotten to put it in place.
Which was probably the case, she realized. With all her mother’s recent doctor appoints, she could not honestly remember the last time she had secured the door.
The cops toured the rest of the house with her and found both of her bedrooms were ransacked, and about ten storage boxes in the garage had been ripped open and emptied onto the floor, but as far as she could tell nothing was taken.
She agreed to call if she found anything else missing, and accepted their scolding about leaving her place locked up securely.
She closed the door, and immediately panicked over not thinking about something that might have been stolen.
Dad’s gun!
It was stowed in the very back of the closet, unloaded, and not worth much to a pawnshop, but certainly would have been of interest to the punks who broke in.
Jill flung open the closet door and felt around behind the jackets and coats for the peg the revolver and holster hung from. Her hand found the smooth, worn leather of the holster, and the comforting weight of the gun.
With a sigh of relief, she left it where it was and headed for the kitchen. Her unwanted guest was sitting at the table, the smell of coffee in the air.
She sat across from Andrew, who had helped himself to a box of cookies from her pantry. There were crumbs on the table in front of him.
“Okay. What the hell is it you want from me?” Jill said.
“Are you okay?”
She folded her arms over her chest, realizing her blouse was unevenly buttoned. “My house was burgled, half the clothes I own are on the bedroom floor, and despite my asking you to stay away, you’re camped out in my kitchen. Why?”
“I think you might be a touch more grateful I was here to help,” Andrew said. “Anyway, we do have something to talk about.”
“I’m made it clear a couple of days ago that we have nothing to discuss.”
“Oh, trust me, we do.” Andrew tented his hands together, his blue eyes bright.
Jill stood. “If this is about the past, for god’s sake, we were over with a decade ago. I don’t have anything more to say about it. So if you want to rehash the arrest, or our domestic violence, I don’t care to participate.”
“I’m not here about that,” Andrew said.
“Then what do you want?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother. I understand she’s in a long term care facility.”
“And how do you know that? Jesus, are you stalking me?”
“No, of course not.” Andrew sat more upright. “You’ve decided to go to the reunion, I understand.”
Jill blinked. “Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. I made inquiries.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Fair enough. Look, I know you don’t want to spend any time with me, but I’m going to tell you something now that you might not believe, but you must. It’s very serious. So please listen for a couple of minutes before you say anything.”
“First, you tell me what Pandora Security is?” she asked. “I want to know what it is you do before I say anything else.”
“It’s my company. I’m an investigator.”
She leaned forward. “You were in jail for attempted murder. How did you get a license to be an investigator?”
He flinched. “My criminal record was expunged because I went to rehab for two years. I have worked very hard to put my mistakes behind me. Especially the ones I made the night you left me.”
She softened, but only a little. “Good. Good for you.”
“Thank you. Now look, it’s unfortunate you have to deal with so much tonight, and that my showing up makes you feel awkward, but what I have to say can’t wait until it’s more convenient. It’s too important.”
“To whom?” Jill said.
“To people in our government, and out of it. Quite possibly to you and your family.”
“This is crazy.” Jill sat and crossed her arms. “You’ve got two minutes to explain this.”
“I work primarily with government clients, both here and in Europe, and South America. I was contacted a few weeks ago by the state department on behalf of another agency. They requested I informally look into the murder of an alumnus of St. John Vianney College.”
Jill gasped. “Murder? Who was murdered?”
“Ben Pierce.” Andrew’s voice was steely. “He was two years ahead of us. His sister, Marissa, was in our class. Do you remember either of them?”
Jill’s heart fluttered with shock. She pictured Ben, heavy black glasses and smiling face, at the desk next to her in English. He had put off his required liberal arts classes until senior year, and always kidded her that he was copying off her exams.
“I did know Ben. And I remember Marissa. She’s handling the reunion, right?”
“Yes. Have you talked to her?” Andrew stared at her.
“No. Not personally. What happened to Ben?”
“He was an ATF agent. Last December, while attending a technology conference in Paris, he was murdered in his hotel room.”
