4:00 PM PDT
Port Townsend, WA
122W43; 48N07
… 08°04° ƒ† 18' „ „ 04°40'54' 06'
‡ 17' ƒ
ˆ52'14'Ý 16'‰‰ Œ 08°
‰
24°
Joan sighed. "You see, for Astarte it may have been a healing and a great release. As much as I adore her and will always miss her, I have a feeling she'll be happier where she is. I don't know if you knew, but she was in constant pain with those legs. She refused to take pain killers--she said pills interfered with meditation and spiritual practices."
Jillian's heart ached at how badly she'd misjudged Astarte. The pretty little rich girl who seemingly had everything, but never passed a moment without pain. "She never let on that she was suffering. What a brave soul."
Joan pulled a pine box out of the cloth bag she was carrying. It had a glossy finish, and on the top was a painting of a sunset. "These are her ashes. We're taking them to Ojai, to sprinkle at the ashram. I know she'd be happy about that. It was her spiritual home." She handed the box to Jillian.
Please don't give me your baby to hold, she pleaded silently. Stroking the top, she thought, it can't weigh more than ten pounds. How quickly it's all done, and how little there is left of her. When I die, there'll be even less--alone, with no family to mourn me. Robert's the same way--his family disowned him for being gay.
She cried, then, for all of it, and the Cabots hugged her and cried too. Paul told her that the Masons would be calling to take them out for dinner. Then, in a final flurry of hugs, they said their goodbyes and left.
Midge stayed behind to check on how business was going. She looked haggard. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin seemed withered and old. Though she didn't complain, helping the Cabots through this ordeal had taken a toll. Jillian knew she was going through her own grief about Astarte as well.
Checking over the log sheets, Midge said, "We lost momentum from not having the phones on immediately after the ads were shown. I don't know what we'll do for an ad now, but I'll be glad when we can get back into the trailer. Ethan Engel is still coming, but it'll take a few more days."
Jillian noticed with dismay that Beastie's eyes were riveted on the gold and faux emerald pen Midge was gesturing with. He was fascinated with anything that glittered, and such objects had a strange habit of disappearing around him. She'd have to watch him carefully.
She asked Midge, "Have you heard anything from Gary?"
"No, and I haven't been able to talk to his landlady about getting into his place. She's at her cabin in the woods near Hurricane Ridge. It doesn't have a phone-she wants to get away from it all while she's there. She'll be back tonight."
"So, hopefully, we'll have some answers soon."
Midge put down the pen and lit a cigarette, her hands shaking. "I'll be straight with you. I'm starting to worry about what I'll find."
"What do you mean?"
"You said Jimmy was the jealous type. What if Gary never left town at all? What if Jimmy found out he and Astarte were having an affair?"
"They were sleeping together? You know that for a fact?"
"No, but I can put two and two together."
Gary and Astarte lovers? Jillian told herself, You knew who he was, and you didn't want him back, so why this absurd sense of loss? "What are you trying to say? When was the last time you actually talked to him?"
"We spoke the morning of the day she was killed. He called from home and said he'd be leaving for Seattle in a little while. Now I'm wondering if Jimmy showed up at his place right after that and killed him."
Fear hammered Jillian's stomach. "It CAN'T be! He'll call today, just watch." The idea sunk in. "Oh, Midge. Maybe you're right. Have you talked to the police?"
"They don't even know he's missing. I just say he's away on business. I don't want them nosing around any more than they absolutely have to, to get Jimmy locked away. What if I tell them, and he shows up tomorrow? He'd be fit to be tied."
What a nightmare! Could Gary really be dead, too? "Look, I can understand your reluctance--and it isn't like Jimmy's going to get away--but I still think you ought to talk to Lyons. He's a decent guy."
"Not on your life. The less they know, the better."
Midge certainly is cop-shy, Jillian observed, wondering what that's about.
"Do you want me to go over to Gary's with you?" She didn't know if she could take it if he'd been lying there dead for days, but, tough as Midge always seemed to be, she needed support to face whatever was in that apartment.
Midge started to protest, then nodded. "I'd, uhm, appreciate it. I'll come by tonight at 8:00. She should be home by then."
Just then Beastie leapt on Midge's leather Gucci envelope, dug in his claws and shredded it, with an air of thorough enjoyment. As Midge swore and grabbed the envelope, her papers fell out and scattered across the floor. Jillian scrambled to help her pick them up, apologizing profusely.
