CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With Marjorie's real name and address, Veronica was able to call Mac and get her started on a complete search. She wanted everything; phone records, background check, credit card statements, financials and access to all her social media. While Mac was working on that, Veronica needed to decide what to do first. Talk to the only people in contact with Piz during his six weeks in Neptune? Go back to the office and read through Piz's emails and story notes? Search Marjorie's apartment while it was, hopefully, still empty? Decisions, decisions.
Distance dictated her destination. Veronica parked in the underground garage and took the elevator to the temporary offices of Reveal. No one was at the receptionist desk so she bypassed it and went directly for Cara Murphy's office. She knocked first, but it too was empty. Maybe the temporary was just that and they'd all moved back to Sacramento. "Are you looking for me?"
Wish for one willowy brunette and she magically appears. Now if only I could wish for one hot sailor in uniform and have him magically appear my day would be complete. "I am. I was hoping you had a few minutes to talk about Piz?"
Cara waved her hand toward the office indicating Veronica should go first. Once they were settled in the same positions as their first meeting, Cara said, "I read the newspapers."
Veronica remained silent. There were too many stories to pick just one. If Cara wanted to talk about what she read, she was going to have to narrow it down. "Of course, I don't believe you killed him."
Gee that's a relief, so glad you believe I'm innocent. "Uh, thanks?"
"Are you really pregnant?" Again Veronica remained silent. "I'm sorry was that too blunt? I thought you appreciated…forthrightness."
"I do and I am, pregnant." This was not how she saw this conversation going.
"Is it Logan's?"
Maybe I should take out an ad? Veronica Mars pregnant with… Too wordy, how about: Logan Echolls you are the father. Jerry Springer here we come. "Are you writing a story about little ol' me?"
"No, it's just…" Cara shook her head, "what can I do for you Veronica?"
You can finish your sentence. "I think I've found the new woman in Piz's life." She held back the name and passed her the photo.
Cara stared at the picture and frowned, "do you know who she is?"
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."
"Sorry." She stared at the picture a fraction of a second longer and then handed it back. "Was there something else?"
Cara Murphy would make a bad poker player. "No, I think that's it."
Relief spread across her face. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more help and congratulations on the baby."
"Thanks." Back in the elevator, Veronica called Mac. "You're not busy, right?"
"Nope, just painting my nails and thinking about going for a massage after my long lunch."
"That's what I thought. Here's another name for your 'expose all their hidden secrets' list, Cara Murphy."
"I'll get right on it…after my facial."
"I'm glad you've got your priorities straight." Veronica's priorities said it was time to get to Marjorie's apartment. The address Karen gave her wasn't too far from where she lived with her dad right after he was ousted from his job as sheriff and Lianne left. This apartment complex was seedier, just another barnacle on the side of the beautiful yacht known as Neptune.
It was hot today. A perfect day for a swim, but not in this pool. Half the water was missing and what little remained was a thick, murky soup of green algae. Shades were drawn on the windows of the surrounding apartments and the cacophonous hum of air conditioners blended with the random bursts from a very loud television. No one was hanging around outside, but from the general feeling of apathy enveloping the building; Veronica doubted anyone would care if she streaked through the courtyard naked.
Her search said Marjorie's apartment was on the ground floor. Veronica double checked the mailboxes to be sure. Most of them were missing names, but the one for unit 16 had a worn white label reading Dunn. Veronica skirted around the broken lawn furniture to the apartment. It used to be that only professional locksmiths and law enforcement agencies could get their hands on lock pick tools. Now, thanks to the Internet and overnight shipping, they were available to anyone with a credit card. It took her precisely five minutes to work the flimsy lock on Marjorie's door.
The apartment smelled stale. Dust motes floated in the air and their buddies created a thick layer on the furniture. Not much of a housekeeper, Marjorie Dunn. It was a small space. A living room with a threadbare sofa and bulky television was separated from the galley kitchen by an island. Two bar stools were shoved under said island and there were dirty dishes loaded in the sink. Not much of a housekeeper and not much of a decorator either. There were no photos, no artwork, and no knickknacks anywhere in these rooms. If I lived here, I might pretend to be someone else too.
Veronica went through the cabinets first and then the drawers; dishes, glasses, and silverware. In the small drawer near the stove, she found a collection of matchbooks. To test her theory, she tried one of the burners on the range top. There was the distinctive hiss of gas, but no flame. She turned it off. The matchbook covers bore names like Marjorie was collecting them as souvenirs. Veronica poked through them recognizing both the Sandpiper Lounge and The Comfort Stay. She scooped up the entire batch and dumped them in her bag before moving toward the back of the apartment.
A small square of hallway off the living room held two doors. The Lady or the Tiger? She picked the one on her right, which was the bathroom. A toilet, shower stall and sink were shoved into the tight space and Veronica was able to search the entire room without having to leave the doorway. There wasn't even a medicine cabinet to hunt through.
