Pretty Patty

Pretty Patty

    Mendocino lies on the craggy coast of the Pacific--a tucked away California village known for its old town feel and quaint white New England architecture. Abalone diving remains the biggest draw as well as foraging for wild mushrooms. And yes, the Blair House Inn, too, where “Murder She Wrote” was filmed.

    On this particular Halloween in the late ‘80s, Patty and I spent a lively evening dining on black chanterelles, Haruki turnips, and King Salmon at the Inn.  We consumed glass after glass of Roederer Brut and had homemade crème Brule for dessert.

    It had been a long rainy two- and half-hour ride from Sonoma. The redwoods were tall and fast outside the car window. Cold winds and salty air had shaped their candelabra branches.

   Patty and I’d decided to take a leisurely soak in the outdoor hot tub after dining, but instead we strolled back to our ocean view room to watch horror movies and doze by the fireplace, singing the recent Police hit: “Every Breath You Take”.

Oh, can't you see

You belong to me?

How my poor heart aches

With every step you take?

Every move you make

And every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I'll be watching you

    Vince O’Connor was drinking a gin and tonic when we had checked into The Blair House at the same time. While in the lobby, Vince made small talk with Patty, telling her he was from a generational fishing family that delivered fresh crab and cod to the Greater Bay Area.  

“Geez, one day, I’d like to take a charter and see the whales’ migration,” Patty said.

“It’s a deal,” Vince replied. “Although it’s a gnarly trip. Gotta give me your phone number though.”

“How about if I give you my room number. It’s 24,” Patty said, a little drunk and giddy.

        Later that night, Vince rapped on our door. Patty unlocked the bolt and led him inside. She hadn’t removed her makeup, or the orange sweater dress she had worn to dinner. Vince said she looked absolutely stunning. He asked Patty if she’d like to join him on the rooftop, have a couple of Buds, and watch the harvest moon go down.  Patty glanced at me for approval. I waved her on, saying, “Live a little for God’s sake! You deserve it!”  

       Over dinner Patty had told me how much lobby Vince resembled Dan, her prom date. Dan was a popular quarterback with a mouth full of metal. His personality was as winning as his athleticism. Patty always told me that she was drawn to the lumberjack type. We both thought Vince fit the bill.

`          

        I’d nodded off while reading Stephen King’s IT, about the Losers' Club and Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Suddenly I was awakened by a sound I could only describe as “a high pitched, terrified scream.”  imagining things? No. I decided. I jumped out of bed, removed my nightgown, pulled on my Levis, t-shirt, Nikes. and warm leather jacket.

         I ran upstairs to investigate and stopped when I heard heavy footsteps. I hurried back to the room to call the front office. I dialed and dialed but no one answered.  

        I wanted to be sure the scream wasn’t from Patty, so I hustled to the front office. The door was locked. I banged on the windows and pressed the buzzer numerous times to no avail.

     “Where was Jessica Fletcher, the female sleuth when you need her?” I told myself hastening back to room 24. Patty was not there. Bloody dog prints, discarded candy wrappers, and empty cans of Bud were.

     Owls screeched as I sprinted through the moonlit parking lot. By this time, I was trembling with fright. I jumped into the Mustang’s passenger’s seat, locked the doors and crouched down with the leather jacket over my head. I waited until dawn, then looked out the window. I could discern small skiffs offshore and fish hawks in silhouette.

    The calls of sea lions, and the squawking of seagulls followed as I ran to the Inn’s office to tell the desk clerk about the events of the night. The desk clerk shook her head and guffawed.

    “It’s Halloween, young lady. What do you expect? Lots of strange noises. Vampires, witches, and all. But for you, I call the police anyway.”

    “Thanks, I said. “My girlfriend went out last night with some local fellow from a fishing family. Of course, I’m worried.”

       Eventually, the police took down my story. Afterwards, they combed the Inn and the grounds, but couldn’t find Patty; however, they did find an abandoned ashtray containing two cigarette butts on the Inn’s rooftop. The ashtray didn’t match any from the rooms, including ours. I knew Patty had smoked, but not very often. A smudge of red lipstick had been found on one of the butts.

       It was December that year when Patty’s naked body was discovered half-buried under a grove of redwoods a few yards from the Inn. A young couple out foraging for morals and chanterelles had found empty beer cans, candy wrappers, an orange dress, and Patty.

     Blair House closed indefinitely after Patty’s demise. The Inn had no record of any Vince paying for a room on Halloween night or anytime for that matter. Yes, I had heard a scream. I am almost positive now it came from Patty.

      Patty cheated death at seventeen. She survived a bike crash while competing in a steep race up Mt Diablo. She hit a boulder, rolled down an embankment, and completely blacked out. Scrappy Patty was soon found by a pair of fellow cyclists who called an ambulance. After a few days, Patty returned to work, although suffering some memory loss. Patty healed enough to pursue her dream of working at The Vines, a world-class restaurant. Hired on by the millionaire Vic Gleeson, she quickly became the head waitress. To celebrate the 5th year anniversary of the bike accident, Patty and I, both waitresses, decided to spend a few quiet days in Mendocino.

        Shortly after her hiring, Patty dated Vic. Vic had a prominent belly like the actor John Candy; however, Patty found him kind and generous. Unbeknownst to Patty, Vic was newly separated from his wife. Patty wanted commitment, but Vic wasn’t ready. Unbeknownst to me, Patty had phoned Vic Halloween morning. He had the night off and was planning on attending a costume party with two of his close buddies. Vic had a new Doberman named Lucifer he’d bring along for special effects.

        The Inn’s phone records indicated that an evening call had been placed to our room by a person named V. V was hoping Patty would have dinner with him in Mendocino on Halloween, but Patty declined. Then V asked for a date on Nov 1. He said he’d drive to the Inn, but Patty again refused. V said she owed him. Didn’t he pay plenty for those fancy riding boots?

    The police interviewed many ex-felons in and around Mendocino. They obtained DNA samples, but there were no matches. Paul gave a sample. So did quarterback Dan. Lack of suspects or arrests frustrated all of us, particularly Patty’s family.

       A fundraiser was held in Patty’s honor at St Anthony’s Catholic Church in Mendocino. The money raised would help detectives continue their search for Patty’s killer.

        Days before the fundraiser, the police released evidence that might be tied to Patty’s disappearance. They found DNA on a cigarette butt on the railing outside our room. The cigarettes were Turkish Slims, a variation of Camels. Turkish Slims had been on the market for a short time. In fact, they’d once been sold at Spark’s head shop in Mendocino. The police released the information hoping for a crack in the case. Tests revealed that the DNA on one of the cigarette butts matched Patty’s, and the other butt’s DNA couldn’t be identified.

      Fr Daniel spoke at Patty’s fundraiser. He apologized to Patty’s family and all of us who loved her. He apologized for the evil in the world. He said he understood evil given one of his prize Dobermans had been stolen, and the other had recently succumbed to rat poisoning.  Father also said he’d known Patty when she attended St Theresa High in Santa Rosa. St Theresa’s was Fr Daniel’s first assignment after ordination. He always had high hopes for Patty.

        I moved in with my mother shortly after Patty’s funeral. The emotional weight of everything nearly broke me. Why did I encourage Patty to have fun with a stranger? Who was I to trust this man, or any man for that matter?

       I’ve been a recluse now for about ten years. I think I’ll always be a recluse. I am forever haunted by the memory of my friend —her guileless body found in the shadows of a redwood grove-- Pretty Patty who disappeared one fateful Halloween night in that California wonderland they call Mendocino.