"It's ruined," Midge fussed. "I ought to deduct it from your pay. These leather models are plenty expensive."
"God, Midge, I'm so sorry. He is a rotten cat."
Midge grumbled and swept out, saying she'd be back at eight.
Between callers, Jillian spent the day doing some deep cleaning--scrubbing down the floors and mucking out the refrigerator to relieve tension. She kept stewing about Gary's disappearance and reliving their long, ambivalent relationship. He was worthless, truly worthless, but they still had this weird tie. Naively, she hadn't suspected he and Astarte were involved--if, in fact, they were. After all, he insisted that she was too young for him, and she dismissed him as too old for her. Apparently, they were both lying through their teeth.
Please, God, don't let him be dead, too, she prayed. You've got a lot to answer for, you know. You've taken everyone I ever loved, so please don't take Gary now. Not if you ever want to hear from me again. I'd bargain and say I'd go back to church if you spare him, but we both know that's not going to happen. The Catholic Church and I are history. But I've tried hard to be a good person and done all I could to help others, so you and I ought to be on better terms than this. Think it over, that's all I ask. In your spare time. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.
When Robert got up, she filled him in about the Cabot's visit and the sad box of ashes. He told her, "Promise me something. When I die, I want you to put my ashes in a planter at Saks Fifth Avenue. THAT's my spiritual home!"
"The men's or the women's section?" She was delighted to see his humor returning.
She was waiting downstairs when Midge's Caddy pulled up promptly at 8:00. Gary's landlady had a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town, one of the many Victorians providing rooms for tourists. He lived in a tiny cabin in back. The woman agreed to let them in, on the strength of her respect for Midge, a past president of her garden club.
She told them, "Haven't heard a peep from him since 'way last week. Just thought he was on the road. You'll see, it's a nice little place, furnished with cooking utensils and everything. I usually rent it by the month in the summer to outof-towners, but when he wanted it longer, I was just as happy. Nice fella, good manners and all. No trouble. Hope he's all right." She gave them the key.
Midge and Jillian froze at the cabin door, dreading what they might find. It was dark inside, but they knocked, on the remote chance that he might be there. They looked at each other for a long moment, trying to gather courage, and then Jillian took the key from Midge and turned the lock.
She pushed the door open cautiously, feeling around for the light switch. No telltale smell of decay greeted them, only stale air..
The place was smaller than a hotel room, with an attempt at old-fashioned charm in the dried wreaths on the walls, the antique framed prints, and the ruffled floral curtains. The unmade bed, a dresser, a small desk, and a couple of armchairs gave the single room an overstuffed feeling. He'd obviously not been one to clean, as the kitchenette surfaces were sticky with dried-on food and dirt. They glanced around, not seeing any books, letters, or other personal touches.
Midge searched the desk first, but found no files or notebooks--not even paper or pens. "There goes that hope. Guess he carried everything in his brief case."
"Let me see how much clothing he packed." Jillian went over to the closet and opened it. It was completely empty, as was the dresser. Every trace of him had disappeared, except for the sour milk in the fridge.
Midge collapsed into the armchair. "He's gone! The son of a bitch is gone!"
Jillian sank onto the bed, trying to take it in. Was he really gone? What did it mean?
Midge's eyes were wild. "I have to go to the bank first thing in the morning and find out what he's taken."
Jillian moaned to herself. This is it. The Devil card. That t-square in the chart of the hotline. You should have seen this coming. You knew not to trust him. But he's never done anything this bad. Maybe he's dead, after all. Maybe Jimmy tossed the body
in the harbor and took all his clothes to make it look like Gary ran off. Get real. He's gone, and chances are, he ran off with a big chunk of money.
She told Midge, "You're calling the police. NOW."
"I can't. I can't get them involved."
"Well, if you can't, I can. I'll get Lyons over here right away." She picked up the phone.
"Don't," Midge begged. "Lyons was one of the cops that investigated Barney's death. Him and that Dave Jordan. They tried to have me arrested. It was an accident, that's all. Barney took too many pills. But they wanted me sent up."
That's why she's so paranoid about them, Jillian realized. "Look Midge, I'll wait 'til you go to the bank. I'll even go with you, if you want. But if he's taken off with the money, we have to call them in. That's all there is to it."