“That’s horrible. But why are you telling me about this?”
“Because I need your help. I’m assisting in the investigation.”
As she had with Max a couple of hours ago in his car, Jill was unable to control her nervous emotions. A full-out chortle rolled out of her. Because what Andrew said was so preposterous, she could not give it the credence his unsmiling face said it deserved.
“Are you joking? I’m a community college English teacher, for heaven’s sake. What could I possibly do to help in an investigation?”
Andrew leaned closer. “It’s believed the man who killed Ben also has a connection to St. John’s. Possibly a fellow student.”
“What?”
“Yes. Ben left a rather cryptic message the day he was murdered. He said he had run into an old classmate, and that there was something off about the guy.”
“That’s rather ambiguous. This sounds like a movie,” Jill said. “And you still haven’t explained why you’re telling me this.”
“If Ben’s killer was a fellow student, there is a very real possibility he might attend the reunion. So I need someone to act as another set of eyes and ears inside the parties, and watch for suspicious behavior.”
Jill was slightly nauseous. “If you’re talking about me being some kind of what, spy for you, that’s ridiculous. I have no idea what you mean by suspicious behavior. What exactly would I be watching for? I mean, aside from someone pulling a gun on someone at the reunion.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.” Andrew colored. “I would like you to go to the events, all of them, and observe. See if you notice anything odd or unusual. Watch if anyone seems nervous, or asks a lot of questions about Ben.”
Andrew reached into his coat pocket and took out an envelope. He pushed it across the table at Jill. “I’m prepared to pay for your help. Sign the non-disclosure form inside. Once I get it back from you, I’ll give you a check for $10,000. For your findings. And your time and trouble.”
“$10,000?” Jill’s eyes opened wide. “For my
findings
? I don’t even know what a finding is. I’ve got no experiences with something like this.”
“Your dad was a cop,” Andrew said.
“And my mother could quote a hundred bible verses and make pie crust from scratch, neither of which I could do on a bet. What’s your point?”
“I need your help, Jilly,” Andrew said softly. “Can your country count on your help?”
Jill’s legs felt unsteady. “I can’t imagine a single good reason to get involved in this.”
“Don’t say no,” her ex-husband replied. “Sleep on it. And please don’t mention what I’ve confided to you tonight to anyone else.” He stood.
Jill stared at him. She felt there was something more to this story, something that Andrew had not said. “Do you know anything else? Why does ATF, or whoever it is you’re working for, think this person is one of our classmates?”
“There was some evidence found at the scene that I can’t share.” Andrew’s expression was serious.
“Well, do they suspect someone in particular though?”
“For your information, yes, from what I understand the feds are looking hard at five or six people. Classmates who live or travel often to Europe, and who are in the technology or finance fields. Someone who may have been at the conference that Ben was attending.” Andrew held Jill’s glance. “I don’t know the names on that list, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Max Kallstrom was one of them.”
Jill gasped. “What? Why?”
“He’s in investments, from what I’ve found out. Lives in Paris. And that whole disappearing act of his fifteen years ago? Fits perfectly with someone who might seem a bit off to Ben Pierce, if you ask me.”
Jill stared at her ex-husband. She moved her mouth but no words came out.
“I knew this would shock you, but I thought you should know the man you’re hot to hook up with again could be dangerous.”
She blinked and a few things became clearer. “Are you targeting Max because of your misconceptions about what ruined our marriage, Andrew? Is this some jealous thing?”
“No. Of course not.”
“No? Then why single out Max? From what you said, several men in our class will be under suspicion. You included, since you travel all over the world. There’s no other evidence Max is involved, is there?” Her heart pounded in her ears.
“No, no, there isn’t. Yet.” Andrew’s eyes were steady. “And for your information, I’m not jealous of him. But considering Kallstrom is the reason you never gave our marriage a fair chance, I think you owe it to me to help in this investigation.”
The room seemed to spin around her and Jill felt hot and cold. She grabbed the tabletop as the taste of Kir crept up her throat.
