The Gossiping Gourmet

by Martin Brown

  Chris explained why he had made the move up from San Jose to Sausalito, and Holly told him that she worked at The Standard.

  “I’ve heard a lot about the paper, but I haven’t read it.”

  It was after Holly’s second martini and Chris’s second Jack Daniels and soda that he leaned into her and said, “You know, my place would be a lot quieter for us to talk than here.”

  Holly thought for a moment, and then said with a smile, “So would my place.”

  “Where is it?” Chris asked as he moved in close to be heard over the growing Friday night crowd.

  “I’m on Caledonia Street, but truth be told I’ve got nosy neighbors.”

  “I’m renting a small guest cottage uphill on Easterby, that’s just a couple of minutes away. And from what I hear, the local police are always on the lookout for DUIs.”

  “I guess you’d know, huh?” Holly said in a whisper followed by a soft kiss on his cheek.

  Holly grabbed her purse and together they were out the door in a rush.

  Saturday was another beautiful day, as most are in Marin during California’s dry season. Shortly before one, as Rob and Karin were finally getting together what they and the kids would need for their overnight in Calistoga, the phone rang.

  It was Eddie.

  “Hey man,” Rob said. “You sound a little tired.”

  “Long night. But I’m at my departure gate, in Phoenix.”

  “Wow! That was fast.”

  “Saw all the folks I needed to see, first at NAU, and then Flagstaff PD, and even at the department of social services. Our late Mr. Bradley, known here as Mr. Benedict, had quite the backstory.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I will after you pick me up outside the arrivals area at Oakland airport.”

  “But Karin and I are going with the kids up to her folks’ place in Calistoga for the night,” Rob explained, knowing he was desperate to hear about Eddie’s trip.

  “Hate to spoil your plans, pal, but we’re going to make an arrest—probably early Monday—of a suspect in the killing of Warren Bradley. I think that after all the work you’ve done on this story, you’d certainly want to be there at the end.”

  “What time do you land?”

  “Should be on the ground by three-forty-five. Southwest flight eight-oh-two.”

  “Sure, okay. I’ll be on my cell. Just ring me when you’re heading out of the terminal, and I’ll pick you up at the curb.”

  “Okay, see you there.”

  “Eddie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Want to give me a hint?”

  “Sorry, pal, there’s no way I’m going to miss the expression on your face when you hear the rest of this story.”

  Chris and Holly slept in until just past noon. They kissed, first gently, and then passionately. Chris suggested that they go out for breakfast, but Holly insisted that he let her cook for him.

  He agreed, and she dressed quickly and then took a brisk fifteen-minute walk down to the Marinship, and into Mollie Stone’s Grocery, where she bought eggs, sausage, white cheddar cheese, and a Rustic Bakery sourdough polenta bread. She wasn’t sure about Chris’s taste in coffee, so she went for the top of the line, picking up a small bag of Kona Blue Mountain coffee beans.

  On her way back to Chris’s snug cottage, she walked along the waterfront. Whereas in the early 1940s this area, known as the Marinship, was teeming with shipbuilders serving America's war effort in the Pacific, now it provided a peaceful harbor for sailboats and houseboats.

  Holly stopped herself from thinking how happy it made her waking up to find a handsome man next to her who seemed to adore her.

  Holly loved his little place, and she was impressed at how neat he kept it. Chris was just stepping out of the shower when she walked back in. He wore nothing but a small yellow towel that was wrapped tightly around his waist. In the bright light of day, Holly could more fully appreciate the sculpted quality of his physique: flat abs, broad shoulders, and powerful arms.

  She put down her groceries and wrapped her arms around her newly found love. “Where have you been all my life?”

  “I was thinking the very same thing about you.”

  “To hell with breakfast,” Holly said, as the two held each other, kissed passionately, and fell back into bed.