"If he embezzled the funds, I'll personally take out a warrant for his arrest. He'll be lucky if I don't take out a contract, too. I can do it. Not everybody I knew in L.A. was high society." She jerked the key out of Jillian's hand and locked up.
As they walked though the lane of cabins to the front of the property, Jillian asked, God, are you still there? I signed off too soon. Could you please keep an eye on him? It doesn't have to be you personally. An angel will do. I know he's a scoundrel. You can send him to jail if you want. But please, God, keep him safe. He's crossed the wrong person now.
Arranging to meet in the morning, they drove home in silence, each immersed in her own turmoil.
HOTLINE TO HEAVEN Chapter Twelve
Robert filled in for Jillian the next morning, and she and Midge went to the bank. The teller said the account balance was zero. Although they'd both expected it, having it confirmed was a blow. They asked to speak to an officer, and were shown to a desk at the side. The bank manager was appalled and defensive when they told her what Gary had done. She pulled the records and documented that he'd produced authorizations for every withdrawal. The account was set up so he couldn't withdraw money without Midge's signature.
Midge was at her most haughty and
intimidating. "Didn't it occur to you people to call
and verify these big expenditures?"
"Even though they were sizeable, we
didn't question them, with your signature. You
handle pretty big deals sometimes, so we
assumed those numbers were startup costs."
"I did sign them," she agreed, "but they
were supposed to be for bank checks to
different contractors."
The manager showed her the record.
"They were bank checks, all right, but most
were made out to the Kandu Corporation."
"Kandu." Midge mused. "Kandu. I think that's the ad agency that produced the commercial."
Jillian knew better. Kandu was Gary's warped idea of a joke. Any time he was cooking up one of his cockamamie schemes and he wanted people to believe in him, he'd keep telling them, "Can do! Can do!"
He probably diverted the money into a dummy account under that name at some bank in Seattle. He must have been planning this from the get-go. And dragged me into it, when he knew he'd be making off with the money!
Bile rose in her throat as she took in this betrayal. What did he think was going to happen to me now, after getting me to move out here in the middle of nowhere? I knew he was a scoundrel, but I always thought, deep down, that he cared for me. She blinked back tears. You are NOT going to cry, she told herself, not here and not now. Not in a bank.
Midge told the manager, "I hope you kept the authorization that cleaned out the account, because it had to be a forgery. It'll be evidence when they prosecute him."
"Here it is. The last withdrawal--$50,000--was made late afternoon Thursday."
That was the day before Astarte was killed, Jillian realized. The same day Dave dumped me, Gary was cleaning out the account. I have to look at my chart. Some gruesome lineup of planets must have been going on!
Midge raised her voice. "You're telling me that when he called me, he'd already cleaned out the account. He was on his way to the airport, probably, to leave the state. That lying bastard! No way--I never authorized that withdrawal, so it is a forgery! I want a copy of the full statement--every transaction since we opened the account." The manager, apologizing profusely, made the copies, and they left.
On the way to the police station, Jillian asked Midge, "Why did you authorize cashier checks, rather than regular checks?"
Midge had the grace to look embarrassed. "Gary said he could cut a better deal if we paid that way. It's almost like cash, and they'd take some of it under the table, see, rather than claim it all on their taxes. I can't believe I'd be stupid enough to fall for that."
It's like they say, Jillian thought wryly--you can't con an honest man. Midge was so slick she tripped herself up this time.
At the station, they were told that Lyons was at the trailer, so they drove to the marina. Ralph came scurrying over as the Caddy pulled up.
He said, "I wondered if you were ever coming back. It just doesn't seem the same down here without you--especially Miss Astarte. I just can't get over it that she's gone. She really brightened up my day. They say they arrested that young fellow of hers. Not a nice man--I couldn't feature her involved with him, a sweet girl like her."
Midge said, "He was a walking time bomb, Ralph. You were lucky you didn't cross him when you ran into him that day."
"I've been feeling real guilty," he confided. "If only Miss Astarte had started going to my church like I hoped, this might not have happened. I should have kept asking her."
Jillian assured him, "There was nothing you could have done, Ralph. We all feel guilty for not doing more, but the truth is, we didn't have the power to stop it."
Asking them to wait, he hurried to the small mail vehicle and brought an armload of mail. "I've been holding this for you. Lotsa windows, could be bills but they could be checks coming in too. There are even some telegrams, which, by rights, aren't mail so I shouldn't have kept them, but I felt they were important."