Chapter 7
Jill stared at her bedside clock. Ten minutes after eight in the morning and she felt like she had been hit by a truck.
Either the restaurant had poisoned her Kir, or she had been struck down with a bug intent on doing what Andrew had failed to do: beat her into submission.
She had thrown up twice last night before Andrew had knocked politely on the powder room door and told her he was leaving, but would be in touch soon.
After that, all she remembered was the good old dry heaves, which basically made her wish for death, or an exorcist. She had had bone-rattling chills, and been in and out of bed until 3 a.m. The last time she must have passed out because when she woke up an hour later she was stretched out in the hallway in front of the bathroom, her hair glued to the side of her face.
She swallowed. It was not the best idea. With one hand on her forehead and the other on her stomach, she got out of bed and walked directly into the shower. She turned on the cold water and for ten minutes let the torrent both wash and sober her up.
A few minutes later, she once again stood staring out the kitchen window at the street, a mug of coffee in her hands. It had taken her about eight minutes to make a pot.
She replayed the events of last night in her head. The break-in by unknown juveniles was aggravating. The news about Ben was heartbreaking.
Jill took a gulp of coffee. And Andrew’s request was beyond ridiculous, as were his suspicions about Max.
Max.
Jill blinked and remembered her body’s reaction to him last night. After all these years it was the same as it had been when she was a kid. She had her share of other lovers since Max, including Andrew, but none had ever flipped on all her switches as he had.
“I think you have an unhealthy obsession with the unobtainable past,” a psychologist she had gone to suggested to her years ago, after her divorce from Andrew. He opined she had chosen Andrew because she knew he would never measure up to Max, and that she was in limbo, waiting for the Swede’s return.
She had dismissed that opinion, and had managed one or two other serious relationships since Max, but she had never felt the same depth of attraction for any man.
Until last night.
I need to get a grip on my libido
. While her instincts said Andrew’s speculation about Max was jealousy inspired and had no basis in reality, it made her focus on one fact she could not ignore.
She did not know this Max. Certainly not well enough to let sexual instincts direct her interactions with him.
I’ll call and put him off for a couple of days, tell him to go see Dr. Millard by himself. Get my head together.
Jill felt an immediate pang of regret at the thought of not spending the day with him. She shook her head and it felt as if her skull was full of sand. Catching a whiff of the too-ripe bananas on the counter, she breathed deep to stave off another bout of retching.
The wall phone rang. Jill winced at the sound and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Ms. Ferrell?”
“Speaking.” She wished again the ancient thing had caller ID.
“Are you okay, Ms. Ferrell?”
“Fine,” she rasped. “Who is this, please?
“This is Megan Jenkins from Friend’s House. Everything is okay here, so don’t ever worry if you see my number on your caller ID. If it’s an emergency, we’ll say so right away. Anyway, I was checking to see if you received our notice in the mail?”
Jill’s mind flashed on the misspelled envelope she’d received a couple of days ago. “Ah, yes. But I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet. Is it something important?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. It explains about the new rates. I was calling to see if you had any questions about them.”
“New rates?” Friday they had given Friend’s House a check to cover the first two months of Dorothy’s care, $8,475 a month for living in the Alzheimer’s wing. That included meals, laundry, and medication supervision. When she told Carly about it, she said for that price, it should have included a weekly massage from Ryan Gosling.
“What are you talking about?” Jill asked.
“Would you like to go find our letter? Then I can answer any specific questions you might have.”
“I will in a minute. But why don’t you tell me the new rates now.”
“Well, okay. Your mother’s new monthly fees will be $9,090 as of July 1
st
. HEVCO, our parent company, has done their best to hold down costs and is pleased to announce that they don’t expect another increase until January of next year.”
“What? You’re going to raise the rates again that soon?” She thought HEVCO should change their name to GOUGECO, but didn’t share that. “Tell the director I’d like to discuss this with her tomorrow when I pick my mother up for her appointments, okay?”
“Certainly. But I’ll be glad to give you a breakdown.”
“I don’t need a breakdown.”
