Between the Sheets, page 8
Driving on the highway helped soothe her mind. An elbow out the open window, Viv wondered if she could distract herself before settling in for the night. I'll do a bit of shopping, she decided. Everything in town is open for at least another hour.
She pulled her car into a parking space right outside of Out of the Closet Consignment. Surely Jason has something new to show me.
They'd gotten to know each other right away when she'd moved to Palm Desert. Viv loved shopping secondhand. She'd pick up bargains at upscale boutiques after dropping off items she no longer wore. One in, one out had been her motto for years.
Once Jason realized she'd be a regular customer and that she took excellent care of her clothing, he'd put things aside for her next visit.
The car locked, Viv caught sight of Jason right away. He stood in the center of the shop's window, busily arranging the display. Lifting a frothy white peasant-style dress over his head, he dropped it over the form. It fell in folds, drifting with diaphanous delicacy, making Viv sigh. She loved the dress at first sight.
Maybe I'm too old to still care about clothing. This wasn't the first time she wondered if she was too old to appreciate certain things. If she was too old to pull off a piece of clothing or a certain style. The closer she came to sixty, the more frequently her doubts happened.
Not just about what she wore, but how she took care of herself. Did her aging skin deserve expensive creams, or should she just buy the drugstore variety? And that wasn't the worst part. She even wondered if she was past experiencing intimacy with a man.
Did a sixty-year-old body still want to tumble in the sheets with another human being? No matter how attractive he was. What was the point really. It wasn’t as if she wanted a baby. And the pleasure, well it had shifted over the years. Even she had to admit that.
Since her divorce, avoiding sex hadn't been that hard. No one was really paying attention to her that way. Until Rex. And he was just her neighbor. Viv checked herself. Ask Jason about the dress. That's more manageable than worrying about sex.
Stepping into the shop, she was greeted by Jason's welcoming voice. "Hey, friend, give me a minute. I want to finish with this window dressing."
Jason adjusted a straw hat on the female form. He tilted it to one side, then the other, and finally over her nonexistent eyes.
"Am I keeping you from closing?" she asked.
"Absolutely not! I'd stay open all night for you, sweetie. Plus I've put away a few things in the back with you in mind.” Jason hopped to the floor. Coming closer, he blew one air kiss, then another, for each cheek. "Wait until you see the jacket I found. Katie Holmes wore the same thing in New York just last week. It's to die for!"
Jason disappeared into the back room, giving Viv the chance to glance through the racks of gently used clothing. He returned carrying a blazer on one hanger and a linen button-up shirt in blush pink on another. He held the shirt in front of his body. "This is so chic if you just tie the waist. Then the blazer. To die for. That's what Katie did and the look has gone viral.
"Plus the button-up in this color would be stunning on you. Not just under the blazer but with white skinnies of course, the more distressed the better. You still have those, right? The ones you bought last year." He twirled around with the blazer, his smile making Viv laugh.
"I'll try both." She looked longingly at the window. But she decided against the dress once again. Instead she pointed across the room. "And I'd like to see that skirt suit over there. I guess they're back and I may need a more formal outfit for daytime."
"Sure, honey. Let me set that aside for you." Jason snagged the hanger off the rack and then walked to the wall where the dressing rooms were located. He hung the suit on the outside of the door, and then placed the two other items inside. "Whenever you're ready," he told her.
She tried the shirt first, calling out over the closed dressing room door, "I love the color. This is a keeper."
"And I'll give you your usual discount," he immediately replied. "Plus you have a bit of credit from the items you dropped off a month ago."
Viv knew Jason offered a discount to all of his returning customers. She didn't mind not being the only one, because the shop made her feel good. Buying secondhand made her feel a bit virtuous. And now she rarely bought anything new, especially at department stores. Walking into a Nordstrom often made her anxious. It didn't take a genius to realize that all of the young salespeople seemed to think she wanted to look just like them.
Jason never made her feel that way.