Definitely a Virgo, Jillian concluded. All those regulations, everything by the book. "Thanks, Ralph. We ought to be back in a day or two, once the police release the trailer."
They stayed in the car while Midge opened the mail. It confirmed what they'd suspected. Gary hadn't paid for anything beyond initial deposits to establish credibility. There were huge bills and menacing letters from the building contractor, the ad agency, and the ad broker. The telegrams threatened legal action if they didn't pay immediately. The phone company was going to cut off service unless the bill was paid in full. At least now Midge had the names of the places he was working with and could pull the ad off the air.
They went inside, calling to Lyons. Jillian hadn't been there since the murder and was appalled. The floor was covered with footprints from all the coming and going, and there were fingerprint powder marks all over. She shook her head at the sign spray painted in red on the wall-WHORE OF SATAN.
Whoever did this was one sick cookie. Worse, she could feel the energy of the place, and it was roiling with violence.
Lyons, seeing them look at the marks, said, "Oh, yeah. I meant to call. You all have to be fingerprinted, so we can eliminate your prints and concentrate on any unknown ones. Except for you, Mrs. McCullough.
Conveniently, we still have yours on file from when your husband died." Tense looks passed between Lyons and Midge.
He announced, "We're starting to have second thoughts about Jimmy Gitano. We'd been thinking for a while that he might not have done it, since none of the prints in the trailer matched his."
Midge was still sold on him. "Maybe he wiped them clean or wore gloves."
"He wasn't in any condition to think that clearly, drunk as he was and for as long. He's definitely broken up about her death, too, and he's not smart enough--nor does he care enough what people think--to be able to fake that."
Midge suggested, "He did it in a blackout and doesn't remember. When it comes to survival, drunks can be cunning--drunks and psychos--and he'd pretty much fit into either category."
"No, we liked him for it as much as you did. But now that he's been sober a while, he's coming out of the haze. He remembered spending a couple days in a shelter for alcoholics on Skid Road in Seattle right around the time of the murder. We checked, and, sure enough, they remember someone by that name who fits his description. We'll be taking him up to Seattle for a lineup to see if they identify him. If it pans out, we're right back where we started. Not a clue or a lead as to who did it."
Jillian and Midge looked at each other in horror. They hadn't even considered the possibility that Gary might have killed Astarte. They carried on a silent dialogue. Tell him, Jillian urged with a look. Midge grimaced, then steeled herself. She told Lyons how long Gary had been missing, when he last called, and that he'd cleared out the cabin AND the bank account. She showed him the bank statement and the stack of bills she'd just gotten.
Lyons' face got redder and redder as he listened to her tale. "You should have told us right away that he was missing, Mrs. McCullough. I ought to run you in for impeding an official investigation. It's just too much of a coincidence that he disappears with all that money and she gets murdered the same day, unless he was the one that
did it. She probably found out and threatened to tell. Or she was blackmailing him. He looks real good for a suspect. What the hell were you thinking, keeping this from us? Because of you, he's had four, five extra days to find a hiding place. The trail's good and cold now. He could be half way around the world."
Midge colored. "I just thought he was out of touch. You know what I mean, not calling in because he was traveling. You think I wouldn't have had you put out an APB if I knew he'd cleaned out our account?"
"We'll do that right away, you can bet on it. We just need more particulars on where to find him. How did you meet him?"
Midge tried to pass it off. "Oh, you know how it is. Friend of a friend." Same song and dance Gary gave me, Jillian remembered.
"You can do better than that. If you don't give us more to work with, it'll be hard to convince the prosecutor you're not in it with him. They're giving out stiff jail time for fraud these days."
Furious, Midge crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. "I'm not saying another word without my lawyer. I might just ask him to sue you for slander, while he's at it. We could probably prove harassment. You've never let up on me since Barney died."
Jillian wondered, my God, IS Midge in on it? She's a major piece of work, and she'd do anything for money. But what would be the point of stealing her own money? No, she's too shaken up about this whole thing to have known what Gary was planning. So, why isn't she talking?
Lyons said, "You do that, ma'am. You may very well need a lawyer, because your track record with us isn't that great. We'll be getting Jones's fingerprints--probably pick them up in that cabin. We'll send them to the FBI and see if he's wanted anywhere else."