I’m going to have a breakdown
. She had worked out that the money from the sale of her mother’s house, along with Dorothy’s Social Security and her father’s pension benefits, would cover her mother’s care for about five years.
They would then get her qualified for Medicaid, who would not help with expenses until an Alzheimer’s’ victim was down to her last two thousand dollars. Which is going to happen a lot quicker now, thanks so much, HEVCO.
The image of Andrew offering her $10,000 darted through her brain. That money would help, she thought.
No way.
Jill said goodbye and grabbed the mail and fished out her phone from her purse. She glanced around the wreckage of her room that she had not picked up last night.
She punched in Max’s number. Her call went to voicemail. She hung up and glanced at the clock. It was eight forty.
Two hours later, she had read through the stack of mail, paid bills, vacuumed, and restored order to her bedroom and the guest room. The garage boxes were repacked and taped. They were all things from her mother’s house, crockery and photo albums and Christmas decorations, and Jill could not imagine what teen delinquents had hoped they would find in them.
I better try Max again.
She sat down on her sofa, her attention caught by the roses. They were fully opened, their fragrance rich and sweet. She remembered other times flowers had filled the house, happier times. Max had given her flowers once, wildflowers he had picked along the shore.
She inhaled, smelling salt water and summer.
It was a trick of the mind,
she thought. She had to be careful and not get too sentimental. With a frown, Jill hit redial.
Max answered on the second ring. “Hi! I was about to call you. Is everything all right? I saw you tried to get me a couple of hours ago when I was in a meeting.”
“Hi, yes, everything’s fine.”
Except since I saw you I was burgled, poisoned, and propositioned for undercover work by her nutty ex-husband
, she thought. “I was calling about today, and . . .”
“Good news there!” Max interrupted. “I talked with Dr. Millard early this morning and she’s going to meet us at the Canyon Inn for lunch about twelve-thirty. She’s thrilled we’re coming to see her, and told me again it’s been way too long since she’s talked to you. Is noon still a good time to pick you up?”
She did not want to stay in this house today, brooding about her mother’s finances or the past. Or Andrew’s half-baked paranoia. After all, she had agreed to help Max. “I think it would be better if I meet you there.” Jill cleared her throat. “I have some errands to run afterwards, and I don’t want to intrude on your business calls.”
Silence. “Oh. Okay, and then later maybe we can have dinner?”
“I’ll let you know about that. I’m not sure how late I’ll be, and I need to swing by and see my mother.” She winced. She had not thought of doing that until now, and she should have. “Okay? So I’ll meet you at the Canyon Inn by twelve-thirty?”
“Sure thing.”
Jill hung up and stared at the roses.
She grabbed them and carried them out to the patio so she would not have to see or smell them, stuck the dowel in the sliding door, and locked it, and went to take another shower.
The Canyon Inn, built on the edge of a cliff high in the mountains above Santa Barbara, offered a breath-taking view of the Pacific Ocean and Channel Islands.
Due to traffic caused by an earlier accident, and an anxiety attack over clothing choice, Jill was fifteen minutes late. She trailed behind the waiter and found Dr. Millard and Max chatting at a table on the outside patio.
“Jill, darling, how great to see you! What’s it been, ten years?”
“Surely it’s not that long ago?”
Millard frowned. “I think it has been at least that long, you were newly married.” She darted a glance at Max. “Or should I not bring that up?”
“My past is public knowledge.” Jill remembered the many calls she fielded in the aftermath of the shooting scandal, thanks to coverage in the local papers. “And I already filled Max in on the seamy details.”
“You mean how you shot the bastard?”
“She just winged him.” Max raised his eyebrows. “Or so she says.”
“What a pity,” Millard retorted.
Jill gave Dr. Millard a hug. “It is wonderful to see you.”
Max pulled out a chair for Jill. “Everything okay? I was going to call to see if you’d been held up.”
A wisecrack about the burglary last night flitted through her brain, but she swallowed it. “Traffic? What can I say, I should know better on a Monday. Everyone is back to work except we educators. Thank god for Spring break.”