  Karin insisted that Rob not feel guilty about the last-minute change of plans. “Don’t worry. I’ll take the kids up to Calistoga. They have their hearts set on seeing Grandpop and Nanna and I don’t want to disappoint them. Besides, it sounds as if you’re going to be busy working on your story for most of the weekend.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. What a break for us if Eddie has cracked the case and we’re the first with the whole story! It’ll put The Standard in a whole different league. The dailies will all be quoting our reporting instead of the other way around.”

  She kissed Rob on the cheek. “I’m excited for you, hon. And, frankly, it'd be wonderful to put an end to all this hysteria over the guilt or innocence of Grant Randolph. I can't imagine their relief in seeing all this craziness come to an end.”

  “Good flight?” Rob asked Eddie as he tossed his overnight bag and briefcase on the back seat.

  “That’s not what you drove down here to ask.”

  “Gee, you really can see right through me.”

  “Let’s go over to Francesco’s, right outside the airport. It’s off Hegenberger. I think they open at four. I’m starved, and I could go for some Italian comfort food and a double Scotch.”

  “I’ve got to wait until then?”

  “Francesco's is five minutes from here. Besides, as I told you over the phone, I’m not going to miss the expression on your face when you hear this story. Hell, I might take a snap of your puss with my phone! I want to see if your chin can fall all the way to the floor.”

  “Okay, I won’t say a word until we’re seated. Hopefully, in the meantime, my head won’t explode.”

  “I hope not; you’re the one driving.”

  As Eddie slid into one of the restaurant’s leather-upholstered black banquettes, he let out a sigh of relief. “I feel like I’ve been going nonstop for the last thirty-six hours.”

  “Sounds like it was worth it, though.”

  “That’s an understatement.” With a tired smile, Eddie waved down a waitress for, “A Johnnie Walker Black, on the rocks. Make it a double,” he told her.

  “Having the good stuff, I see.”

  “I deserve it.”

  Rob waited impatiently, sipping on water, while Eddie eased into his scotch and attacked a plate of lasagna.

  When, finally, he had only a few bites left, Rob, who came only with an appetite for information, muttered, “Okay, give! I’ve been holding my breath for hours—no, make that days.”

  Eddie nodded, and put down his fork. “First, I met with two of Benedict’s co-workers, the only two who are still on staff from the time he worked there. Benedict was, shall we say, eased out of his position at NAU. There was quite a stink about that. He was living with a woman named Elaine Hayden. They met at NAU; she worked in student services.”

  “And?”

  “She died just a year after Benedict moved in with her. It was a violent death, and the Coconino County prosecutor’s office tried her boyfriend, Sausalito's superstar gourmet chef, for murder one. But based on the evidence, that was perhaps an overreach. They probably could have sold the jury on a manslaughter conviction.”

  “How did she die?”

  “Broken neck," Eddie said with a wince. “She fell down a flight of steps in her own home.”

  “Wow!”

  “Bradley—I mean Benedict claimed it was an accident. The Flagstaff police and the county sheriff’s department had reason to believe it was a homicide.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Turns out that the older boy in one of those two pictures we found was Hayden’s son, from a previous marriage. The younger one was a foster kid who was placed in the house at the
age of six, around eighteen months before Hayden's death.”

  “But what made the cops think Hayden's fall was anything other than an accident? Did her kids witness the fall?”

  “Let me back up a bit. You see, two weeks before she died, Elaine Hayden went to child welfare services claiming that Benedict had molested both boys. Of course, Benedict denied everything. He insisted that both boys fabricated the stories because he was strict with them, and it was their way of driving a wedge between him and their mother.”

  “Then what?”

  “Child services brought in therapists to talk with both of the boys. The older one, James, who had just turned twelve at the time, said he had been molested on and off during the time Benedict lived in the home. But Topher, the youngest of the two, denied ever having been touched by Benedict. Interestingly enough, however, it was the younger one who told investigators that our Mr. Bradley had pushed Hayden down the steps, but the defense shredded the kid’s story on the witness stand.”