She turned her attention to the bedroom. This room was where Marjorie spent her time. The bed was neatly made. A pile of books sat on the nightstand and an overstuffed chair was wedged cater-cornered between the nightstand and the wall. There were plants along the windowsill, withered now, but at one time, they appeared to have been full and vibrant.
Framed photos lined the dresser. Veronica's gaze zeroed in on the one frame that was empty. Someone, maybe Marjorie herself, went to the trouble of removing the picture, but why not get rid of the frame? It stood there like a beacon shouting notice me. Veronica picked up one of the other photos. The woman she knew as Marjorie Kincaid smiled up at her from the glass albeit a younger version of the woman who came into her office. She was wearing a sweatshirt that read "Go Pioneers!" The other pictures were of Marjorie either alone or with a man. There were no pictures of Piz. Her eyes wandered back to the empty frame. Maybe.
There were still clothes in the dresser drawers, all very fashionable and very expensive. The same for her closet. If Marjorie was visiting her parents, she didn't expect to be gone forever. Veronica sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone. She dialed star 69. The call was answered after two rings, "welcome to comfort. How may I help you?" Veronica replaced the receiver without saying anything.
A cursory inspection was all that was needed to make sure everything was as she found it. Veronica locked the door behind her and, on her way from the apartment complex, stopped at the mailbox again. It took less time to open the mailbox than it did the front door. She shoved the stack in her purse. They could tack another five years onto her sentence for mail theft.
The drive to the office was a short one. Mac was still at her desk and the printer was churning out pages. "Does your boss ever let you leave?"
"Sadly no. She'd be lucky to find her way to her own office without me."
"Why do you stay then?"
Mac pointed at the large latte Veronica was carrying, "the fringe benefits."
She handed over the cup. "Any luck on Cara Murphy?"
"One boring life coming right up." She gave Veronica the file. "Graduated Hearst, interned at a local radio station before becoming an on-air personality. Gave that up to work behind the scenes where she's been ever since. She's never been married and has no kids. Pays all her bills on time, including a small mortgage on a condo in San Diego. Never broken any laws, no jail time or murder accusations. Nary a parking ticket."
"So what are you saying- that we could never be friends? Nothing in common?"
"There's always your mutual love of Parker to build from." Veronica grimaced. "Or maybe not."
"No connection between her and Marjorie?"
"Not yet. Different schools, different zip codes, different states." Mac rested her hand on another pile of papers. "These are the things from Piz's laptop."
"You're better than Madame Sophie."
"Thanks and I'm glad the boob cream is finally paying off for you."
Veronica rolled her eyes, "want to join me for dinner?"
"Sorry, I've got plans."
Veronica considered her friend's appearance, "hair done, makeup on," she sniffed the air, "a hint of perfume." She peered over the desk; Mac was wearing a tight black skirt and a pair of heels that hurt Veronica's feet just looking at them. "Is this the more action you alluded to yesterday?"
"You might just be good at this P.I. stuff after all." Mac shut down the computer, "I will get you more on Marjorie tomorrow, but you can start with this." She put a file on top of the Piz pile. "Night Veronica and…don't follow me."
Veronica pursed her lips, "you know that just makes me want to, right?"
"Resist the temptation."
She sighed and patted her tummy. "I guess it's just you and me and paperwork for dinner. Where should we go?"
The baby decided she was in the mood for French onion soup, so Veronica headed for The Cat. They used fresh-baked baguettes in the center of their soup and topped it with a generous portion of aged Gruyere. Once she was seated at a table for two on their outdoor patio she ordered the soup and the Portobello mushroom ravioli topped with corn salsa and poblano chili aioli as a starter. For dinner she got the filet mignon with applewood smoked bacon sauce and a side of crushed red pepper and garlic green beans.
Piz's story notes kept her company. His investigation didn't start with Sacks. Instead he'd started with the top of the food chain. He'd compiled a list of the wealthiest citizens of Neptune: Celeste Kane, Jon Enbom, Paul Mann, Pomroy, Casablancas, Echolls. It read like a who's who of the elite power players or a page from her high school yearbook. Veronica suspected Logan's inclusion on the list was a bit of wish fulfillment on Piz's part. Maybe a desire to prove he was guilty of something Veronica couldn't or wouldn't forgive. But it was like the Sesame Street song, One of These Things is Not Like the Others.
Logan was definitely rich, she'd seen the portfolio, but in the past five years he hadn't really touched any of his money. A few expenditures, his car, her first-class plane ticket to Neptune, a retainer for Jackson Frederick and the check to her for Mars Investigations, but nothing else. He was living entirely on what he made in the Navy while the bulk of his inheritance from Aaron just sat there accumulating interest. Sorry to disappoint you Piz, Navy pilots do not make enough to buy sheriffs and bribe county officials.
