My dear readers, bad times lie ahead of us. So I encourage you to do whatever you have to stop spreading this horrible virus. Social distancing is the keyword and I urge you to do so whenever possible!

I've written this story some time ago, but I was stuck at Chapter 13, but hopefully I can finish this story soon. Lack of time is certainly not the matter these days... It's not a fluffy story, because I suck at fluff, but I hope it's a thrilling ride for all of you and keeps you guessing!

Vita Brevis - Life is short

"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death." ~ Coco Chanel

Chapter 1 - The Ghosts of the Living

Los Angeles, 9th May 1977

The day of Paul Drake's funeral was a bright and hot spring day. The sun burned down relentlessly onto the large congregation of mourners, causing them to sweat. Yet the heat did nothing to melt the ice deep down in Della's chest. The news about Paul's sudden, violent death had come as a complete shock to her and she still hadn't recovered from it. Perhaps she never would.

It had been one of these late night calls one would never forget. A phone ringing at midnight, the witching hour, never promised anything good. Perry had been the one to deliver the news - of course Perry, who else? He had picked up the phone while he had still been in the hospital where Paul had died from his fatal injuries. She still heard the grief stricken confusion in his voice, the utter disbelief, and the immanent fear that usually came along with the death of a loved one. Losing his best friend had hit Perry hard, perhaps harder than anything else over the years. To her eternal regret and shame she hadn't found the right words to comfort him. Too occupied with her own grief over the enormous loss of someone she had always considered a brother she hadn't known what to tell Perry to ease his pain.

She hadn't talked to him since that night and she doubted they would have the chance to talk later on. He was holding the hand of Paul's son, Paul Jr. while Della was just another single person in the big crowd around the coffin. From the very few faces she recognized was the former Lieutenant Anderson who was now a member of the FBI. Hamilton Burger had died two years ago as had so many other former companions.

Della imagined Perry had spent the last days with Paul's family, trying everything in his power to support them. The murderer hadn't been found yet, what must be the most unbearable burden of all. Paul had been shot in his office. Always the late worker, Paul's wife, Irene, hadn't been surprised when Paul hadn't come home for dinner. When he hadn't arrived until midnight Irene had first called and later checked the office, only to find her husband shot and barely alive. Della couldn't even begin to imagine how Irene must have felt by the sight of her husband covered in blood. The mere thought made her shiver and caused a new wave of tears streaming down her face. Paul didn't deserve to die like this. The cruelty of his death made her heart ache all the more and she wished there was a way to get rid of it, before it damaged her beyond repair.

She didn't know Irene very well, in fact they had only met once or twice, and so far she had hesitated to call her. She didn't want to impose on her and burden her with additional and perhaps unwelcome grief from someone who knew her husband from another, former life.

Her former life…. Again her eyes searched for Perry, but she didn't dare to watch him for more than a few seconds. Laura was nowhere to be seen, something that didn't surprise her. Laura and Paul had never been close nor had they ever tried to become friends. There were also rumors flooding around about the state of Perry and Laura's marriage. Apparently Laura had been seen out and about with other men and people even claimed Perry had moved back into his old apartment in downtown Los Angeles.

Della didn't believe in rumors and she was truly afraid to find out if they were true. What would she do, if he were a free man? The thought was too tempting, too dangerous to think it through and so she locked up the idea in a far away place of her mind that was reserved for the unthinkable.

She was a married woman. Her husband was an influential politician, and he was bound to a wheelchair. She couldn't just leave him and start over with another man. Even though her marriage wasn't what it used to be, she still held feelings for her husband, but Perry was… Perry. He had once been the one person her whole life turned around. The center of her universe and her reason to live. Before he had left her for Laura, she couldn't even imagine living another life with a family that wasn't his family as well. Losing him had almost crushed her, but she had survived, had moved on rather successfully in many ways. Yet, if directly asked, what she felt for Perry Mason she would have to admit that she still loved him more than life itself and Paul's death reminded her of how short and precious life really was.