  “What about the older brother?”

  “Bad luck for the prosecutor, great luck for Benedict. James was at a sleepover the night his mother died. He would likely have been a much more convincing witness than the little guy. He did give child services quite a credible description of Benedict's behavior from what I could tell reading through the trial transcript, but getting a murder one conviction on Benedict, based on the testimony of a seven-year-old foster kid, who came from a challenging background, was a very tall order.”

  “What a sad story,” Rob said, shaking his head.

  “The jury deliberated for four days and then voted for acquittal. If it had been a hung jury, Bradley could have been re-tried. Unfortunately, the prosecutor went for all the marbles and walked away with zip.

  "Despite being acquitted, Benedict lost his job.”

  “Couldn’t he have sued NAU?” Rob asked.

  “Yes. But I guess in this case; Bradley must have felt he had just beaten a hangman’s noose, and thought it a better idea to thank God he was a free man. So he didn't make a big fuss about the dismissal, he just got the hell out of town determined to start his life over again.”

  “Where did he go after Flagstaff?”

  “One of the guys in the sheriff’s office took a particular liking to the boys, both of whom had been placed in separate homes after Hayden’s death. Like a lot of small counties, Coconino has limited resources, but the sheriff did his best to keep tabs on Benedict. The last he heard, he was living a thousand miles east of Flagstaff, in Tulsa, Oklahoma. That’s where I tracked down the name change he filed to go from Benedict to Bradley.”

  “Doesn’t law enforcement keep a national database for child predators?”

  “Yes. But remember, he was acquitted of the murder. As for the molestation accusation, somehow the new name became his loophole on that score.” Eddie sighed. “At least the kids had been placed far away from Benedict, regardless of what he did or did not do. Things calmed down, new cases started up, and old cases began to fade into the past. Flagstaff was simply glad to be rid of William Benedict. The city and county workers involved in the case were not overly concerned about where he went, as long as it was very far from their jurisdiction.”

  “Any idea what happened to the kids?”

  “Hayden’s son, the one who was twelve at the time of her death, later died of a drug overdose. Poor kid! From what I read in his file, he had a pretty miserable life after his mom died. He went to live with Hayden's parents but fell in with a bad crowd. I would love to have spoken with him about William Benedict before he became the Warren Bradley we knew.”

  “What about the younger boy, and how does any of this tie into Bradley's murder?”

  “I'm getting to that. The younger kid bounced from one foster home to another. At fifteen, by some miracle, he caught a break. He wound up in San Jose with a great family and stopped acting out. He went to San Jose State, studied criminal justice like yours truly, and his foster care dad got him a position with the San Jose police department. Could have been a happy ending, but…”

  “But what?”

  “You don’t know the name of that troubled little seven-year-old boy. Remember little Topher who got chewed up by Benedict’s defense team? He decided to take the last name of his San Jose family: Harding. He now goes by his given name, Christopher, you know, Chris, as in Chris Harding.”

  “WHAT?” Rob, realizing how loud he had said that single word, grimaced. Fortunately, before five o’clock, Francesco’s was still mostly empty.

  “The new kid with the Sausalito PD? You mean that Chris?”

  “Sí, señor, one and the same. Patrol Officer Chris”—Eddie said the last name slowly—“Harding.”

  For a few moments, Rob remained speechless. He mumbled in a low voice, “Oh, my God,” as he flagged down their waitress and ordered a vodka tonic. “This is just incredible! I don’t suppose there’s any chance this is an enormous coincidence?”

  “Anything is possible, Rob. You might get a call from the Pope tomorrow saying he can’t keep the Vatican newspaper running without you, but I doubt that’s going to happen.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! So, what’s next?”

  “Chris will most likely be arrested Monday morning before going to work. A request for an arrest warrant has to be presented to one of the county’s judges, and then I’ll have to contact SPD so that two officers can accompany me while I make the arrest. At least one of those officers will ride along with Harding while he is processed through and into the county jail to await an arraignment hearing.

