Jarvis put his checkbook back into his pocket, and once again Mary had the inkling that she wouldn’t be all that surprised if the hand came back out with a gun.
But no. The hand reappeared, with only five very nicely manicured fingernails attached.
“Maybe we’ll cross paths again, when you’re a bit more open-minded,” he said.
“I’m very close-minded,” Mary said. “I dislike most people, and the few I do like, I certainly don’t trust one single bit. So don’t get your hopes up.”
Jarvis walked out the door, and Mary shut it after him. Turned the deadbolt.
She plopped back into her office chair, grabbed another beer, twisted off the cap, and sat back. Mary took another long drink of beer, then wondered: how the hell had that slick ratface gotten in here?
22
Twenty-two
Mary fired up her computer, logged onto bank account for Cooper Investigations, and checked the balance.
She wouldn’t be buying Richard Branson’s private island just yet, but still, the total wasn’t too bad.
She could afford to work a few more days on a case that appeared to have no financial incentive for her personally.
Mary debated about opening another beer, then made the wise decision and twisted the cap off another one.
She put her feet up on the desk and held the beer in both hands.
Something was bothering her, other than the strange and abrupt appearance of Mr. Derek Jarvis.
The murder of Elyse Ramirez weighed heavily on her. She often had a cavalier relationship with booze, but when she did feel the need for multiple drinks, there was usually something bothering her, even if it wasn’t obviously on the surface.
But it wasn’t just the murder.
Heck, Mary had seen all kinds of dead bodies. Including the ones that had been alive until she’d made them dead.
No, this time it was the woman’s face. She had been such a beautiful woman. That beautiful skin, fine features. Mary raised her beer toward the ceiling.
“Here’s to you, Elyse,” she said. “Or whatever your name was.”
That face. What was it about that face?
Mary drummed her fingernails along the side of the beer bottle.
She thought of Nina’s face. Granted, it was only a photograph, and the images were from her Facebook page.
But still. .
It occurred to Mary that Nina didn’t look all that much like Elyse.
And then it her. What was bothering her.
Elyse Ramirez might not be Nina’s mother.
Which raised two entirely new questions in Mary’s mind.
Who in the good goddamn was Elyse Ramirez?
And if Elyse wasn’t really Nina’s mother, then who was?
23
Twenty-three
Mary locked up her office and drove through the small downtown area of Venice. She noticed a black Chevy Tahoe behind her and something about it bothered her. Had she seen it before? Whoever was driving wasn’t tailgating her, but for some reason, she felt like the bastard was too close.
When she was within two blocks of Alice’s house, the Tahoe turned off, and Mary figured she was imagining things. Paranoia.
Add it to her list of mental issues.
Mary got to Alice’s house, parked, and rang the bell, but there was no answer. Mary had already seen Alice’s car in the driveway. She took out her key, unlocked the door, and went inside.
The smell of body sweat and curry hit her nostrils, while the sound of rock music assailed her ears.
A man walked out of the kitchen wearing a pink bathrobe. Sanji the yoga instructor appeared to have no other clothing on beneath the robe.
A martini glass was in his hand.
“Hello,” he said, a thick Indian accent giving his words a soft lilt.
Mary tried to avert her eyes.
“What kind of yoga involves martinis and nudity?” Mary said. “Doesn’t sound like Bikram.”
Alice emerged from the kitchen. She had on a bathrobe and black stockings, with six-inch stiletto heels. She wobbled a bit coming from the kitchen.
“How’s the escort service?” Mary said.
“Business is booming! Or should I say ‘banging?’” Alice said with a big grin on her face. She reached out, lifted up the back of Sanji’s bathrobe, and slapped his bare ass. Mary could tell Alice had enjoyed more than one drink. And her face was flushed. Either from the curry or something else. Mary didn’t want to think about it.
“We had a very good session today,” Sanji said. He giggled a little after he said it.
“I definitely feel a lot more loose,” Alice said. She winked at Mary and slipped an arm around Sanji’s waist. “A lot more.”
Mary closed her eyes and winced.
“Please stop,” she said. “And where did you get those shoes? Your old KISS costume? Does Gene Simmons know you’re impersonating him?”
Sanji walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. His robe popped open, and Mary tried to quickly look away.
Too late.
“Put your King Cobra away, Sanji,” Alice said. “You’re making Mary jealous.”
Sanji pulled his robe closed. “I am sorry,” he said, taking a pull from his martini. He turned on the television. Mary saw that a pay-per-view porn movie was still playing.
What was going on? Porn was everywhere.
“Tell you what,” Mary said. “I’ll come back after you’re done with your session.”
“Yes, we only got through a couple of poses in this session,” Alice said, giggling. She used the air quotes gesture when she said poses and let out a high-pitched laugh. “Round Two will be a bit more creative, I suspect.” She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled again.
Mary looked at her. “You know what, I just stopped by to make sure everything was okay,” she said. “Didn’t know I was going to interrupt some kind of yoga sex party.”
“Oh, Mary, you’re always welcome,” Alice said. “Except now.”
Mary got to the door, but before she opened it, she saw through the living room window a black Chevy Tahoe go around the corner.
“Fuck me,” Mary said. Someone was following her.
“She’s not talking to you, Sanji,” Alice said behind her. “But she took the words right out of my mouth.”
Mary slammed the door shut behind her.
24
Twenty-four
Mary hoped she would catch a break. And she did.
“Yes, I’m in the office,” Oscar Freedham said to her over the phone. “No, I don’t feel like doing you a favor.”
Mary sighed. Why was it always so difficult to get men to do what she wanted? Didn’t they understand she always got what she wanted anyway? Such a time-waster!
“It’s a matter of life and death,” Mary said. “Give me the name and address of the owner of a red Hyundai found yesterday crashed and abandoned at the corner of LaBrea and San Vicente, or a puppy dies.”
“I hate dogs,” Freedham said. “The fewer the better.”
“It’s not a dog puppy, it’s a wolf pup. You like wolves?” Mary said.
“The original ancestor of the dog? If I hate dogs, why would I like wolves?”
Mary sighed again.
“What do you want, Oscar? Another half-dozen drinks? Lunch? Moonlight stroll through the garden?”