Ageless Obsession: A Melody Fox Mystery

By Beverly Ungar

Melody Fox, disillusioned psychologist, is the only person who suspects the sudden death of Grant Fisher, her husband's friend and business partner, was not due to a previously undiagnosed bad heart. She has absolutely nothing to support her gut feelings--at first. Melody begins delving into places she shouldn't go and finds answers to questions she wished she'd never asked. The tenacious Melody Fox finds herself in perilous, life-threatening predicaments as she attempts to uncover the truth about the prestigious Scottsdale Anti-Aging Clinic and Grant Fisher's death. A quintessential shattered dream...an undaunted search for truth...and an exhaustive struggle for survival turn Melody Fox's once tranquil life into a daring excursion. BEVERLY UNGAR moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, in 1994 from Davenport Iowa. She has also resided in London, England, and Hanau, Germany. She has been the owner of an award winning advertising agency in the Midwest, co-hosted and produced a weekly movie review television program, and has been marketing director for an Indian casino in New Mexico before becoming a novelist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunstone Press
• Release date: Jul 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781611391213

Book preview

1

"Amen," the large crowd gathered at the cemetery repeated in bereaved unison. Softly hushed sobs and sniffles punctuated the reflective solitude of mourners – some seated, some standing under the lapiz blue canopy.

Grant Fisher's funeral was the most stirring and inspiring funeral Melody Fox had ever observed. In truth, it was the only funeral Melody had ever attended in her halcyon thirty-five years. Her life up until now had been blessed.

Suddenly, without a warning the flawless azure, Arizona sky dimmed, darkened, then eclipsed into a churning, stormy gray. It threatened and roiled turbulently over and into itself until the sky turned from dismal gray to impenetrable blue black. Lightning burned a luminant vein of brilliant white through the night-like sky. Thunder rumbled and crashed, instantly reverberating through the crowd that was gathered to say goodbye to Grant Fisher, husband, father, and successful businessman.

Just then another booming thunderous crackle rolled into the mountains less than a mile from the mourners then bounced back, embracing them all in its eerie echo. The heavy clouds let loose and pelted cold, piercing rain, blown sideways by a wild wind that whipped out of nowhere. But in the next minute or so the storm was over and gone as inexplicably as it had begun. It seemed as though time had become severed from any sense of reality. The air throbbed in thick silence.

No one so much as breathed or blinked, mesmerized in an aura of timelessness and incredulity. Mourners gazed at each other mystified, trying to comprehend the awesome display of nature's profound vagaries.

Suddenly, hauntingly quiet, the sun reappeared, at first timidly as the clouds dispersed, then brazenly, radiating brightly. The bold light beamed intently on Grant Fisher's widow and two small boys, his family, friends, and business associates. One final, menacingly long low thunder rumbled across the now flawlessly clear blue sky. Melody Fox could swear Grant Fisher was bellowing one final outcry –cautioning that something wasn't as it seemed.

Feeling uneasy, Melody suddenly noticed the stabbing glare of someone whose face she recognized but couldn't place in her cache of memories. The woman looking at her appeared to be about the same age as Melody, perhaps a bit younger. Contentiousness seemed to ooze through the woman's efforts at hiding the emotion. There were little lines around the woman's eyes that Melody guessed were from squinting perpetual disapproval of everyone around her.

Although petulance prevailed on her face, it did little to subdue her striking beauty. Her emerald eyes radiated health, vigor, and the intensity of a cougar. Her enviable skin was clear and touched with vibrancy. Her pout emphasized full, soft, sensuous lips. Various flavors of blonde –flax, corn, wheat, and honey – flowed like spring sunshine to her shoulders with only a hint of darker roots. Whoever she was, Melody didn't ever want to have to tangle with her. She appeared to be a spoiled, formidable bitch who took having whatever she wanted in stride.

Melody shot the woman a quick smile – a mocking display of friendship in an attempt to crack the woman's composure. It was the most contrary response Melody could think of to unbalance the pompous stranger scrutinizing her.

Who's that blonde woman glaring at me? Melody asked her husband Stuart, being careful so the woman couldn't read her lips.

Laurel, Stuart answered without another word.