  “Instead of going to the suspect’s home, I could go to Sausalito police headquarters, but that might get messy. That many of their crew standing around with firearms? I’d hate to see their squad room turn into a circular firing squad.”

  Rob frowned. “Won’t going through channels, as you put it, take time? What if he gets wind of the arrest? He’s got a lot of buddies on the force, and none of them can keep their damn mouths shut. He may vanish.”

  “In the weeks since Bradley’s killing, he has gone about his normal life. I guess he assumes he got away with murder, particularly with better than half of the town demanding Randolph’s arrest and the Sausalito PD maintaining a twenty-four-hour watch on the Randolphs’ empty house. If Harding were going to run, he would have skedaddled by now.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Rob felt his head spinning with how much he had suddenly learned about Warren Bradley.

  “Oh, I don’t want to forget to mention!” Eddie said, “You and I have to make another run early tomorrow.”

  “Where now?”

  “Where else? Back to Bradley’s cottage. I think there is one little gem we might have missed.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, come on, Rob. You don’t want me to take all the surprise out of this, do you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Before dropping Eddie off at his house, both agreed to meet Sunday morning at that same ungodly hour: five-thirty in the morning. Rob ached at the thought of missing a chance to sleep in, especially with the family out of the house and Karin not pushing him to get the kids ready for church. The silver lining of not spending the weekend with the family was getting an extra two hours or more of sleep Sunday morning. Now that was gone.

  The excitement of closing the Bradley case, however—not to mention the anticipated embarrassment this news would soon cause Alma Samuels and her Ladies of Liberty—was more than enough to compensate Rob for any amount of lost sleep.

  The moment Rob was alone, visions of headlines danced in his head. “The Secret Life of Warren Bradley Revealed,” was his favorite for now, but there was plenty of time to create others before his Tuesday afternoon on-press deadline. If the arrest occurred on Monday, the dailies, broadcast, and their Internet pages would all beat him by a day with the fact that an arrest had been made. But where their stories ended, Rob’s would begin.

  The story of William Benedict was al
l his.

  Rob got into bed by ten and set his alarm for five. He drifted off to sleep, as excited as a kid the night before summer vacation.

  Holly was amazed. She had floated through all of Saturday on a cloud. Chris was not only a gentleman; he was tender, considerate, and attentive to her needs.

  Saturday night, the newly minted twosome decided to leave their love nest to go to the movies. Afterward, they went to Marin Joe’s, famous for great burgers and creamed spinach. The two kissed and held hands while sharing the same side of a booth.

  Holly felt sure she had at last found her Mr. Right.

  Over dinner, for the first time, they spoke about their jobs. Chris shared his view that Sausalito was beautiful, but a significant change from the fast-paced world of San Jose. “Let’s just say that your shift went by a lot faster in San Jose than it does in Sausalito.”

  “Do you miss it?” Holly asked.

  “In some ways, I honestly do. You felt more like a cop there.”

  “And in Sausalito?”

  “I feel like a cross between a school safety guard and a tour guide for visitors.”

  Holly laughed.

  He gave her a quick kiss. “So, what’s it like, working at The Standard?”

  “It’s pretty cool. It can get crazy, but I’m used to the pace. And, let me tell you, the days go pretty fast when something is going on all the time.”

  “That’s the way things used to be for me in San Jose. Has coverage of the Bradley killing been keeping you busy?”

  “Yes and no. You have to remember—we put out four separate publications that land in homes on different days of the week in different areas of Marin. Bradley’s a huge story in Sausalito, but not very important in the other towns. He was the walking definition of a local celebrity.” She shrugged. “What do you think? Who knocked off the old busybody?”

  Chris laughed. “Busybody! That’s a good one. I heard some guy wrote a letter to your paper, calling Bradley the ‘gossiping gourmet.’ Down at headquarters, he was just a nice old guy who made the staff great lunches once a month.”