By the time Viv stood at the register, she'd chosen the shirt and the blazer, plus the suit. When Jason didn't bring the dress to the dressing room for her to try, she assumed he thought it too young for her. He'd never say, of course. That was his charm. He made Viv feel good about being Viv.
"You must have a lot of regular customers," she said as he folded her shirt. Then a thought came from out of the blue. "Did you hear about the dead guy they found at the Desert Tortoise Estates? I was there when the cops arrived."
When Jason looked up with wide eyes, she continued. "I saw him. Dead. He lay between the sheets as if asleep, except for that bullet hole in his forehead."
Viv knew that Jason liked to keep up on all of the Palm Desert news. "Do they know his name?" He folded one sleeve over the body of the shirt.
"Carmine Nelson," Viv said.
To her surprise, Jason stopped folding. When he looked up she could see tears forming in his eyes. "As a matter of fact, I knew Carmine. He used to come in here with his wife, Beverly, nearly every month.
"We'd chat while she tried on clothes. She liked the mid-century short sets they used to wear, you know, the matching kind with Bermudas. I'd always keep a pair in the back for her; picked them up at estate sales when someone passed." He kept talking, rambling as he struggled with his emotions.
Then he brushed at his eyes with a rueful smile. "Beverly will be devastated. They were such a lovely couple. Got along so well, even after all those years of being together. Carmine would comment on her outfits; he loved her legs and he'd whistle when she'd come out of the dressing room."
Jason's genuine grief touched Viv deeply. After discovering the dead body, she felt mostly shock. But now Carmine wasn't just a lifeless form. He'd become real, with Jason's tears.
Plus Jason's description of the older couple, who'd been married a long while, nearly made Viv cry. Probably because she'd believed she'd be married that long. Before Laurence left her, she thought they'd make it for the long haul. Till death do us part.
She'd hoped her husband would grow old with her and appreciate her like Carmine did with Beverly. But after the divorce Viv needed to put away all of those hopes because it hurt too much. She finally concluded that a long marriage wasn't in the cards for her and that she just needed to move on. She pushed away the hopes and the feelings because remembering hurt too much.
"It's good to know some people have those kinds of marriages," she told Jason.
"Reminds me of my parents," he admitted, sliding her items into a decorative bag, the tissue crinkling as he drew up the string handles. "I hope to see you soon,” he said softly, handing her the bag.
Viv hesitated. "Is there any chance I could get the Nelsons' address from you? I would like to send a condolence card, but I don't want to disturb the widow."
"Oh sure. Just give me a sec." Jason turned to his computer. He slid a notepad closer and then scribbled with a pencil. Handing it to Viv, he said, "I wrote down their phone number too, in case you want to call and chat with her. She must be very lonely now without Carmine. Just tell Bev that I gave you the number."
On the drive home Viv rolled up the windows. An inky darkness clung to both sides of the roadway. Viv felt an achy loneliness, remembering Jason's tears. She reached for the screen to select some music, hoping to push away her desolation.
Then she smiled, realizing she'd gotten one up on Rex and Sutton. It didn't take any fancy computer or internet work to get Carmine's address. Take that, you two!
24
VIVIENNE ROSE
The next day Viv was pleased to confirm that one phone call was all it took. Plus she'd have an opportunity to wear her newly purchased skirt suit sooner than she thought. Glancing at her image in the mirror, she turned to the left then the right to see if everything worked.
The navy-blue pencil skirt fit closely over her hips. Hitting right at the knee, above her tan kitten-heel pumps. The navy-blue matching blazer, with one button in the front, fit effortlessly over a white linen sleeveless shirt. She'd ignored Jason's advice about the pink button-up. Pink and blue remind me of babies. Tugging at her shirt, she noted how the neckline of the blouse dipped just slightly, exposing a glimpse of her cleavage.
Viv felt a shiver of excitement remembering her early morning phone call.
"Hello, is this Mrs. Carmine Nelson?" She'd used her professional voice. Soft but firm.