Well, that certainly explained everything! Of course Laurel would be at Grant's funeral. Stuart had been married to Laurel for about a heartbeat shortly after he and Grant started their advertising agency. Although their marriage lasted less than a year, of course her husband's ex-wife would be here now, mourning the man who had been Stuart's partner. Still, Melody felt Laurel's silent acidic impertinence uncalled for, especially at this somber ceremony.

There were countless other mourners Melody didn't know. Friends and neighbors of Marisa and Grant, plus business associates and clients of Fisher and Fox Advertising Agency. Another strikingly beautiful woman was attached to a group of professionals who had come to the funeral as a pack. She was dressed in a superbly cut, obviously expensive eggplant purple silk suit and snatched furtive looks at her watch at least every other second. This woman was petite and dark. Dark hair, dark eyes. A young Elizabeth Taylor kind of beauty with a no-nonsense composure. The men she was with were all business and it was easy to tell by their stiff body language that they would have preferred to be elsewhere.

Who's the woman in the purple suit?

Stuart shrugged his shoulders.

Finally, the casket was lowered into the grave accompanied by the thuds of dirt dropped in heart-throbbingly repetitious shovelfuls by solemn mourning relatives. The smell of freshly turned dirt smattered by the recent rain was an odor that, until this moment, Melody had always associated with spring and resurgence. Now, as the wind whisked the scent of wet earth up to her nostrils, Melody was jerked back to the present solemnity of this funeral gathering.

Melody and Stuart Fox exchanged no more words as they stood on the outskirts of the Fisher family group remaining by the grave, sharing the deep and painful void that would never be filled. Marisa Fisher, her two young sons, her parents, sister, and brother-in-law, as well as Grant's parents, brothers, and sisters-in-law finally turned their backs to the grave, their faces toward the forever changed world that would now be theirs to live in.

Melody and Stuart joined the family and together gave Marisa a wordless, heartfelt hug.

There was still the meal of condolence to share with the mourners on this sad day.

Please come over to the house later. I'd like you two there. Okay? Marisa requested while her sad eyes implored.

Sure. ‘Course, Stuart answered. We'll be there.

Afterwards, still spellbound from the strange brief storm, everyone headed to their cars. Melody held her husband's hand as they walked silently through the cemetery. She tried hard not to picture what it would be like if it had been Stuart instead of Grant who had died of a heart attack Sunday. She and Stuart were still head over heals in love after being married for just over five years.

He was only forty-two, Melody. The same age as me, Stuart said quietly, expressing Melody's exact thoughts. You expect a lot of days and years left when you're forty-two. You don't expect to die suddenly of a heart attack without any warning. Stuart was tortured by the events of the last four days. Sunday Grant was jogging and today he was buried. How could this happen?

There aren't any answers beyond silence to questions about mortality.

Until four days ago, Grant Fisher and Stuart Fox had been partners in a business they started together ten years ago after a drunken night of angry toasts to their former boss. They had been fired after an outrageously irreverent but on-the-money presentation to an important client. The client hated it, the conservative agency owner who had originally approved the presentation let the two ‘young guys' take the fall. After their termination, they’d headed straight to Buster's where rudimentary images of their own business began to unfold.

Fuck ‘em, had been Grant and Stuart's most often repeated toast that prodigious night sitting in the bar. The two cohorts who worked together, who really didn't know each other beyond the confines of their cubicles, began planning a partnership influenced by the bravery of countless celebratory scotches. Maybe not seriously. In the haze of liquor induced brilliance or lunacy, depending on how you looked at it, starting their own agency seemed like a perfectly logical if not practical idea. It became a now or never endeavor with the urgency of a meticulously timed rocket launch. It was a possibility – the beginning of a dream they had each secretly held: one day owning their own advertising agency. Grant and Stuart were both young, smart, capable, creative.

Both brilliant, toasted Grant.

Both clever, pledged Stuart.

Shrewd.

Witty.

Good looking.

Damn good looking.

Unemployed.

After vociferously celebrating their self-proclaimed virtues, once the truth was brazenly uttered that evening, their laughter came to an abrupt end and was replaced by a silence filled with pensive musing. Not another word was said and each went home to face tomorrow, unemployed.

The Fisher and Fox Agency started out small with only three clients but it was huge if measured by hopefulness. It quickly grew to a staff of twelve with local, regional, and national awards lining the walls of the agency's entryway. Grant and Stuart actually were, as they had declared that long ago night, clever, shrewd, creative, witty, and smart. They were young, professional, successful stars in their field.

