by Camy Tang
Monica waved goodbye to Phillip and once he was gone, gave the roses to the hostesses and sat at the glossy oak bar, ordering a glass of mineral water. In a few seconds, Shaun sat next to her.
“Did you arrange for Lorianne’s message?” she asked.
“You looked like you needed help pulling the leech off you.”
Leech was a good way to put it. She felt slimy like Phillip had been a leech stuck to her skin.
“I don’t think he’s the stalker—” she said.
At the same time, he said, “I think he’s the stalker.”
They stared at each other. A warm prickling traveled up and down Monica’s arm, and she looked away from him. “Why do you think he’s the stalker?”
Shaun told her about the man in the dark gray or dark blue business suit who had paid Chris to take photos of the building. “He did it to lure me out, but I caught the guy pretty quick and hurried back in here before you’d even been served your basket of bread.”
“Where were you? I didn’t see you.”
He grinned at her, his teeth white. “I borrowed an apron from one of Lorianne’s busboys and posed as one of them. But I didn’t work near your table, so Phillip didn’t see me.”
“That was nice of the busboy.”
“He, er, didn’t know. Lorianne said it was okay, though. Plus it’s so busy back there right now, I could have taken the apron and no one would have noticed.”
“So why do you think the stalker is Phillip? There must be lots of men in dark gray business suits in the restaurant.”
“Actually, there were only four, and only Phillip had brown hair.”
“How about dark blue business suits?”
He hesitated. “There were three.”
“Any with brown hair?”
“All of them,” he admitted. “But doesn’t it seem highly coincidental that the stalker paid Chris and then came into the restaurant, and the timing matches when Phillip arrived?”
“But Phillip had roses with him.”
Shaun shook his head. “I spoke to the hostesses. Phillip had the roses delivered to the restaurant and picked them up from the hostess desk just before going into the dining room.”
Could it be? Had her instincts been so totally wrong about Phillip?
“You mentioned how busy it was in back,” she said. “Couldn’t the stalker have gotten rid of his jacket and blended in with the wait staff?”
Shaun’s brows drew together. Finally he said, “You’re right, he could have, at least for a little while. No one questioned me working as a busboy until after twenty minutes.”
“I just spent an entire hour with Phillip. He came on pretty strong, but I think that he’s interested in my family. He’s trying to hide it and pretend he’s interested in me.”
“Your family? You mean the spa?”
“He asked me about the hotel. He heard the rumor somewhere.”
Shaun’s expression was puzzled. “But he’s a bank VP. What would he want with a hotel?”
“Investment?”
“Maybe.” He thought a moment. “Dad isn’t friendly with the Bromleys. He’s polite to them in public, but he won’t interact with them otherwise. He doesn’t like how Phillip’s father treated some of his servants in his home, and when he talked to Mr. Bromley about it, apparently they got into an argument. Dad said he wouldn’t be friends with anyone who didn’t give people basic respect.”
“I didn’t know that about the Bromleys, or your father.” No wonder there was so much animosity between Shaun and Phillip. If Phillip was anything like his father, Shaun would despise him for his lack of human decency. She could also see how Mr. Bromley’s behavior would trigger Mr. O’Neill’s sense of justice. His hotels were famous for a low staff turnaround because they were treated so well by management and didn’t want to leave.
“Monica.” Lorianne’s voice behind them sounded breathless. “I’m glad you’re still here. I needed to talk to you.” The chef, looking frazzled, strode through the doorway to the kitchen and headed their way.
“You must be busy,” Monica said. “I can call you later if you want.”
“No, I wanted to tell you now so you’ll stick around for another hour.” Lorianne wiped her flushed neck with a handkerchief, which she shoved into a back pocket. “Wow, we were busier than normal today, or else I would have remembered earlier. I could have told Shaun to tell you when he asked to borrow a busboy’s apron.” She winked at him.
“Much appreciated,” he said.
“I called Detective Carter this morning,” Lorianne said. “I didn’t remember at the time, but I recognized that snake in the florist’s box.”
“You did?” Monica grimaced at the flash of memory. “Where in the world did you see a dead snake before?”
“It’s actually a species of snake used in unusual cuisine,” the chef said triumphantly. “I recognized the markings on the skin. I have a friend—another chef—who’s really into that stuff.”
“So it wasn’t just caught out in the wild or bought from a pet store?”
“Nope. In fact, it was probably bought freshly killed for cooking.”
“You can actually buy them for eating?”
“That’s why I wanted you to stick around. I’m going to be busy for another hour at least, but when I’m free, I wanted you to come back to my office. We can call the store owner who sells those things. I’ve ordered some hard-to-find Asian herbs from him before because he specializes in unusual ingredients, although he tends to be really pricy.”
Of course Lorianne would know where snakes would be sold to chefs. “Lorianne, you’re amazingly helpful. Thanks.”
“I already told Detective Carter about it, but he doesn’t know that I’m friends with the store owner. Carlton might be chattier with me on the phone with you, and he might remember some things he forgot to tell the detective.”
The kitchen door opened and the sous chef called Lorianne’s name.