They ordered drinks. Dr. Millard a bourbon and soda, she and Max stuck with iced tea. Her professor looked eighty but was probably mid-sixties, Jill thought. She had been a chain smoker for decades, and die-hard beachgoer who bucked the healthy lifestyle trends ascribed to Californians out of independence and addiction.
“I do wear sunscreen,” Millard said in response to Max’s comment on her tan. “But I’ll bet all that chemical goo is going to kill me before the sun does.”
“I wear it every day too,” Jill said. “I freckle more and more. Climate change is eating the ozone, right?”
“That’s true.” Max smiled at her appraisingly. “But your skin is lovely.”
“It is,” Millard chimed in. “Your family is Irish? Your kind looks gorgeous until they hit sixty. Then the men all look like drunks, and the women look exhausted.”
Jill smiled at Max’s expression. It was clear he did not remember Professor Millard was famous for her cutting, but true, comments. “Sounds like you’ve seen my aunties and uncles.” She picked up the menu. “So what sounds good for lunch?”
They placed their order, chatted for a few moments about the spectacular views and the ever-present sunshine.
“How does it feel to see this guy after all these years?” Dr. Millard asked, watching Jill with interest.
“Nice but a weird. It’s like fast-forwarding your own life when you see a person for the first time in such a long time.”
“Neither of you look different to me,” Millard offered. “Except you’re both more beautiful. Max was too skinny as I remember, kind of gangly. And you were always ducking your head down, as if you didn’t want anyone to look at your lovely face. I like these current versions of you.”
“Thank you,” Jill said. “You look great yourself, Dr. Millard. I always admired your jewelry, and I think of you when I see anyone wearing great Navaho pieces.”
The music teacher touched the heavy squash blossom necklace hanging from her neck. “I’ve got more than I can wear now, and I give it away every chance I get to people who appreciate it. Except for a few pieces that were my mother’s. She got them in the 1930s and 40s. They’re worth quite a bit now, but priceless to me.” She put her hand on Jill’s. “Max told me about your mother and the Alzheimer’s. So sorry, dear girl.”
“Thank you.”
“It seems you’re surrounded by people with memory issues.” Millard turned to Max. “Has Jill been able to stir up anything familiar inside your head?”
“She has.” Max’s eyes flashed. “Nothing clear enough to qualify as a recollection, but something’s happening.”
“It’s been intriguing,” Jill said quickly. “Last night at dinner I filled Max in on several of our classmates and things we’d done. I hadn’t thought of some of the events for a long time, like the time our bus broke down in Tijuana and we were escorted to jail for a couple of hours. Talking to him is bringing it all back for me.”
“I’m looking forward to the reunion events,” Max said. “I’m going to be honest with everyone, and tell them up front I don’t remember them. Should get the party off to an interesting start.”
“You’ll only have to tell a couple,” Millard said. “They’ll tell everyone else. Start with Jill’s best friend, Carly Hart. She was our own personal Internet when they were in school.”
“Carly does like to talk.” Jill said. “She and Hamilton are coming in on Thursday night.”
“Carly married Hamilton Stewart?” Millard asked. “I’d forgotten that. He didn’t graduate from St. John’s, did he?”
“No. He finished his undergraduate course work at Oxford senior year. And he never came back. Fell in love with London.”
“How did Carly get together with him?”
“She ran into him by chance in Greenwich when she was on a trip for the Metropolitan Museum.” Jill smiled as she remembered Carly’s excited call during her European excursion. “She said she hadn’t liked him much when he was at St. John’s, but once they rediscovered each other, she fell in love and the rest is history.”
“Hamilton was a bit of an odd duck,” Millard said. “Orphan, if I remember. Only relative was a cousin or something in Great Britain, or somewhere. But a brilliant and accomplished musician. Does he still play piano?”
“I don’t know. I have only actually seen him a couple of times since they were married. He’s busy with his banking career. Carly said he flies all over the world.”
“Does he work for Lloyds Bank?” Max asked. “I feel like I may have run into someone by that name at a conference.”