Relatively Dead (6 page)

Rigo flashed an “oh, yeah?” look at me and did a shoulder-to-shoulder soccer charge on my body, throwing me off balance, but he caught me before I stumbled on the rocks. “Did you find out any more about what happened from this older Jason?”

“No. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.” I feigned rubbing my shoulder, and then did a maneuver on Rigo’s arm that would have landed
him
on the rocks if I’d wanted to do that to him.

“Okay, truce.” Rigo grabbed my hand again. “Knowing you, I figured you wouldn’t leave any stone unturned, so to speak, if you thought you could nail this guy.”

“Knowing you, I figured you brought me to this isolated spot so you could have your way with me.”

The waterfall cascaded down the vertical rock wall in front of us, producing a white-noise background that blotted out the world. We found the softest spot around and sat, gazing at it, hand in hand. As I predicted, we were soon doing a lot more than holding hands. Clothing, such as shirts and bras, appeared to be superfluous in a situation like this.

***

Rigo’s parents, Tina and Ernie, greeted me like a long-lost daughter with hugs and kisses when Rigo and I arrived at their house. They escorted me into the living room with the “best view in the world,” as I remembered it from when I’d stayed there while I had amnesia, extending from the Santa Monica Bay and the curving sweep of beaches adjoining it, to the Hollywood Hills, downtown skyscrapers, snow-capped mountains northeast of Los Angeles, and a piece of the Los Angeles Harbor, slightly southeast from the house.

With a glass of wine in my hand, I brought them up to date on what I’d been doing and the problems of my grandmother.

“You poor dear.” Tina patted my shoulder on the way to the kitchen to check on the dinner. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

Ernie refilled my wine glass. “Is your own financial situation squared away?”

“Yes. I was able to get my parents’ estate settled.”

“That attorney didn’t get anything for finding you?”

“No. They figured since he tried to kill me to get it all, he didn’t deserve anything.” I’d told them this before. I didn’t mind repeating it because I knew their interest stemmed from how much they cared for me. “I’ve split up the money for diversification purposes, as you suggested. I gave a piece of it to Adam because you’re a client of his.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

I turned to Rigo who had a surprised look on his face. I felt guilty for not telling him. Adam was a financial manager, but he was also Rigo’s best friend, dating back to his school days. I’d never told Rigo Adam propositioned me, either, but I sometimes thought he suspected something happened between us when I was struggling to find myself.

“It’s strictly a financial arrangement. Your parents spoke very highly of him.” I wanted to placate Rigo and change the subject. “Do you know where Idyllwild is?”

“It’s east of here on the shoulder of Mt. San Jacinto.” Ernie pointed toward the mountains Rigo had told me were in Orange County. “You can’t see Mt. San Jacinto from here because those peaks are in the way. Tina and I owned a cabin there when we were first married. It’s a beautiful spot. Why?”

“That’s where my cousin, Jason, lives.”

“Why didn’t you keep the cabin?” Rigo asked. “It sounds like a great place to hide out.”

“Not for you. We need you in the business.” Ernie addressed me. “Thanks to you, Rigo is now working full time for us.”

Tina came up behind Rigo. “He’s earned his keep many times over by streamlining the biding process for our energy systems.”

“I knew he was too good with computers to waste his time being a dishwasher.” A shockwave went through me as the thought occurred to me, which it did on a regular basis, that if he hadn’t been working as a dishwasher I might have died in the Dumpster where he found me.

“I didn’t want a handout from the family.” Rigo spoke defensively.

Tina patted his head. “It’s no handout when you’re making us money hand over fist. Time for dinner.”

As we walked to the adjoining dining room, Tina fell into step with me. “I wish you’d stay with us while you’re here. Your room is lonesome without you.”

“It’s so nice of you to invite me.” I put her arm around Tina. “I’m going to be running around, so it’s more convenient for me to have my own place. But I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

As a thank you for giving me a place to stay when I’d been a non-person, I’d made a sizeable contribution to the favorite charity of Tina and Ernie. They absolutely refused to take money from me for themselves.

Part of the reason I wanted my own room was so Rigo and I had a place for our liaisons. I also needed time alone to plan what to do next regarding Grandma’s stolen money and Jason’s murder. I couldn’t let one of my few relatives die without at least making an effort to help find the killer. Rigo was right about that.

Tonight I had an additional reason. My body started to itch, for some reason, during the drive back to Los Angeles. Now I had an almost uncontrollable urge to scratch. I was sure I wasn’t allergic to Rigo, but I needed a long shower and some itch lotion. After dinner I would get away as soon as I could without hurting their feelings, and return to my motel room—alone.

***

I
was
alone when I arrived at my motel. My room was on the ground floor, but second-story patrons had evidently taken all the parking spots in front of it, forcing me to leave my car in an overflow area.

It was dark except for some dim lights along the walkway in front of the doors to the rooms. A low cloud typical of beach communities blotted out any light from the moon or stars. I was clicking my remote to lock the Porsche when I heard an engine start somewhere nearby. I glanced toward the sound but didn’t see any car lights in the motel property, so I started walking across the open space toward my room.

Suddenly, the engine I’d heard revved, tires screeched, and a black shape hurtled toward me. Without thinking I dove for the space between the two cars parked in front of my room, expecting to feel the crunch of metal against my body. Miraculously, I landed unhit as the vehicle roared past me and onto the street. The noise receded into the distance and was lost amid the normal hubbub of Pacific Coast Highway.

Stunned, I couldn’t move for an eternity of seconds. Nothing else untoward happened, and eventually I brought myself to a sitting position between the cars. Except for traffic noise, all was quiet. Evidently, a car speeding through a parking lot wasn’t cause for alarm in California. In any case, the motel patrons stayed snugly inside their rooms.