“I’ve got to go. Come back in an hour, okay?” She hurried back into the kitchen.
“Did you tell Detective Carter about Chris?” Monica asked Shaun.
“I called him as soon as I came back into the restaurant. I knew Chris would take off, but it was more important to make sure you were okay.”
His words made her feel both warm and strangely nervous around him. “Thanks.”
“I still have to go down to the station to fill out a report,” Shaun said. “Why don’t you come with me, and then when I’m done, we can come back here?”
“Um…sure.” She had been hoping all this time spent in Shaun’s company might make her immune to his tall, attractive presence, but it only seemed to be making her more aware of him. She noticed details like the scar above his left eyebrow and the fact that he pulled at the lock of hair at his widow’s peak when he was nervous. He also sometimes grimaced and rubbed the left side of his torso when he rose from a chair, and she wondered if he had an old wound there from the border patrol.
No, she wouldn’t ask him. The more she knew about him, the more she might feel connected to him. She couldn’t fall into that emotional trap, because then she wouldn’t be able to climb out. Shaun was too easy to like, too attractive for his own good.
Or for her own good.
At the police station, after Shaun filled out the incident report, Detective Carter sought them out. “Come with me.” He led them into a small room at the back of the building that was filled with audio-visual equipment.
“Sit.” He gestured to some wheeled chairs in front of a screen, and nodded to a tech seated at another console.
A video came up on the screen in front of them of one of the streets of downtown Sonoma, but the picture was distorted along the edges, as if the video had been shot with a circular, convex lens.
“This is surveillance from an ATM machine along the same street as Lorianne’s Café,” Detective Carter said. “The picture is only taken once every six seconds, but we got this photo.”
<
br /> The video, which had been choppy, suddenly froze when it showed a man standing in front of the ATM, obviously performing some bank transaction. But behind him to his right was the figure of a man with a large white florist’s box.
“We found out that the box wasn’t delivered by a delivery service, but by hand,” the detective said. “So we canvassed any surveillance videos around the restaurant to get a photo of the man delivering the box.”
The man had his head turned away from the ATM camera. “He was trying to avoid getting his picture taken,” Monica said.
The detective nodded. “This is the only picture of him. He avoided any other cameras near the restaurant. He probably parked along one of the side streets and walked to the restaurant, and this was the only surveillance camera he had to avoid.”
Monica couldn’t quite tell, but he didn’t seem very tall or very short. He could be about Phillip Bromley’s height, but she wasn’t certain. Since the photo was in black and white, she also couldn’t be sure of his hair color, but his hair was dark, not light. It was slightly wavy and cut similarly to Phillip’s haircut.
“I know it’s not a good photo, but do you recognize him?” Detective Carter asked.
“He looks like Phillip Bromley,” Shaun said.
“I can’t be entirely sure,” she said.
“When you were going to meet Mr. Bromley at the restaurant that day, you mentioned that he called you to say he was delayed in traffic, is that correct?”
“Yes. He said there was an overturned truck on 121.”
Detective Carter gave a curt nod. “There was an overturned truck that day. It happened at least an hour before you were at the restaurant, and it wasn’t moved off the road for two hours.”
“So he could have been in traffic.”
“He could have heard about it on the radio,” Shaun said. “But all the time he could have already been in Sonoma.”
Detective Carter nodded. “That’s also a possibility.”
Monica stared at the photo but just couldn’t recognize anything to distinguish who it was. She could have met him anytime in the past few months and wouldn’t know him from the averted profile. “I’m sorry, I just can’t identify him.”
“That’s fine,” the detective said. “I wanted you to see the picture regardless.”
They left the police station and as they were walking back to the café, Monica said, “You really want it to be Phillip Bromley.”
Shaun’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything.
“I’m not saying it isn’t Phillip,” Monica said gently, “but I also want to point out that if you lose your objectivity in this, it doesn’t help us find out who the stalker is.”
She wasn’t sure how he’d take her words, and was steeling herself for his possible anger, but he chewed on his bottom lip and then glanced at her. “You’re right.”
His agreement with her made her bold enough to reach out and touch his forearm. His skin was warm under her fingers, and corded with muscle. She also felt a narrow scar that was bumpy under her fingers.
His hand closed over hers, and for a moment, all she could feel was his palm, slightly rough against the back of her hand. But more than his hand, she felt his strength, his dependability.
Then that same haunting pain returned to his eyes, just a fleeting flash. His hand let go of hers, and she let go of his arm, and the moment was gone.
That pain she’d seen made her want to reach out and soothe him. She wanted to know what had happened to him down at the border to make him quit his job. She wanted to know why his guilt over his sister seemed to cut him so deeply.
No, she shouldn’t want him to be vulnerable with her, because then she’d want to be vulnerable with him. Vulnerability would draw them closer, and she needed to keep him at arm’s length. She needed to keep her heart at arm’s length.
When they returned to the restaurant, there were only a few tables filled, and they looked like patrons only lingering over their coffee after a good meal. The hostesses smiled at Monica and Shaun and one of them led them into the kitchen.
