One O'Clock Hustle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 1) by Joanne Pence Page B
Authors: Joanne Pence
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Rebecca asked.
“She's not with him anymore. They broke up some time ago.” Chavez lit a cigarette. “Everybody called him Sonny Blakely. I'm not sure what his first name was.” She took a deep drag, then held out the pack. “Smoke?”
“No thanks,” Rebecca said. “Meaghan was using the name Blakely when she died. Were she and Sonny married?”
“I can't imagine. They split up over three years ago. I remember because it was right after my Javier was born. Meaghan came into the hospital to see me, but she should have been in the bed instead of me. They had a fight—a knock-down, drag out. She was pretty broken up. Emotionally, I mean. To me, she was lucky to be rid of him. He was a gambler—addicted to it, if you ask me—and a creep. One day on top of the world, the next dirt poor.”
“What became of Sonny Blakely?” Rebecca asked.
“I don't know. After they split, Meaghan moved out of the neighborhood. Since I had a new baby, plus my other two, I didn't see her hardly at all.”
“Was she working?”
“She worked downtown. Macy's. She got by okay.”
“You said you hadn't heard from her for a while. Did you two have a falling out?”
“No—it's life, that's all. We parted as friends.” Smoke hovered over the room as she puffed. “The last time I saw her, she was still plenty steamed at Sonny. She said he left her and straightened up. Oh, man, that pissed her off!”
“Was Sonny Blakely in San Francisco as well? Did she say what he was doing?”
Chavez flicked the cigarette ash, half in the ashtray, half on the floor, then shut her eyes a moment. “It's hard to remember. I don't think she said, only that he fell into a pig sty and came out smelling like a rose, or something like that.”
“Do you have any pictures of Sonny, by any chance?”
“Me? God, no! Why would I…oh, wait! There may be one on my old phone. I keep buying newer models of iPhones, but I think I left some photos on one of the older versions. Let me look at it. I'll have to plug it in to recharge.”
As they waited, Rebecca continued to ask questions, but learned nothing useful. Finally, Chavez picked up an older iPhone model and scrolled through the photos dating back over five years. Rebecca got to see a young, vibrant Meaghan Bishop in those photos. The woman was truly lovely, and Rebecca felt the tragedy of her untimely death even more.
“Here we go! I know Sonny was at this party,” Chavez said. “My daughter's baptism. We had all our friends come over, and Meaghan insisted Sonny join her. That was when she still hoped to turn him around, get him to want to get married, have kids, you know. Unfortunately, a leopard can't change his spots, as they say.”
She seemed lost in thought a moment, then continued, “Meaghan was a traditionalist at heart. A good kid.”
“Except that she had a record,” Rebecca said.
“So? Doesn't everyone? Or almost.” Chavez grimaced, then returned to searching. “Meaghan always had big dreams, and with her looks, she should have been able to get just about anything she wanted in life. But then she fell hard for Sonny, and that was it. I warned her; all her friends did. He wrecked everything for her, wrecked her life. I don't know why she was killed, but I do know I'd try to find out if Sonny was somehow involved.”
Rebecca nodded. She found it interesting how the process of searching for photos often caused people to remember many things that they either had forgotten, or hadn't really wanted to say, and all kinds of details often emerged.
“Ah! Here he is. Wait, let me see if the next photo or two…yes! Look. This is him.” She turned the phone towards Rebecca.
She could have fallen off the sofa, she was so stunned at what she saw. Staring into the camera, looking glum and sullen, his hair nearly to his shoulders, wearing a T-shirt, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and holding a drink in his hand, was Harrison Sidwell—Big Caesar's manager.
CHAPTER
“She's not with him anymore. They broke up some time ago.” Chavez lit a cigarette. “Everybody called him Sonny Blakely. I'm not sure what his first name was.” She took a deep drag, then held out the pack. “Smoke?”
“No thanks,” Rebecca said. “Meaghan was using the name Blakely when she died. Were she and Sonny married?”
“I can't imagine. They split up over three years ago. I remember because it was right after my Javier was born. Meaghan came into the hospital to see me, but she should have been in the bed instead of me. They had a fight—a knock-down, drag out. She was pretty broken up. Emotionally, I mean. To me, she was lucky to be rid of him. He was a gambler—addicted to it, if you ask me—and a creep. One day on top of the world, the next dirt poor.”
“What became of Sonny Blakely?” Rebecca asked.
“I don't know. After they split, Meaghan moved out of the neighborhood. Since I had a new baby, plus my other two, I didn't see her hardly at all.”
“Was she working?”
“She worked downtown. Macy's. She got by okay.”
“You said you hadn't heard from her for a while. Did you two have a falling out?”
“No—it's life, that's all. We parted as friends.” Smoke hovered over the room as she puffed. “The last time I saw her, she was still plenty steamed at Sonny. She said he left her and straightened up. Oh, man, that pissed her off!”
“Was Sonny Blakely in San Francisco as well? Did she say what he was doing?”
Chavez flicked the cigarette ash, half in the ashtray, half on the floor, then shut her eyes a moment. “It's hard to remember. I don't think she said, only that he fell into a pig sty and came out smelling like a rose, or something like that.”
“Do you have any pictures of Sonny, by any chance?”
“Me? God, no! Why would I…oh, wait! There may be one on my old phone. I keep buying newer models of iPhones, but I think I left some photos on one of the older versions. Let me look at it. I'll have to plug it in to recharge.”
As they waited, Rebecca continued to ask questions, but learned nothing useful. Finally, Chavez picked up an older iPhone model and scrolled through the photos dating back over five years. Rebecca got to see a young, vibrant Meaghan Bishop in those photos. The woman was truly lovely, and Rebecca felt the tragedy of her untimely death even more.
“Here we go! I know Sonny was at this party,” Chavez said. “My daughter's baptism. We had all our friends come over, and Meaghan insisted Sonny join her. That was when she still hoped to turn him around, get him to want to get married, have kids, you know. Unfortunately, a leopard can't change his spots, as they say.”
She seemed lost in thought a moment, then continued, “Meaghan was a traditionalist at heart. A good kid.”
“Except that she had a record,” Rebecca said.
“So? Doesn't everyone? Or almost.” Chavez grimaced, then returned to searching. “Meaghan always had big dreams, and with her looks, she should have been able to get just about anything she wanted in life. But then she fell hard for Sonny, and that was it. I warned her; all her friends did. He wrecked everything for her, wrecked her life. I don't know why she was killed, but I do know I'd try to find out if Sonny was somehow involved.”
Rebecca nodded. She found it interesting how the process of searching for photos often caused people to remember many things that they either had forgotten, or hadn't really wanted to say, and all kinds of details often emerged.
“Ah! Here he is. Wait, let me see if the next photo or two…yes! Look. This is him.” She turned the phone towards Rebecca.
She could have fallen off the sofa, she was so stunned at what she saw. Staring into the camera, looking glum and sullen, his hair nearly to his shoulders, wearing a T-shirt, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and holding a drink in his hand, was Harrison Sidwell—Big Caesar's manager.
CHAPTER
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