Without a Mac in his life, his research into the power-players' finances was sorely limited. In some cases he'd found the names of their investment advisors, brokerage houses, and banking establishments, but nothing earth shattering or interesting. There was a list of Dick's restaurants and a side note about Big Dick being back in the REIT business. What schmuck would invest in that?
There was an article about "dark money" and how the wealthy were creating 501(c)4 charity organizations to donate huge amounts of money to political campaigns. According to the article, loopholes in the campaign fund disclosure laws allowed these donations to be made without revealing its source. An anti-abortion group could funnel enough funds to the candidate of their choice, one who would support their beliefs, without anyone questioning where the cash came from. I'll take one conservative congressman to go, please.
Veronica could see the possibilities. All the positions in the Balboa County government were elected from the Board of Supervisors down. Put together a charity organization with some innocuous name, fund it with tons of inherited wealth, and pick the puppet you want in power. Unfortunately Piz's story was high on conjecture and low on facts. There was no proof and no money trail; there wasn't even a name for this hypothetical charity. Nothing in these notes would make a story much less a motive for murder. The idea of Marjorie as killer was looking better and better.
She ordered a mascarpone whipped cheese cake with fresh berries and turned her attention to Piz's emails. Most of them started, I'm doing research on a story, and they were sent to accountants and financial gurus. Some of them responded, but most didn't. Veronica flipped through them with little interest. It was all still theories and supposition. Piz was about as close to writing a story as she was to taking a ride in the space elevator.
At the bottom of the stack of emails was a bunch paper-clipped together. A note from Mac was tucked under the clip: These were in his draft folder. None of them are addressed to anyone and they were never sent, but I think they're all to the same person. Veronica really needed to talk to her about this tendency to save the good stuff for the end.
The first email was only two lines. I'm sorry that I ended things the way I did. We should probably have this conversation in person, but… Veronica read it again. He could've meant this for her. She put them down and concentrated on finishing her dessert. If these were going to be Piz pouring out his feelings for her in an effort to apologize or win her back, she didn't want to read them here. She settled the check and took the long way home, which wasn't the same without Logan at her side.
Dick wasn't home so she had the house to herself. After dawdling through a shower and cleaning out her purse, she organized all the information into nice, neat piles. She grabbed a pen from the kitchen and started copying the names and addresses from the matchbooks.
If Marjorie was dating Piz, matchbook from The Comfort Stay, and then later following him, The Sandpiper, then these could create a timeline of Piz's movements through Neptune. Or they could just be a colossal waste of your time, Veronica. She almost gave up until one caught her eye. It was black with a gold saxophone in between the words Nico's and Lounge. She flipped through the rest until she found one from The Neptune Grand and one from Trulucks. Hmm, not only following Piz, but keeping an eye on me? She finished her list and tossed the matches.
She was avoiding the emails. Veronica sighed, picked them up and reread the first one: I'm sorry that I ended things the way I did. We should probably have this conversation in person, but…
The second email was shorter: We shouldn't have slept together.
By the third draft, she didn't want to read anymore, but not for the same reason as earlier. They were just too awkward and uncomfortable. These past few weeks have been great. I have really appreciated being with you… Appreciated sounded like a business letter, not something you want to hear from your lover about the sex you've been having. I really appreciate you sleeping with me, please come back real soon.
The fourth draft completely disabused her of the notion that they were meant for her. It was slightly better until he got to the final word. Not only have these past few weeks been great, you've been great. I am sorry for spending so much time talking about Veronica and the end of our relationship, but I guess that's what happens on the rebound… Rebound? She was glad Piz didn't continue with this email.
Fifth draft: We should really be having this conversation in person, but you won't take my calls and I don't know another way to do this. You've been a great friend to me… The word friend must have given him pause.
The sixth draft clued her in to what it must have been like dating Piz for the past few weeks, endless conversation about their breakup. This is a hard letter for me to write. While I don't want our relationship to continue as it has been, I don't want to lose you from my life. As you know by now, I'm not over Veronica. I guess I should be. I know that she will never love me like she loves Logan. I've always known how she feels about him. Even when she denies it to herself, it's obvious to everyone else around her. There are some relationships that not only survive, they grow, even with space and distance… At least Piz had the good sense to realize this email needed to be about the new person in his life and not more about his past.
I'm sorry I hurt you. I would really like the chance to apologize to you in person and beg your forgiveness. You have been nothing short of wonderful and I don't want to lose you from my life. If you would just answer my calls, I could say all this to you in person. When you told me about the…
Veronica spread all the emails on the floor. Come on Piz, when you told me about the, what? That was it. All the other emails were about his story. No more unsent drafts, no answer to her question, and no concrete proof he was talking to Marjorie Dunn.