Jillian saw a fleeting expression of dismay cross Midge's face. What was the big mystery, she wondered. How DID they meet? And if Gary did kill her--which I don't believe for a second--why did he do it? It's ludicrous to think of Astarte blackmailing anyone. She'd probably light candles for them instead.
Lyons left in a hurry for the cabin. They drove home, Jillian still grieving over the betrayal, Midge grim-lipped and silent. She only spoke once, muttering about an old pal from L.A. who'd fix Gary's wagon.
Perversely, now that there was doubt about Jimmy's guilt, Jillian was more certain of it than ever. Maybe he was on Skid Road, but he still could have gotten over here in a couple of hours, killed her and then gone back. And he does have that religious streak when he's drunk, which Gary certainly doesn't have.
HOTLINE TO HEAVEN Chapter Thirteen
They met at Midge’s house, and she introduced them to a stunning young man with shoulder-length, curly blonde hair. "This is Ethan Engel. He showed up this morning, before I could call and tell him not to come. I'll leave him with you today, to show him the ropes.
"But I told him and I have to tell you that the hotline might close down. I haven't decided yet. It's going to depend on exactly how much Gary took and what other bills are outstanding. So far it looks like maybe $200K. I have to check into it and see if it's worth my while to pay off the creditors he scammed and to keep on backing the line. You'll get paid what's owed you, but I'm leaning toward bagging the whole thing."
Jillian was floored. She hadn't thought of the possible ramifications of Gary's defection. What would she do for a living if the line shut down? There was no way she could get enough money together to go back to New York and rent a place, and her practice was dead anyway. There didn't seem to be many jobs in town--the economy was pretty flat, even now during the tourist season. She'd heard of people with master's degrees working for minimum wage, others with B.A.s taking two and three jobs to support their families. Was she going to wind up on the street?
She looked at Robert in a panic, but he gave her an exaggerated wink. What did he mean? Did he think Midge was blowing smoke? Maybe trying to get them to take a pay cut?
Midge narrowed her eyes. "That was some chart you picked for the hotline, Malone. The money house was loaded, all right--loaded with my money!"
Flushing, she defended herself. "You know Gary didn't give me any leeway. That t-square was in effect the whole week he gave me to work with. And I still think it could make money, if we stayed with it."
"Yeah, well, so far I wouldn't give a dime for your judgment --on anything. I have to go. I have an appointment with my accountant to see if I can salvage anything out of this. If nothing else, it's a tax write-off. Ethan has the key to the mother-in-law, because the cops are done with it. Drop him off when you're finished." She ushered them out of the house.
Jillian felt sick with shame at Midge's comments. Sheesh! She blames me for everything. She asked Robert, "What were you trying to tell me?"
"Hoo Boy! You turned white as a sheet! Don't worry your pretty little head, Jill-Jill. I can get us hired on the last line I worked for. They hated it when Astarte and I left, and they can always use another good reader. It's not as much money--only $.35 a minute-August 6
but we wouldn't have to move. They can plug us in by remote hookup. And it's so wellestablished nationwide that we'd get more calls and probably make the same or better."
"That's a relief! I'd almost rather work for someone else, even if she does keep the line going. But, what are the owners like? Are they as greedy and sleazy as Midge?"
"Nothing like her. They believe in spiritual growth and in providing a service. Naturally, they're making a good profit, but they consider it a moral investment--like Green products."
Breathing easier, she told Ethan, "I'm sorry we've been so preoccupied. You can see you've walked into a hornet's nest."
"Midge was telling me about it. You guys have been through so much!"
Without all the distractions, she saw how very beautiful he was--not in an effeminate way, but without gender, as an angel might be. He had fine features, molded cheekbones, and soulful eyes. He was also heart-tearingly innocent and young. He was wearing what they would discover was his standard outfit--loose-fitting white gauze shirts and trousers, like someone would wear in the tropics. Later, Robert would dub them his Jesus clothes.
They took Ethan to their place to show him the ropes of the hot line, and Robert made them coffee. He was clearly entranced, devouring Ethan with his eyes. "You'll fit right in here, because we're all Engels. Engel means angel, I'm sure you know. Midge made each of us take the name of an archangel for working on the line, because it's not a good idea to use your own name."
"I'm Michael, the chief of the celestial army--the most beautiful of all the angels, of course. Astarte was Gabriel--the messenger of God. We ought to retire that name-like you retire a team number to honor a champion. So, you'll have to be Uriel--that's pronounced OOO