A Side Order Of Murder

by Nancy Skopin

  I bolted back to the van, jumped in and slammed my door, shifted into drive, and plowed into my mother’s empty garage. We still weren’t out of the woods. I had to close the garage door by depressing a large button to the right of the family room door. I tried to open the driver’s side door of the van and discovered that I had pulled in too close to the wall. No time to pull out and park again.

  “Cliff. Get out and push that button above the light switch. Now!” I shouted.

  Cliff looked bewildered, but opened the passenger side door and stepped out. He approached the back door, pointed to the button and raised his eyebrows. “This one?” he asked.

  “Yes! Push it now! Hurry!” I screamed.

  He did so, and then turned back to me as the door began to lower. “There’s no need to shout,” he said, indignantly.

  I realized that Cliff had no idea we were being followed. I’d been so intent on out-maneuvering the Volvo that I hadn’t said a word to him, and he’d been silent the whole time.

  “I’m sorry Cliff. There was someone following us, and I think he meant to harm us, or at least you. I didn’t mean to snap at you. This is my mom’s house.”

  I climbed, painfully, over the gearshift to exit the van on the passenger side. I unlocked the door and we entered the empty house. As we were walking through the dining room into the living room I saw the black Volvo driving by through the living-room window. I grabbed the front of Cliff’s shirt and yanked him into the kitchen. There was no doubt it was the same car.

  “Stay here,” I said.

  I flattened myself against the carpet and inched my way around the corner. The Volvo was nowhere in sight at the moment, but I stayed low until I reached the front window. I closed the living room drapes, then raced into the front bedroom and peered through a crack in the blinds. I couldn’t see the Volvo from that angle. I could only hope it was gone, and that the driver hadn’t seen the van before the garage door was completely closed.

  I went back to the kitchen and called Bill, then Jim and, finally, my mom. Bill asked if I was armed, and Jim reminded me that the van might have a tracking device on it somewhere. Mom was concerned that the house wasn’t clean enough for company. I looked around. Everything was spotless. My mom is a sixty-six year-old former nun, and might be a little obsessive about cleaning. She teaches music at El Camino High School now. Thank God she didn’t start the teaching job until after I’d graduated.

  “Will you two be staying for dinner?” she asked, changing tack.

  “I don’t think so, Mom. I just need to find a safe place to hide my client for a few days until I can sort things out.”

  “I wish you’d chosen a different profession,” she nudged.

  “Don’t start, Mom.”

  “I can’t help worrying, Nicoli.”

  “I know. I’ve got to go. Love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart.”

  We hung up and I instantly felt trapped. “Where can we go?” I mused.

  Cliff said nothing. He’d taken a seat on one of the kitchen bar stools and was hunched forward with his hands pressed between his knees. He looked pale.

  We needed to change cars and get Cliff someplace quiet and safe. He needed time to recover from the accident, and he was emotionally fragile to begin with. I wracked my brain, but couldn’t think of an appropriate hiding place. I made a fourth phone call, this one to Lily’s cell.

  “Hi, Nikki. What’s up?”

  “Are you driving the BMW today?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I need to switch back. Can I meet you somewhere?”

  “I’m at my shop in Palo Alto. Why don’t you come here?”

  I took a moment to explain our dilemma and Lily quickly rallied, suggesting the Stanford Shopping center. She would park the 2002 as close as possible to Neiman Marcus, and would wait inside the store until I’d arrived with the van. I had the spare BMW key, and I told Lily I’d leave her keys under the floor mat before switching vehicles. Later I’d have to check the van for bugs, but I didn’t feel like there was time for that now. Besides, Jim still had my new bug detector.

  I told Lily we were in South San Francisco and it would take us at least thirty minutes to get to Stanford.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said.

  Cliff and I made the drive in record time, I circled the shopping center slowly before pulling into the parking lot. I’d been watching the rear view mirrors and hadn’t spotted the Volvo following us. The 2002 was parked under a tree in front of Neiman Marcus. We parked next to it and I left Lily’s keys under the driver’s side mat. Cliff hoisted his bag into the BMW trunk, and we took off. I caught a glimpse of Lily stepping out the back door of Neiman’s as we sped away.