"Yes, it is," came a mature woman's throaty response.
"First, may I say I'm so sorry for your loss."
Viv had experience with loss, working with so many families and new babies over the years. Because it turned out doulas often had to deliver bad news. Not all babies were perfectly healthy or easy to bring home. And mothers had issues with postpartum depression, which required delicate conversations.
Even dads collapsed into tears on occasion. Over the years people had told her she was a compassionate woman and that she'd made a difference in their lives at very difficult times.
Viv knew it had taken a few mishaps to get her to that point. Once she'd been able to cross the threshold from her own emotions to be present for others, she'd become a better doula.
Her words of condolence began to sound more genuine because she felt them in her gut. The pull of her heart. And the resonant tears that came to her eyes when she shared someone else's grief made a difference as well.
When the grieving woman on the other end of the phone began to weep, Viv knew she should remain silent. She waited patiently, consciously inhaling in, then out. It wasn't until she heard sniffing and then a slight cough that the woman asked, "Who is this I'm speaking to?"
"We haven't met. My name is Vivienne Rose. I was there the night your husband's body was discovered. It was a coincidence, by the way, but I'd like to send a card if you don't mind. Just to say I'm still thinking about him and now you. May I assume that you are his wife…"
"Yes, I am." The woman sniffed and then hiccupped.
Viv kept her voice smooth. "My friend Jason Knew said you wouldn't mind if I called. He gave me your number."
"Oh, Jason. He's such a dear." A fresh burst of sobbing filled Viv's ear.
"I can call back later," Viv offered, as soon as she heard the woman blow her nose.
"Instead of mailing a card, why don't you come by?" An unexpected invitation lay in the air. "Come to the wake we're having for Carmine. I'm sure there will be people here interested in hearing how you found him. It's this afternoon at four o'clock."
Viv could not believe her luck. Maybe while mingling with Carmine's family and friends, she'd find out more about his life. Then she could report to Rex and Sutton and sit back as they admired how she'd gotten information on her own without any help. And without being a tech savvy genius either.
A final inspection in the full-length mirror brought a smile to her lips. I look pretty good, she concluded. Maybe not bombshell good like Sutton, but good for a sixty-year-old woman who has some serious game left in her after all.
The Nelsons lived in the expensive part of Palm Desert. Clean lines of mid-century modernism were evident throughout the neighborhood. Perhaps due to planning restrictions, none of the houses looked exactly like each other.
Named after Ronald Reagan, the custom-built Reagan Estates homes reflected expensive construction materials, including expansive glass exteriors. Each one had a different flair, but all were alike in their charming take on high desert California architecture.
Even the landscaping looked more natural than it did in her neighborhood. Money had been spent to bring in enormous boulders and stretches of river rock, which were surrounded by native cacti and succulents. If you looked carefully you could see drip irrigation, laid just under surrounding gravel, which kept the plants alive.
The hot months, nearly half the year, made watering necessary, especially if you wanted healthy-looking plants. But the water was recycled. That was how Palm Desert got past any complaints from the California State Water Board.
Viv parked along the curb and took a minute to watch people file inside the house. Most wore black, some in equally saturated dark colors. One woman had a hat with a veil over her eyes. Now that's old Hollywood, Viv concluded. And kind of classy too.
She felt confident in her skirt suit. The self-assurance showed in her erect posture and assured walk as she approached the front door.
Viv was used to entering unfamiliar homes. Offering her hand to a greeter at the door, she began the introduction, establishing her connection to leave no doubt as to why she was there. "My name is Vivienne Rose. Beverly Nelson invited me to pay my condolences."
The man nodded. His eyes took in every aspect of her dress before he offered his hand to shake. "Thank you for coming. The body is to the left and the reception to the right. There's a line, but it should move quickly."
Viv's stomach lurched. She'd not expected to view the body. She moved forward to make way for the next person. A quick glance over her shoulder at the man greeting newcomers confirmed her suspicion.