The minister raised his voice and gave his blessing, bringing Della back into reality. She desperately wanted to talk to Perry, wanted to hear his voice and tell him all the things she couldn't tell him, when he had last spoken to her, but she was sure people only waited for them to stick their heads together. With both of their spouses away, everybody was scrutinizing them for every exchanged gesture, no matter how innocent it may be. The crowd slowly dissolved and for a moment he looked up, caught her gaze, and in return she gave him the smallest of all smiles. She was afraid even a smile could give away how much she wanted to be close to him right now. He nodded curtly, broke the connection between them, and returned his attention to the blond boy clinging to his hand.

#####

Eight hours later Della fled Perry's apartment with angry tears in her eyes and trembling all over her body. She was furious. Furious with him and herself, she pushed the elevator button until her thumb hurt. The day had been the ugliest roller coaster she had ever experienced. She was exhausted from the range of emotions that led from grief over to lust, to fury, and back right into an overwhelming sadness. She couldn't give Perry what he needed and asked for, just as he couldn't give her what she needed from him. They were trapped in what had always been their biggest issue: they wanted everything in a world that only gave them the most common thread. She wanted more than what they once had shared. Wanted more than the ghost of what had been their relationship many years ago while he only wanted to turn back time.

Perhaps Perry had reached the point when his marriage vows had become a shadow of the promise it had once meant, but none of this applied for her. She had a family to think about, she had responsibilities, while he had renounced everything he had once left Della for. There was no way she could leave her life just like that while he was determined not to return to his. Her rejecting him had hit him hard, so hard that it had pained her physically to look at him.

Finally the elevator door parted and she stepped in. She turned around, faced his door one last time until the doors closed again. She wouldn't return to his place, at least not for a very long time.

######

Sacramento, 17th August 1977

Della leaned against her kitchen counter, whirling the cord of her telephone around her index finger. She was talking to her son who was in Los Angeles. Together with his father he was visiting Martha Carlisle, Richard's mother. Della knew Ruben adored his grandmother while her own enthusiasm for her mother-in-law was much more limited. Martha had never liked Della and as much Della had tried, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but resentment for Martha. Della remembered only too well how much Martha had been against her marriage to Richard. Della had been three months pregnant back then and Richard was in hospital, recovering from the injuries of the car accident that had left him in a wheelchair. In the beginning Della had understood Martha's doubts and her not so unjustified bias, but she and Richard had moved past those differences. The one who couldn't or didn't want to move on was Martha.

The culmination of her disagreements with Martha had been Martha's claim that Ruben wasn't Richard's son, but Perry Mason's, a short time after Ruben's birth. Fortunately those ridiculous claims were never truly believed by anyone, but it had caused enough friction to cause some very painful conversations and arguments. Today at the age of thirteen Ruben was the image of his father and Martha always complained about not seeing enough of him - and of course she blamed Della for that as well.

Della, who was, in her opinion, an overbearing mother and refused to let him go to see her. Della, who was a bad influence on her husband and didn't support him hard enough in his political career. Most of the time Della returned Martha's tirades with a smile and endured them with her innate stoic calm, but it took a lot of her energy and good will. As a result the relationship between Della and Martha was marked by cold courtesy and frosty comments whenever they met. Della welcomed Martha in her house when it was necessary, but she barely went to Los Angeles to be Martha's guest. The last time Della had been in L.A. for the funeral of Paul Drake. She had to keep her visit a secret, because the last thing she wanted was staying in Martha's house after she had buried one of her best friends.

It wasn't the kind of relationship Della wanted to have with the mother of her husband, but she had given up on trying to be liked by someone who wanted to hate her. Deep down inside Della was convinced that Martha's one and only problem was the fact that her son had dared to marry. Even if Della had been younger, prettier, not pregnant, and more than a legal secretary, Martha had found a reason to dislike her.

"Grandma said, you should have come with us," Ruben said.

"Well, tell her, next time, I will," Della said perplexed. The only idea Martha invited Della to her house, caused Della to crook her eyebrow. She wanted to add a half-hearted greeting but the ringing of the doorbell kept her from doing so.

"Listen, Honey, there's someone at the door. Have a great time and give your Dad a hug from me!"