  CHAPTER 18

  I FELT MUCH MORE SECURE in my own car. Not only was it a relief to be driving something familiar, but a BMW 2002 can outmaneuver almost anything on the road today. Mine is one of the few equipped with an automatic transmission, so having only one good arm wasn’t a problem. I turned south on El Camino and flipped the visor down to keep the sun out of my eyes. A note fell into my lap. I handed it to Cliff.

  “What’s it say?” I asked.

  “It says, ‘Meet me at Susan’s house’, and it’s signed ‘Lily.'”

  Lily has her shop set up in her friend Susan’s garage. Have I mentioned that Lily is a transsexual? For those of you who aren’t well informed about such things, a transsexual is a person who is born with a body that doesn’t match their innate gender. Lily has had this error surgically corrected. Susan is also a post-op transsexual.

  Meeting Lily at Susan’s house posed a problem for me because, if there was a transmitter hidden somewhere in or on the van, I’d be putting Cliff in danger by taking him anywhere near it. I needed to stash him somewhere first. I dug the smartphone out of my purse and called information. A minute later I was involved in a three-way conference call with my old friends Kim and Carol, who own a State Farm Insurance office in Los Altos. We’d become friends in our early twenties when we all worked at a department store in Millbrae. They said they were having a slow day, and would be happy to have Cliff’s company for an hour or so. Of course, they didn’t know Cliff.

  I dropped him off and, after making introductions and hugging both Carol and Kim, I was on my way. When I got to Susan’s house I drove around the block twice, watching for the Volvo. I eventually parked on a side street and walked back. I knocked on Susan’s front door, and Lily answered.

  “Where did you leave Cliff?” she asked.

  “With some friends of mine in Los Altos.”

  “Susan has volunteered to have him as a house guest for up to two weeks,” she commented nonchalantly, and smiled.

  “Seriously?” I was stunned, and a little bewildered. Susan didn’t know anything about Cliff, but I was sure Lily had told her of the risk involved. Just when you think you know what to expect from people they surprise you.

  “I’ll need to check the van, the BMW, and the house for bugs, just to be safe. Do you think she’ll mind?”

  “I doubt it. The way her ex-wife’s been acting since the divorce, she’ll probably be grateful.”

  I called Jim, who agreed to drive down to Palo Alto with the bug detector. Lily made a pot of coffee and we sat in the living room talking while we waited.

  Jim had met Lily once when they were both helping me with a case, but they hadn’t spent any time together. Jim is tall. Lily’s taller. Most men aren’t used to women who can look them in the eye, but Jim is secure about his masculinity. I was in the kitchen refilling our coffee cups when he arrived, so Lily answered the door. They were both smiling when I came back into the living room. Jim handed me the detector unit and I thanked him for making the drive. I also wrote him a check for another thousand dollars and promised to let him know where Cliff would be tonight.

  After Jim left, Lily told me that she loved redheads. I couldn’t help laughing, but it hurt my neck.

  I poured my
coffee down the kitchen drain and went out front where the van was parked. Susan’s driveway looked clean, so I didn’t bother spreading a blanket or towel on the ground, I just climbed under the van and inched my way from one end of the chassis to the other. Every move was torture. I was holding my head up which hurt my neck, and I was forced to use my shoulders to maneuver myself from one spot to the next. I’d have to refill the pain med prescription before the end of the week.

  Susan arrived home while I was still under the van with just my feet sticking out. I heard a car door close, then I saw a pair of red, Italian leather pumps and heard the familiar husky voice. “Hi, Nikki. Staying for dinner?”

  I smiled in spite of the circumstances. “I don’t think so, but thanks for the invite. I have an associate who may be joining you, though. One of us is staying with Cliff at all times. I hope that’s okay. How many guest rooms do you have?”