Thursday, the evening of the long day of the funeral, Melody and Stuart tried their best to console Marisa by clinging to happy memories of earlier times. They laughed, reminiscing over silly episodes instigated by Grant, and cried about things that would never be. It was blatantly obvious to both Stuart and Melody that Marisa needed to talk some more about the day it all happened, and they were compassionate listeners.

I remember when Grant came in and collapsed in that chair Sunday thinking that he'd run too far too fast in too much heat. Grant was young and healthy. Tears were welling in Marisa's eyes although behind the tears loomed a brilliance that burnished from deep within that only unqualified love could kindle and fuel. He looked terrible when he came in. He whispered for me to call 911 as he grabbed his chest. I thought maybe this was a scary warning to change his lifestyle. Cut back on stress. He'd been so careful to exercise and watch his cholesterol and all. I felt so helpless and scared, watching him struggle for breath.

Melody could hardly bear any more of Marisa's painful discourse, but didn't want her to quit, either. She knew it was important for Marisa to talk.

"It seemed like eternity for the ambulance to get to here, then suddenly paramedics where everywhere. I hardly dared to breathe. I smiled at Grant, telling him over and over he was going to be all right.

"The paramedics were making strange invasive noises. Plastic packages being ripped open. Questions. Directions. Beeping machines. Hands everywhere at once on Grant's body. Then Grant smiled at me through all that. I was finally able to breathe again and returned his smile. I was sure he was going to be all right.

"Then I heard Eric's terrified little voice. ‘Mom! Dad! What's happening? Mom?’ Eric ran home from playing across the street when he heard the ambulance stop. He looked at his father surrounded by strangers doing strange things and he asked me if his daddy was dead in a tiny frightened whisper.

"I told him no. I reassured him Daddy was going to be okay. I guess I was trying to convince myself at the same time.

"The paramedics moved quickly to stabilize Grant and get him into the ambulance. I heard bits of voices and static responses over their radio as I got in the back. When I saw the faces of the paramedics who were still working on Grant, I was even more scared than before. I discovered there's no bottom to the pit of fear.

When we arrived at the hospital emergency entrance, I gave Grant a kiss filled with hope and love. I squeezed the hand that didn't have a needle stuck into it, trying not to let him see how afraid I really was. Grant was wheeled into a room and activity seemed to magnify behind closed curtains. A nurse whisked me into a small empty waiting room where there was a phone. That's when I called you guys.

Melody remembered the rest of the day vividly. Minutes after answering the phone, she and Stuart were in the small private room with Marisa waiting for word on Grant's condition. Waiting. Waiting. And then the unthinkable. A total stranger, the emergency room doctor, came in with a defeated look on his face.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fisher. I'm so sorry. There was nothing we could do. He had a massive heart attack. Those were his exact words and they burned in Melody's memory along with Marisa's response.

Oh, my god, Marisa had whispered in the smallest, saddest voice that flowed directly from her broken heart. Oh my god! she'd repeated in shock and grief. Grant. Mournful, tear filled eyes pleadingly searched the faces of those in the room, begging for the words to be wrong – to undo the moment in time. Oh my god, Marissa cried as Stuart and Melody together hugged her, holding her sobbing body, their own disbelieving tears unleashed in that same instant on that awful afternoon.

When Marisa finished recalling the previous Sunday, a sorrowful silence shrowded the Fisher house and hung in the room like a ruminent mist.

I'm going to go upstairs and check on Eric and Josh. Okay? Melody asked, breaking the trance-like quiet.

Marisa nodded numbly.

Seven year old Josh Fisher was sleeping fitfully. Melody leaned over him and gently kissed him on the cheek before going into Eric's room. She began reading the sleeping Eric his favorite story, more to comfort herself than for his well being. Melody read the end of the story in a broken whisper through silent sobs. She closed Eric's book and laid it on the floor by the sleeping child's bed. It's not fair to lose your father at five years old, Melody choked. As she quietly left the sleeping child she gave him a soft, tender hug and stroked his hair. Your mom has an awfully hard road ahead of her, and I promise you, I'll be there with her for your school plays and ball games – first girlfriend, first heartache, and the same for your brother. I'll be there whenever she needs me. Your mom is my dearest friend and always will be.

