Chapter 6

April put off looking at Jessica's Email, and the websites in her recipe box until after her frozen dinner and chemical iced tea had been consumed. After her chemically laced dinner, she moved from the small dinning table to the built in desk on the wall of entertainment devices. Finally April pulled up Jessica's email account, but only after she checked her own email.

It surprised her that Jessica had a generic email, rather than one of those name brand models. From Experience April knew that too many failed attempts to enter the account would lock it. She need not have worried because if opened on the first attempt. It could be that the cop's plan was to leave it open in order to track her future emails, April thought. She reminded herself again to be careful not to leave any obvious trails on the site. It was possible to leave a trail should she try to delete anything. She didn't see any problems ahead, as she did not plan to delete anything. Not even Jessica's negative comments to her husband about April and Viv.

As April read Jessica's Email it was obvious that she and her husband were arguing often. Her first complaint was that although she had access to their joint bank accounts, he had lowered the amount of the automatic deposits.

He claimed that the money was going into their retirement account. His defense was that she needed to spend less money, or get a job.

Later there were Email by Jessica explaining that she had a job working for a private club on the strip. She even gave him the name of the club in case of emergency. She also explained that she would be using the name Jessica Rabbit as an alias while at work. That was so that he could ask for her by that name should he need to call.

Then came a series of Email consisting of her time spent waiting for the apartment approval. Almost all her email was harmless and was addressed to her husband. It all seemed very much like the emails of a normal couple until about two months before her death. At that time she began seriously bitching about the smaller bank account. It was pretty easy to pinpoint the time when the money shortage began.

April hadn't realized that Jessica occupied the second apartment she had converted. Since Jessica told her husband about the noise and confusion in the parking lot while the worker were constantly converting apartments. April was able to use that image to fit the Emails into the time line of what was going on at the motel. Jessica almost never mentioned the club.

Thomas hadn't mentioned to April that he had taken his last leave from the drilling platform at the apartment. Viv would have had more contact with the two of them than April. She might know more about his stay at the apartment.

According to an email three weeks before her death, Thomas had taken her to work while on his break from the rig. He obviously stayed to watch her dance, since he commented that he hoped none of his buddies from the rig ever saw her and recognized her as his wife. Her response was that she wore so much make up and with the red hair, her own mother wouldn't recognize her. Obviously the red hair was new since her employment at the Diamond Club.

Now why had he been so quick to tell April that Jessica was a simple bartender, when he knew better. He was on the rig, so he had an air tight alibi. April considered it odd, as she was sure Goodman had. Could it possible be a murder for hire kind of thing.

She hadn't realized how fast time was passing. It was almost midnight before she knew it. April had a problem estimating the passage of time, since her sleep patterns were so erratic.

After April removed her jeans and bra she climbed into the bed wearing only her fancy tee shirt and bikini panties. She lay in bed where she realized that her recent visit from Mordecai had her taking stock of herself. She was painfully honest in her evaluation. She was forty eight years old, and twenty pounds above her ideal weight. Actually she was carrying twenty five more pounds than she had carried in Afghanistan. She knew that she needed to lose weight. Because of the long hours in surgery over there, and then the long hours at Urgent Care had done a number on her knees she couldn't run. She also knew that becoming a yuppie gym rat just wasn't going to happen, so she would have to just live with her lack of exercise. She also wasn't having much luck controlling her eating.

Shaking her head she continued with her honest appraisal. She had pretty average boobs, she thought. They were 36c on a good day and with a good bra. Even though she never had kids, they sagged some. She could use a natural boob lift. One of those where the tissue was tightened and the cavity filled with her own excess body fat. It was all the thing at the time. She also had the option to just buying better bras.

Almost all the excess twenty five pounds was in her hips. She had the saddlebag hips, not a bubble butt that men loved so much. If she dressed well, say for a meeting, or a date she could do some things to mitigate the flaws in her figure.

Her hair was another disaster. She had the cursed thin hair gene, which ran in her family. Even though she had it cut in a ragged punk, boy's style, it was neither classy, nor fashionable. It was just a mess all the time. She had given up on it. She simply washed it with hand soap and towel dried it in the summer months. She saved her blow dryer for December thru February.

April fell asleep knowing that her lack of a man had nothing to do with her rather average looks. The depressing truth was it had everything to do with the fact that she valued her independence more than any man's companionship. Especially a man like that dick head Mordecai Goldman. She just had never been willing to play the game. The one where a woman overlooked a man's failings and accepted them.

April slept quite well even in her mild depression, or maybe because of it. It was 6:30am when she awoke. She was rested and ready for the day. She moved on autopilot as she showered and dressed for the day. She fried up some bacon from the week before and threw in an egg and some cheese. She made herself a hell of a bacon and egg bagel. The southern absorption of the bagel into their menu surprised no one. The Louisiana menu was filled with stolen recipes and adaption of them into something unique to the area.