  “Just one, but the couch is comfortable.”

  Susan is always a perfect hostess. I honestly don’t know how she does it. If I worked eight hours and then came home to find someone lying in my driveway, I’d probably yell first and ask questions later.

  I shimmied out far enough to make eye contact. “Thank you so much, Susan.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled down at me. “If you change your mind about dinner let me know. I’m making Stroganoff.”

  I love Stroganoff. My father used to make great Stroganoff. I felt the familiar tug of sadness that I always feel when I remember my dad. We were never really close, but I loved him enormously and I regret how little time we had to get to know each other. He disappeared while on a fishing trip in the San Francisco Bay when I was in my twenties. His little motorboat drifted back to shore, but he wasn’t in it, and his body was never recovered. No signs of foul play. There’s no way of knowing for sure what happened, but my dad was a strong swimmer. I hold on to the possibility that he might still be out there somewhere, and maybe one day he’ll come to see me and explain why he’s been gone from my life, and my mom’s, for so many years. I know this may be childish denial, but I don’t really care. Hope feels better than grief.

  After Susan entered the house, I dragged a redwood bench, one handed, from the backyard to the driveway and stood on it to scan the top of the van. I ran the bug detector over every inch. Next I popped the hood and moved the gadget over the engine compartment. The detector wasn’t vibrating, nor was the digital display lighting up. I opened the thing up to make sure the batteries hadn’t somehow mysteriously vanished. The new batteries I’d loaded myself were still there, intact.

  Lily came outside and asked if I needed any help. I thanked her, but said I could handle it and that I’d be in shortly. I probably could have used the help. I was in a lot of pain, but for some reason I had to see for myself that the van was clean. It was the only way I’d feel safe leaving Cliff here overnight.

  I finished scanning the huge vehicle about ten minutes later. There were no beeps inside, outside, under, or on top of the van. I dragged the bench back to the yard, feeling seriously sorry for myself now. I knocked on the back door and Susan let me in. I started scanning in the living room, and then went over the dining room, the kitchen, the hallway, the bathroom, and both bedrooms. There were no lights or vibrations.

  When I’d finished checking every room in the house and Lily’s workspace in the garage, I walked around the corner and checked my BMW. If the unit was working properly, there were no bugs to be found. I tried to feel relieved, but for some reason I just couldn’t get there. I put the key in the ignition, turned it two notches to the right, and switched on the radio. The detector immediately vibrated and displayed the radio band coordinates. Okay. Now I felt better. I turned off the car and locked it, then returned to Susan’s house.

  I called Carol at the State Farm office, and said I was on my way to retrieve Cliff. They were just getting ready to lock up, so I jumped in the 2002 and broke the speed limit all the way back to Los Altos. The last thing Cliff needed was to be stranded somewhere unfamiliar. I made it in eleven minutes. Not bad for rush hour. I thanked Kim and Carol profusely and they agreed to let me buy them lunch when the case was resolved.

  Cliff seemed happy to see a familiar face. I hustled him into my car and told him all about Susan and Lily. I asked him if he had any problem staying overnight at Susan’s house, and assured him that Jim would be there with him.

  He shrugged. “Why would I have a problem?”

  I turned to glance at him. He looked completely sincere. Maybe he wasn’t as uptight and conservative as I had assumed. I considered the possibility that I’d been selling Cliff short. I’d have a closer look at that later.

  “Okay. Great,” I said.

  I took out my cell and called Jim, explaining that Cliff would be staying with Susan for a day or two. I told him the couch was comfortable, and that they were having Stroganoff for dinner.

  “I can be back by eight, but tell Susan not to hold dinner for me. I like Stroganoff equally well hot or cold.”

  Cliff and I arrived at Susan’s house at 6:10. Lily’s van was gone. Cliff was starting to look a little green, so after introducing him to Susan I asked her if he could catch a nap in the guestroom before dinner.

  “Down the hall on the left,” she said. “The sheets are clean.” She grinned happily at Cliff, who had been staring at her breasts.