"Will do!" Ruben said and Della hung up. Whoever was at the door was impatient. By the time Della had reached the door and looked through the peephole, the bell had been pushed at least half a dozen times. When she saw who was at the other side of the door, Della pulled back and considered turning on her heels. She didn't have the slightest wish to talk to the person who was violating her doorbell.

"Della!"

Della sighed, when she heard her name. This had to be a bad dream, a nightmare, and she would wake up soon.

"Della! I know you're home!"

The last time she had been in a similar situation Perry Mason had stood at her front door. He had insisted she let him in and now his wife was just as pushy as he had been. The baggage he had brought with him the last time he came to visit had been enough to last her for a lifetime and she didn't dare to think what Laura could want from her. She just knew she didn't want to have anything to do with her. Laura always meant trouble with capital letters.

Reluctantly Della opened the door.

"Hello Laura." Laura was dressed to the nines - as always. She wore a green silk overall with a white linen jacket and high heels that she must have chosen, because she wanted to appear as if she had Della's height. Laura was the shorter one and every time they met she tried to compensate that fact with an overbearing wardrobe and the highest heels available. Della herself wore a simple blouse and a skirt, clothes fitting for a day at home. For the last couple of years Laura had been working for a real estate agent and from what she heard from friends, she was doing a good job at it.

"Hello Della. May I come in?"

Della hesitated. She really didn't want Laura in her house.

"It's important." Laura said with more insistence. "It's about Perry. Please." Certain, she was about to regret her decision, Della pushed the door open and allowed Laura to enter her home.

Silently she led Laura through the hallway to the living room where the big windows offered a great view across the terrace and the garden.

"I could never imagine how you live," Laura said when she inspected the house, as if Della was a potential client. "It's a beautiful house. Very practical when you consider Richard's ... handicap."

"What can I do for you? I hope you're not looking for something to sell," Della quipped, her arms crossed over her chest. She had no intention of offering Laura anything but hostility. Laura understood Della wouldn't allow her some small talk routine and so she came straight to the point.

"Perry's disappeared," Laura explained swiftly. "He left Los Angeles last Saturday and hasn't shown up anywhere ever since. I'm worried about him."

"Well, he isn't here, if that's what you're suggesting," Della replied coldly, even though the news that Perry had vanished disturbed her instantly.

"I know. That's not why I'm here. I want you to find him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Maybe it's best, I start at the beginning. May I?" Laura pointed at the big sofa near the windows.

Della's annoyance and impatience grew. "If you must."

With great naturalness Laura sank down and unpacked her silver case of cigarettes. The letters 'LM' were engraved on it and the sunlight reflected on it when she opened it.

"Care for one?" Laura asked, offering the opened case.

"No, thank you." Della had given up smoking over a year ago - a little relapse at Paul's funeral aside - but truth to be told, she longed for a cigarette right now. A cigarette and a loaded gun.

"Do you feel comfortable enough now?" Della asked sharply and chose an armchair across Laura.

Her guest ignored her question and took her time, before she started to talk. "This isn't easy for me, you know? I don't like being here, but I have no choice left."

"You certainly make this interesting."

"Perry hasn't been himself since Paul Drake died," Laura said more to herself than to Della. "He's become reclusive... angry... bitter. Like a ghost of his former self."

Della preferred not to comment on that and waited for Laura to continue. Memories of the night after Paul's funeral popped up on her mind. She remembered the sadness, the anger, the taste of whiskey, wine, and cigarettes, frantic kisses, fueled by all of the above.

"You've probably heard that he had moved out of our house some time ago. I thought he needed time... some space to find out what he wants, but he didn't come back. That's not like him. Not at all. You see, he always comes back to me. Anyway, the last time we talked he told me, he was even more tight-lipped than usual. When I went to his office to see him, his secretary told me he had gone on a vacation."

Laura finished her cigarette and instantly lit the next one. "She said she remembered he made a reservation, but that was all she knew. So I called all of the usual places, but I couldn't locate him."

Della shrugged, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. "Maybe he just needs some time off."

"Perry Mason needing time off?" Laura repeated amused. "You know him. He thrives on hard work and murder. Do you think it's like him to run away?"

