Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

“Eight hundred thousand dollars a year?”

“Uh, yeah. His lawyer landed him a job with the same HMO where his last girlfriend - the one he assaulted, let us not forget - once worked. Now John Richard is tightening up ACHMO’s formularies for prescription drugs. So when you ask, Who at my HMO sets up the rules to deny me prescriptions? here’s your answer: The Jerk.”]

“He’s ratcheted up his stinginess to a grand scale.”

“No kidding.” Marla went on: “Okay, you’ve got an idea of his income, assets, and liabilities. Plus he’s got a prison record now, and getting a new mortgage is a tad difficult. So: How do you figure he’s buying a three-million-dollar town house in Beaver Creek?”

“Three million?” I gasped. “You have got to be - Wait, maybe he got a signing bonus with ACHMO.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Lawyer’s investigator says ACHMO took a hammering when they gave their new CEO a monster signing bonus. The news made it into the Post, the stockholders went ballistic at the annual meeting. ACHMO doesn’t give signing bonuses anymore. But you haven’t heard it all.”

I thought I detected the sound of distant yelling, coming from across the courtyard. “What was that?”

Marla glanced carelessly through one of the windows, then back at me. “Who knows? Now listen, the down payment on this place in Beaver Creek was three hundred thousand. My sources have their ways with the mortgage company, and report that he got a loan for a hundred fifty thou, equity from his place in the country club. His partner in the sale put up the other hundred fifty. Down payment done. Payments are interest only for the first six months, then a big balloon payment. And guess whose names are on the deed?”

“I can’t.”

“John Richard Korman and his new sidekick, Viv Martini.”

“But… he never goes for joint ownership. It was one of my problems when we were doing the divorce settlement.”

She waggled a finger at me. “Don’t you think I know that? The sources inside the mortgage company - oh, don’t give me that look, anyone can be bought. Anyway, my investigator says John Richard was making noises that lie would be making the interest payments for six months. Viv has a modest income from gun sales. But when it came to that five-hundred-thousand-dollar balloon payment? Viv was the one asking about when the half-mil would be due, exactly, and if the mortgage company would take a check from John Richard’s account. My theory is that the balloon payment is her responsibility. Otherwise he wouldn’t do the deal, don’t you think? I’m also thinking they’re planning on selling the place for a huge profit, after they make the balloon payment. And they both go away happy. Or at least filthy rich.”

Filthy, indeed. “But if Viv Martini had a hundred fifty thou to blow, why latch onto the Jerk? Why would you do that kind of deal with someone you’d just startned going out with?”

When Marla shrugged, her diamond dangle earrings sparkled. “He’s cute. He’s a doctor. What the hell, Goldy, why did we hook up with him?”

Because I loved him, I answered silently. Because he’d promised he loved me, too. Duh.

“Wait a minute.” I tried to think. “Arch told me John Richard was going to give Viv something when he got out of prison. A Mercedes, he said. Or a trip to Rio. Or maybe a Mercedes and a town house, huh?” I shook my head. “But even if you set aside the hundred fifty thou, where does the half-mil for the balloon come from?”

Marla’s smile broadened. “I figure it’s a drug deal. Prescription meds, sold on the black market at a huge profit.”

While Marla chattered about how she was going to have this or that friend of hers in Beaver Creek keep a lookout on everything John Richard and Viv did up there, I resolved to talk to Sergeant Boyd on the subject of Viv Martini. Boyd would be willing to tell me what the department knew, wouldn’t he? Well… he might if I threatened to follow Viv until I found out what she was doing. Thot wouldn’t only be time-consuming, it would be dangerous. On the other hand, I didn’t reckon it would be as perilous as going into a financial partnership with the Jerk. Viv was either one tough babe, or she was dangerously smitten with Dr. John Richard Korman. Marla said, “And you know those leather duds Viv wears, well, there’s only one leather specialty shop in Beaver Creek, and the owner is a good friend of mine - “

I nodded, paying little attention. Last month, Furman County had been the scene of the murder of a FedEx driver and the theft of his three-million-dollar cargo. Yesterday, the body of one of the suspected hijackers had been found. Now, if I wasn’t making too much of a leap, a former girlfriend of Ray Wolff, the guy accused of master-minding the robbery, was doing a big real estate deal with a doctor whose assault conviction might not

be known in ultrachic Beaver Creek. Was John Richard scamming the HMO? Was it possible that Viv Martini was laundering money through real estate? How probable was it that John Richard was being taken for a ride by his new girlfriend? Maybe John Richard would have to go back to jail. A shiver of delight wriggled down my spine.

“What do you suppose is the attraction between those two?” Marla demanded, then answered her own question by launching into a monologue on the subjects of sex and money. I thought of something else: If Viv was not doing a drug or other underhanded deal with the Jerk, did he know how she was getting her money? He had to trust that she’d come up with the cash. Then again, maybe all she had to do was wrap herself around his torso and ask for the rough stuff.

“Listen,” Marla went on breathlessly, “I’ve found out something else about John Richard that might interest you. Has to do with your current employer.” I gave her a skeptical look.

“According to Christine Busby, Sukie’s great pal on the labyrinth committee? Sukie’s a cancer survivor.”

“So? Lots of people are, Marla.”

She opened her eyes wide. “Cervical cancer. Detected by John Richard, who did Sukie’s hysterectomy. She’s been cancer-free for five years and can’t say enough to Christine about how wonderful El Jerko is.”

“But she didn’t act as if she knew him when I mentioned his name. Or when I showed her his picture - “

“Hmm. She didn’t confide in me about her illness, either. Maybe she doesn’t want to spill her secrets to her beloved ex-doctor’s ex-wives.”

“Marla, I need to tell Tom - “

Before I could finish articulating that thought, two people appeared on the far side of the courtyard. Both in hooded winter coats, they seemed to be arguing beneath the ground-level arcade that enclosed the courtyard. Their voices carried but the words were unrecognizable. The altercation rose a notch when the two tried to make their points by thrusting pointed fingers in each other’s faces. I shuddered. Unless my own experience was wrong, it wouldn’t be long before the conflict went physical.

Marla, ever willing to be diverted from gossiping about one situation to shoving her way into another, stared down avidly at the squabble. What looked like a tall man and a shorter, stockier one were now slapping each other’s hands away. The short man put his hands on the chest of the tall one and pushed him back. The tall man stumbled, fell, rolled, and then jumped back to his feet. His hood fell off.

“Wow!” Marla exclaimed. “The lord of the manor just went ass-over-teakettle. And Sir Eliot is quarreling with …”

But neither of us could make out the other person until both of Eliot’s hands flew up as if to choke the short man. Startled, the man pulled back and his hood flopped down … and revealed the disheveled white hair of Michaela Kirovsky, who was flailing as Eliot’s hands closed on her throat.