Melody Fox slowly, quietly got up off the edge of the bed Eric was sleeping in, and backed out of his room, never taking her eyes off his sweet sleeping face.

Still silent in the kitchen, Stuart looked at Marisa, his partner's widow, and tears once more caught in his eyes. Marisa put her hand on the back of Stuart's hand and tried to comfort him. The inconsolable comforting the inconsolable. No one wanted the evening to end, to accept that the world would continue without Grant Fisher. There was no stopping tomorrow and all the tomorrows to follow.

Marisa bravely broke the silence. You guys go on home. I'll be all right. Actually, I'm exhausted. It's been a long, difficult day for all of us. Please. Go on home. Silent tears, again began gliding down her cheeks. She pulled out the very used tissue in her pocket, wiped her nose, and composed herself. Again. Marisa had made the exact same motions countless times over the past four days. Thank you guys, she whispered and got up from the table. The three friends hugged, clinging to each other for comfort. Hesitantly they eased apart slightly, their foreheads still touching in an attempt to let go and hold on at the same time.

Melody and Stuart each kissed Marisa on the cheek, squeezed her hand, then sadly they left.

Marisa took the dirty coffee cups to the sink, leaned against the edge of the counter and cried. She searched for her soggy tissue and took a deep breath to gather strength. It was time to go upstairs. There was nothing left to do except go to bed in their queen size bed, with Grant's familiar scent still lingering faintly on the linens. She promised herself she would never, ever wash his pillow case, treasuring forever the nearness of him.

2

"Life goes on. Stuart's dispirited words escaped through his abysmal sadness as he and Melody walked toward their car. The plaintive phrase was picked up by the cool, dark night and carried off to infinity by the desert wind. Damn. His voice quavered as he spit out the expletive. He opened the car door and silently slid behind the wheel as Melody got in on the passenger side. Stuart pounded the steering wheel with the palms of both hands in a mixture of heartache and anger. He looked sadly at Melody seated next to him as he started the car and slowly pulled away from the curb. He was my partner. My friend. We balanced each other. He was like a brother to me."

Melody's sorrow for Grant was profound and pervasive while her concern for Stuart's seemingly fathomless grief was equally intense. Grant was so exuberant – so full of life. Those poor little boys. I'll miss him so much. He was part of our life, Stu. I'm sure it'll be even harder for you with work and all. Instantly she wished once again, as she so often did, that she had more control over what impulsively came out of her mouth. She had intended to make his deep sorrow a little less painful. The words that came out would do just the opposite. Melody turned and looked out the side window. She noticed they weren't headed for home where she could get her hands on a couple of aspirins and a glass of water, lie down, close her eyes, and hopefully escape this staggering sadness with some dreamless sleep.

Where're we going? she asked, interrupting Stuart's solemnity.

I don't have any idea. I just can't go home yet. Anguish punctuated his somberness, and Melody thought better of saying any more. They drove around Scottsdale and Phoenix for what seemed like hours in heavy-hearted silence. Down Scottsdale Road, past Stuart and Grant's office, across Bell Road, down Tatum, through the Papago mountains, round in circles with no place to escape from the reality of the last four awful days. Stuart's mixture of sorrow and anger showed on his face.

Melody knew his anger was neither directed toward her, caused by her, nor controlled by her, but she still felt that it was her responsibility to do something about it. She turned to look at her husband, still tortured, still driving nowhere. She really wanted him to unleash his grief, but she didn't want to sound like a psychologist either. He hated it when she brought her ‘professional expertise’ into their conversations, so she remained quiet. Not all that easy for Melody under the best of circumstances, let alone in the silence that filled every molecule in the car.

Finally, Melody recognized the familiar tall palms as they approached the entrance leading the few short blocks to the home they had just built. Their house was quiet and dark and emitted a sense of normalcy that contradicted their mood.

They were emotionally and physically drained. I can't think about this any more. Let's just go to bed, Melody suggested, cracking the somber echo of their footfalls in the silence as they walked into the kitchen from the garage. Come on. She took Stuart's hand. Impulsively, they embraced each other in the moonlit kitchen, clinging like magnets. Stuart finally wept on Melody's shoulder, smothering his sobs in the warmth of her neck, smelling her scent, grasping her thick, auburn hair in his hands, holding her like there might be no tomorrow.

Stuart restlessly tossed and turned in bed for hours until just before sunrise, his exhausted mind and