Della could hardly disagree with Laura's assessment. Perry wasn't the kind of man who liked being on vacation - at least not on his own. He hated having nothing to do and running away wasn't like him either. Della's understanding for Laura's concern grew, although she hated to admit it.

"What is it you want from me?" Della asked. "I don't know where he is."

"I think if someone can find him, now that Paul Drake is dead, it's you."

Della laughed out loud, but the laughter got stuck in her throat when she saw Laura's face. There was something about the way, Laura looked at her that scared the hell out of her. It was a mix of cold, clean hate and reluctant admiration.

"I think you misjudge the situation," Della said. "Why should I, of all people, help you to find Perry? Why don't you hire another investigator?"

Again Laura smiled amused and rose. She slowly strolled across the room, absorbing every detail of furniture, color, and decoration she saw around her.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?" Laura returned Della's question. "The endless routine, your husband, who's barely a man, your son who still has to become one? You worked for Perry because you loved the adventure... the suspense of the murder chase. The life he loved and that he gave up for me. I think Perry has vanished, because he's still chasing Paul Drake's murderer. He's hiding somewhere, planning his next move - like a chess player."

She turned on her heels and faced Della again. Her eyes had even intensified their dangerous sparkling. "Aside from his obsession with finding the man who killed Paul, he's also still obsessed with you."

Already sick and tired of the contents of Laura's reasoning, Della pushed herself up. "Listen Laura..."

"Don't you dare to object," Laura said harshly, before Della was able to disagree. "You're like a ghost to him, even though you're made of flesh and blood. Flesh he can't touch and blood he fears see to shed. If you find him, if you convince him to give up this stupid mission of chasing someone he can never bring to justice, he will come to his senses. If you do whatever it takes, he will come home."

"I don't think I can understand your reasoning." Della really didn't understand. Everything Laura said sounded absurd and far fetched.

"Very easy, my dear... I know you can find him. I'm sure the two of you had some secret hide away during your time. A place he hasn't told me about."

Laura looked straight into Della's eyes, obviously hoping Della would break their eye contact and blush, ashamed of her time with Perry, but she didn't. "And if I do find him," Della said slowly, emphasizing every word. "What do I do then?"

Della was well aware of what Laura had implied, but she wanted to hear it from her lips, before she threw her out of her house.

"You're a woman for God's sake! Do whatever you have to do to make him see sense. Tell him to go home and move on with his life - preferable with me, but I see that would perhaps be asked too much of you. Just bring him home!"

Della shook her. She had known allowing Laura inside had been a bad idea. "I think it's time, you leave my house!" She turned her back on Laura and hastened into the hallway. As expected Laura was on her heels.

"You owe me, you know."

"What could I owe you?" Della asked angrily.

"I got almost killed because of you!"

Della stopped dead in her tracks. About four years ago a woman named Rebecca Powell had tried to kill Della - and Laura, who had been in the same hospital room by mere coincidence.

"Don't be ridiculous. You shouldn't have been in the hospital in the first place!"

"Are you really going to tell me, you won't search for Perry, now that you know he's missing! I thought you love him!"

"What do you know about love?" Della asked in return. "And I doubt he's really missing. He can take good care of himself!"

Della opened the front door and Laura passed her. "I think it's best we simply forget this conversation ever happened."

Laura gave Della a long, estimating glance. "What a pity... I was offering you a chance to break away from this... boredom. Seems I misjudged you."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've misjudged me," Della said and closed the door right in front of Laura's nose.

As soon as Della had her heavy breath under control she went into the library that her husband used as a study. It took her some courage to open the board behind the desk where her husband kept a bottle of brandy and metal cassette. The key to it was in a small envelope in the safe that was hidden behind a wooden panel next to the board itself. Since Richard was wheelchair bound everything, even the security arrangements, had been adjusted to a level he could reach easily. Della had quickly found the key. She was sure Richard had never noticed that she had found and used it beforehand, when she first had found the curios box. She had wanted to forget about the contents of it, but Laura's mentioning of Paul Drake's murder had triggered a memory that she couldn't push back. With trembling hands she placed the hands on the polished desk and turned the key.

Perhaps Laura hadn't been so wrong after all. Della indeed needed to find Perry Mason.

####tbc####