I got to my feet, feeling wobbly, and walked to my room. Where was my room card? It was in my purse. Where was my purse? Somewhere on the ground. I had to get back down on my hands and knees between the cars and feel around in the darkness. My fingers finally located it.

I stood up again, fumbled in it for the room card, and shakily managed to insert the plastic in the too-narrow slot on the door. The red light told me the mechanism didn’t like the way I’d done it, and wouldn’t unlock the door for me. Technology. Grrrr. It took me three or four tries to get a green light. I stumbled into the room with the door closing behind me and headed directly for the bathroom.

I turned on the light and looked at my face in the mirror. There was a smudge on my cheek. That would wash off. My hands were dirty and pockmarked and bloody from hitting the asphalt. Soap and water would take care of them. However, the arm of my jacket had ridden up, exposing my forearm, which was covered with long scratches. Blood oozed out, threatening to make a mess. In addition, my knees hurt. My jeans were torn, and the scraped knees peeked through the holes.

I washed my face, hands, and arm and wrapped a hand towel around the arm to keep from getting blood on my clothes. It took me a while to pull off my tight jeans. After a quick look at the damage to them I threw them at the waste basket. Teenyboppers might wear purposely torn jeans but I didn’t. I washed my knees and was relieved to see the scrapes weren’t deep.

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. Thinking better of it, I went to the room phone. Should I call 911? The emergency was over. Should I call the local police?

From my previous experience with the police in the Los Angeles area, I knew there were many different police forces. Any areas not covered by them were covered by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. I didn’t know whether Redondo Beach had its own police force or contracted with the Sheriff’s Department.

I could find out, of course, but if I did I might be up half the night, answering unanswerable questions from beat patrolmen who didn’t know anything about the scam or Jason’s murder, and weren’t even in the organization investigating those crimes. I didn’t have any useful new information such as the make or model or even the color of the car that almost hit me. I hadn’t seen the car at all, only a dark shape.

The police department I needed to talk to was the department of the City of Los Angeles—LAPD. The scammer operated within their jurisdiction, and the murder had occurred within the city limits of Los Angeles. They presumably had detectives working on both cases. Jason had contact with LAPD. He would tell me who to talk to. Should I call him now? It was doubtful I’d be able to reach the right people at this time of night. I didn’t want to waste my time or that of anyone else. Besides, I was tired and hurting. I’d wait until tomorrow.

However, I was too jumpy to stay in the motel another night. What if the scammer returned to finish the job? I called the number of Tina and Ernie. Rigo answered. I didn’t want him worrying about me. I had to put up a brave front.

“Hi, Rigo. It’s me. I think I’d like to take your parents up on their kind offer to let me stay there.”

“Of course. Are you all right? You sound strange.”

“I’m…I’m okay. I had a fall in the parking lot and scratched my arm. I just need some TLC.”

“Do you want me to come and get you?”

“No. I can drive. I’ll see you in a few minutes.

CHAPTER 8

I awoke in a spare bedroom of Ernie and Tina, and immediately felt itching over much of my body. Had my injuries spread? I got out of bed and also felt stiff in my knees where they’d hit the pavement when I dodged the car. Since a T-shirt of Rigo’s was the extent of my night dress, I pulled on a pair of panties before I ventured into the hall and the bathroom, even though I was sure Ernie, Tina, and Rigo had left for work.

I looked in the bathroom mirror and gasped. A large part of my legs, arms, and chest when I pulled up the shirt were covered with an ugly red rash and blisters. I could tell from the itching my back was affected too. This malady was completely unrelated to my injuries, which were healing nicely. Did I have measles? I didn’t know whether I’d been vaccinated for measles. I took a shower, trying to wash the rash away, but that didn’t accomplish anything, including relieving the itching.

I threw on some clothes and went downstairs to make myself breakfast, aided by a helpful note from Tina. I was unable to resist the urge to scratch.
Scratching gave me an intense burning sensation, but when I started scratching I couldn’t stop, much as a junky can’t resist getting a fix.
The feeling was addictive, something like an orgasm, but caused by exquisite pain instead of pleasure.

I called Tina at the family business and told her my symptoms after assuring her this new problem wasn’t related to my injuries, which were fine. Tina had cleaned up my wounds the night before. Rigo was the only one who didn’t buy my story about tripping in the parking lot of the motel, but he was unable to get the truth out of me during a mild interrogation. He knew about most of my previous adventures when I was seeking my identity, and said I attracted trouble like a candle flame attracts a moth. Tina finally told him to lay off.

Tina was sympathetic to my new problem. “A family friend of ours is a dermatologist. I’ll give you the number of the office where she works. Give it a call and mention my name. Maybe she can fit you in.”

I called the doctors’ office in Torrance and asked for an appointment with Dr. Kemp. The receptionist asked me to wait while she checked the schedule. “Dr. Kemp has a cancellation at noon. Can you make that?”

“I’ll be there.”

Other than the itching, I only felt a bit stiff from my injuries. Maybe running would take my mind off my troubles. I put on my running clothes, keeping my arms and legs covered, and headed out the door to run in the hills of Palos Verdes. I had to run slowly or the itching became worse, so it was less than a successful workout.

***

“What have you been doing the past couple of days?”

I was bare from the waist up. If Dr. Kemp were male this might be uncomfortable, especially since my breasts were covered with the rash. On the other hand, a male doctor as handsome as Dr. Kemp was blond and pretty… She looked much too young to be a doctor.

I stared at Dr. Kemp. What did my activities have to do with the rash? “Yesterday morning I went to a memorial service.”

“That’s probably not it. Most churches don’t have—”

“It was outdoors.”

“Outdoors where?”

When I explained, Dr. Kemp shook her head. “I think you have poison oak. I doubt that you could have gotten it there. You need to have contact with the plants.”