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Chapter 7
Even though I hadn’t spent much time with Randy the week before he left for Taiwan, his absence left a huge void. He continued calling and texting frequently, sending me pictures of the crew and of Taipei once they landed.
The beach cottage he’d bought me became another connection we had that made up for the void caused by my refusal to do a second season of Saving New York. He was interested in the history of the Sea View beach cottages, especially since he lived in one. The original developer had bought the lots in 1918 on what had been a sandy road and built sixteen storybook cottages meant to emulate a Normandy fishing village like those found in Brittany, France.
My cottage was one of the last in its original state. Lisa’s cottage had most of its original charm. Pam’s had the impression of a cottage, but was four times its original size because of additions and attic conversions. Sandra’s was completely devoid of its origin, with asphalt and plywood replacing the timeworn curved, shingled roof.
The following weeks flew by. Pam and I spent so much time together when I was in Babylon that I looked forward to hearing from her. It wasn’t unusual to get a call first thing, and we’d chat while I had that first cup of coffee.
Then tragedy struck. I realized what I had given up for a boring job. I got the worst phone call of my life. I was up early, having morning coffee before leaving for the hospital, when Pam called to tell me that Randy had died of a heart attack. Stunned, I plunked down on a bar stool with the phone to my ear, listening to her cries of grief while she tried to explain what she’d heard.
“He was late on site this morning, so Clint went to his room and found him. He’d died in his sleep.”
“Pam, I’m so sorry.” I sniffed. “That sounds so lame. I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“I’m sorry for you, too. You didn’t really get to know him.”
“I didn’t. I just can’t believe what I’m hearing. What’s going to happen now?”
“The cast and crew are going to stay in Taiwan and finish up and leave at the end of the week. Clint said they all agreed it was what Randy would have wanted.”
“I mean for you,” I said gently.
“I can’t believe I lost another husband to a heart attack,” she said. “I truly don’t know what I’m going to do.”
We talked about Randy for nearly a half hour, and I knew I had to be with Pam. She was my only link to a father I hadn’t known very well.
“I just decided. I’m going to move into the cottage,” I said.
“Oh, no, it’s far from ready to be inhabited, Laura!”
“I don’t care. I want to be close to you. I’ll quit my job, too, and find something down there.”
“I hate to admit it, but I’d feel better with you closer,” Pam said.
My father dying was such a shock, maybe the worst thing that had ever happened to me. But then, as if the universe wasn’t finished yet, while I was at work the following week, the funeral over, done with my bereavement time, I got a page.
“Detective Spinoza is at the front desk in the lobby,” the operator said.
The last thing I wanted was to listen to condolences from that guy, but I was afraid they’d let him come up to the floor. “I’ll be right down.”
I sent Jane Craighead a text that a cop wanted to see me and I had to leave the department. Bypassing the elevator, I opened the door to the stairwell, running down five flights of stairs. He was standing near the desk, watching the elevator doors, so I could observe him as I approached.
Mark Spinoza looked great as usual, but there was just something off about him. We definitely had zero chemistry.
“Mark, what can I do for you?”
He looked concerned, so I just figured it was a condolence call. “Laura, thank you for seeing me. Can we go somewhere to talk?”
“It’s hard, because I’m on duty,” I said.
“I know, and I’m so sorry, but this is important.”
“Okay. We can go to the cafeteria.”
“Lead the way,” he said.
“I guess you’re here about my dad.”