She felt certain the greeter carried a gun in a shoulder holster. She'd seen police officers’ jackets bulge the same way. And even if that guy was sporting a two-thousand-dollar Armani suit, the bulge could be detected.
Viv walked into the foyer, her low heels clicking against the glossy marble floors. She instantly recognized a Carolyn Sale sculpture placed in the center of the room. Ceramic on steel. That must have cost a fortune. She edged closer to glance more closely. Yep, that's an original.
Though Viv was not an art expert, she'd taken a class. The local High Desert of Modern Art Museum, called the MAM by locals, had offered a seminar that was attended by several well-known artists who gave talks.
She stepped away from the statue. Taking her place at the end of the line, Viv assumed a pleasant but serious expression. She tried to look detached. She planned on doing a lot of listening to the people around her. The couple standing ahead of her in line would be her first target. Fortunately they were talking loud enough for her to overhear.
"Beverly must be devastated," said the woman with the hat and veil.
"We've taken care of everything." Her companion wore a black suit and a red tie. And a hat. A fedora tilted back on his head, exposing gray hair.
Viv stepped slightly to the side to get a closer look at his profile. He seemed familiar. Then she knew. That's HOA Frank. She moved back in line, this time an inch closer to the couple to hear even better.
"Have you seen Joey?" the woman asked.
"He's in the dining room. Acting real nervous, you know, offering people drinks and interrupting like he does when he's hiding something."
"Do you think he's the one?" the woman asked.
"Wouldn't surprise me at all," the man said matter-of-factly. "Joey and Carmine had issues going way back. Maybe it finally came to a head and batta boom, batta bing. Carmine is dead."
The woman reached into her purse, pulling out a hankie. "That's so terrible, Frankie. I can't bear to think about it." She dabbed at her eyes.
"You women get emotional. But I'm telling ya. The older you get, the deadlier you've got to be. You take your age and you make it a strength. A real businessman is even more dangerous the longer he lives,” Frank said, then added, "I never cared about dying. That's just life."
His words sounded rehearsed to Viv. Not as if he didn't mean them, but as if he'd said them often and was trying to convince himself.
But Viv didn't entirely disagree with him. Hadn't she just been tiptoeing around the same idea, wondering how to turn her age into her strength? Maybe the dying part was a bit much, but being strong until the end? That philosophy had some merit.
25
VIVIENNE ROSE
When it was Viv's turn, she stepped closer to the casket. She held her breath before glancing at the body. Exhaling quickly, she stared at his hands clutching a Bible, which had been turned upside down. She eased her hand toward the book, causing a man behind her to gasp, but she didn't mind. She shifted the Bible to appear right side up with a pat. "That's better," she said aloud.
Closing her eyes, she hoped that people would think she was praying. When she opened her eyes she inhaled quickly, bracing herself for the next look at the body. Carmine's forehead was very smooth. To her surprise there was no evidence of the bullet hole. Someone behind her cleared their throat, breaking Viv's concentration. She moved away quickly, grateful to get away from the coffin.
On her way to the reception she stopped to sign a guest book. She added her phone number, just in case the widow wanted to get back in touch to talk about Carmine. Voices wafted in from the outdoor patio.
Viv walked through the room and then outside, stopping to order a seltzer water with a slice of lime at the portable bar. Glass in hand, she made her way to stand near an expansive potted palm. Her attention was drawn immediately to a particularly loud voice coming from a group of men standing in the grassy area beyond the patio.
One guy gestured with his hands as he spoke; the others listened attentively, laughing at appropriate intervals. Viv recognized the man talking. It was Frank Salucci.
She had a better view of his face this time. He had a strong nose and bronzed skin, accompanied by very white straight teeth, and a loud derisive laugh that she associated with a man who had just told a dirty joke.
His tan indicated that he spent time outdoors. Probably a tennis player or golfer. A taut trim body, he had not lost his sex appeal, though he probably was at least seventy.