The chefs and other kitchen workers were still busy, but even Monica could tell that the pace wasn’t as frantic as the glimpse she’d seen of the kitchen an hour earlier. They passed between long worktables, skirting the stoves and sinks, and the hostess led them into a door at the back of the kitchen.
She knocked, and Lorianne’s voice called, “Come on in.”
The office was immaculate and organized, but it seemed crowded because of the desk and the file cabinets against the wall. Lorianne sat at her computer, but she waved them into two chairs she’d placed next to her behind the desk. The hostess closed the door behind them.
“Carlton’s in San Francisco,” Lorianne said. “I already called him to schedule a video chat over the computer with us.”
Monica shouldn’t have been surprised that Lorianne was so organized. “That’s great.”
Lorianne set up the internet video camera built into the top of her computer monitor. The angle wasn’t wide enough for all three of them, so Shaun scooted to the side so Lorianne and Monica could sit in front of the camera.
With a few clicks of the mouse, Lorianne “called” Carlton with an internet video chat program, and a man’s face appeared in the screen. He was bald, but he looked to be only about thirty years old. His dark bushy eyebrows rose above small circular glasses propped on his large Roman nose. “Hi, Lorianne,” he said, his voice very deep.
“Hi, Carlton. This is Monica Grant.”
“Hi,” Monica said.
“The police already called me this morning about that snake,” Carlton said. “I can tell you what I told them. I got the order over the internet, and the guy wanted to come in person to pick it up. He even specified a date and time. He paid in cash.”
“What did he look like?” Lorianne asked.
Carlton sighed. “You know I’m bad at stuff like that.”
“Just try.”
He rubbed the top of his head with a large hand. “He was about a foot shorter than me, with lots of brown hair.”
“Was it curly like J.W.’s?” Lorianne asked. She seemed to be referring to someone they both knew.
“No, not that curly.”
“More like Bobby’s?”
“Not that straight. Not that light, either. You know how his hair is always flying around?”
“So not too fine. How about like Bill’s hair?”
“Yeah, close to that.”
Lorianne picked up her cell phone and scrolled through the photos on it. She showed Monica and Shaun a picture of a man with brown hair, slightly wavy. Much like Phillip’s.
“How about his face?” Lorianne asked Carlton. “Round like Chin’s?”
“No, more narrow like Boyd’s. And his eyes were close together like Boyd’s, too.”
“See? You’re great at this, Carlton.” Lorianne again flipped through the pictures on her cell phone and showed them a picture of a man with an oval-shaped face, and eyes a little close together.
Shaun sent Monica a meaningful look, and she knew exactly what he was trying to tell her—Similar to Phillip’s eyes.
“What was he wearing?” Lorianne asked.
Carlton suddenly perked up. “Do you remember that time I made you watch Once Upon a Time in the West?”
Lorianne rolled her eyes. “Yes, but what does that have to do with it?”
“You remember that long coat Charles Bronson and the gunslingers all wore? This guy had a coat just like that, but it was black leather.”
Shaun had grown very still and very tense. His hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles stood out against his veins.
“It’s called a duster,” Shaun said, his voice tight and raw. “It’s a leather duster.”
“What’s wrong?” Lorianne asked him.
Shaun swallowed hard. “When Clare investigated that bottle of snake venom she was sent, the clerk said that the man who bought it wo
re a black leather duster.”
Lorianne’s eyes widened. “So it’s the same guy.”
“More than that,” Monica said slowly. “The only man I know who wears a black leather duster just had lunch with me.”
When Monica gave a yelp of surprise as she looked inside her post office box, Shaun immediately muscled her aside. “What’s wrong? What is it?” he asked her as he peered inside the box.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you.” Monica pointed to a large manila envelope in the box. “That’s the clinic’s business proposal. I’ve been waiting for it to arrive.”
Shaun felt silly for shoving her aside as if there had been a bomb in the post office box. Well, better safe than sorry. He cleared his throat as he stepped aside and let her retrieve her mail. “Any notes from the stalker?”
She flipped through the envelopes. “No.” She sighed in relief, then frowned. “I hate how just the simple act of getting my mail is stressful.”
“We’ll find him. He’ll come after you, and when he does, I’ll be there to protect you and get him.”
Her look was trusting. “I know you will.”
He felt an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He exhaled forcefully and glanced around before ushering her out of the post office. “I wish you’d let me drive,” he said as she pulled her car keys out of her slacks pocket.
“I wish you’d stop nagging me about it,” she retorted, but with a teasing glint in her eye. “It’s my car.”
“If something happens, I’m better at defensive driving tactics than you are.”
“I disagree.” She unlocked the car doors. “I’m more familiar with this car and better able to control it than you are. Besides which, I’ve driven this car all through the streets of San Francisco and Oakland, in both good and bad neighborhoods. I know how to drive defensively.”
Privately, Shaun doubted she’d know how to avoid a PIT maneuver—a way of ramming her car at an angle that would make it spin out. At the very least he could keep an eye out to see if any cars looked suspicious and to maybe get a glimpse of the driver, which he couldn’t have done if he were driving.