  He thanked Susan politely for her hospitality and shuffled down the hall to the guest room. When the door had closed, I turned to Susan. “You’re sure this isn’t going to put you out?” I asked.

  “I love having company,” she said. “Besides, he’s cute and he stares at my tits. It’ll be good for my ego.”

  I gave Susan a hug and went to use the bathroom. When I came out, she had started the Stroganoff cooking. It smelled heavenly. Childhood memories came flooding back and suddenly I was starving.

  “I changed my mind about dinner,” I said. “You have enough for four?”

  “I’ll have enough for eight,” she said.

  “Excellent.”

  “You want some wine?”

  “Got any Guinness?”

  She opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents, then removed a small, green bottle.

  “This was on sale,” she said. “I don’t drink beer, so I don’t know if it’s any good.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Thank you.” I unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and dug out my cigarettes.

  “Outside if you’re going to smoke.” Susan pointed toward the back door. “There’s an ashtray on the picnic table.”

  I took my purse with me and called Bill while I sipped the beer. I filled him in on the day’s events, said I was planning on going to bed early, and asked if he’d like to join me.

  “I’m working late,” he said, with a sigh. “But I’ll try to get there before sunrise.”

  “Okay,” I said. “If it’s after midnight, don’t bother to wake me up.”

  I was tired and cranky. I dug through my purse looking for the pain meds. Before I could locate them my phone rang. I assumed it was Bill calling me back and didn’t bother to check the display.

  “What?”

  “Is this Ms. Hunter?” asked a whiney, male voice.

  “Yes,” I answered hesitantly, “Who’s this?”

  “This is Mr. Anthony,” said the voice.

  I instantly changed gears. “Oh, Mr. Anthony. Thank you for getting back to me so promptly.”

  “I’m calling to report that I have attempted to reach all of the students whose names you gave to me. Three of the phone numbers are disconnected. Three of the remaining students lived with their parents, and are now deceased. I got voicemail for the seventh student, and left your name and all of your contact numbers. I assume this concludes our business. Good day.”

  “Wait!” I gasped, trying to keep up with what he’d just said. “Which three are deceased? How did they die?” I scrambled to get the notepad and pen out of my purse.

 
“Martin Crosier, Andrea Gold, and Philip Franklin are deceased. I didn’t inquire as to the causes of death, but I gathered that the events were recent. The phone numbers I have for Cynthia Aldrige, Kevin Stephens, and Catherine Smith were all disconnected. I left a message on Neal Cooperman’s voicemail listing your numbers, as you requested.”

  There was no way I could write as fast as he was talking.

  “Can you give me the phone numbers or addresses of the parents of the deceased students?” I pleaded. “I’d like to send condolence cards.”

  “I’m sorry. That would be against policy. Good day, Miss Hunter.”

  He hung up, the little prick. I sat looking at the cell phone, then at the barely legible names I’d scribbled. I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and finished the beer. This was too much of a coincidence. Am I right? Out of eight students in a study group, three are known to be dead; the numbers of three others have been disconnected, which could mean anything; and a seventh, Cliff, was being hunted. The accident involving the Lexus might have been intended to kill him as well. It was definitely time to confront his parents. Preferably one at a time.

  I called the Montgomery’s number. Mrs. Peterson answered, as expected, but promptly put me through to Clifford Senior. I didn’t hear any click indicating she had hung up the extension, but I was almost beyond caring.

  Cliff’s father agreed to see me at 8:00 the next morning. I would speak with Anna later in the day. My first priority was to find out about Clifford Senior’s former occupation with the government, and to determine the part he played in the drama unfolding before me.

  CHAPTER 19

  CATHERINE SMITH STRUGGLED with the overfilled paper grocery bag, cursing the cashier at the store where she shopped. She managed to locate her keys while leaning the bag against the railing outside her apartment building. At times like this she wished she had opted for a building without a security door. As she inserted the key in the lock she felt a sharp jolt to the back of her neck and saw fireworks for an instant before everything went black.