Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4)

by Joanne Pence

  The restaurant looked much like a European bistro, with exposed wooden beams, red and white checkered tablecloths, and a dark, round, wax-covered bottle holding a lit candle on each table. Richie was already at a table when she arrived. He had a bottle of red wine and two glasses in front of him.

  She sat across from him. Without any preliminary words of greeting, she said, “This is very serious.”

  He reached for her hand and with a grin said, “You and I? I didn’t realize how much you cared.”

  She pulled her hand back. “It’s about my latest crime scene.”

  The way her voice turned soft, the way she looked both worried and sad, caused him concern. “What is it?”

  She drew in her breath. “Shig Tanaka has been murdered.”

  A cold chill rippled down his backbone. All he could do was look away.

  “I remember you telling me about his restaurant,” she said. “About us going there one of these days if I could face the idea of raw octopus tentacles.” She put her hand over his. “I’m sorry to have to tell you about your friend. And I’m also worried about you—the arson fires, and now this. You knew both men involved.”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  She waited, looking at him as if she expected him to say something. “I liked Shig,” he murmured. “We never hung out much together, but we did play a few rounds of golf.” Here he’d been upset about a little fire and worried about paint jobs and invoices, and all the while a friend had been killed. A friend who was a part of …

  Could that be what she was waiting for him to tell her? He studied her.

  Damn! She knows.

  He poured her some wine. “So you’ve read the article, and knowing you, probably more than once.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was calm. “I have.”

  “It’s a tabloid, Rebecca. You know what they’re like.”

  She spoke slowly and carefully. “I know, and the only reason I care at all about the article is because, now, one ‘enticing bachelor’ is dead, another is missing, and there have been two arson fires. They’ve got to be connected, somehow, to the write-up.” She folded her hands.

  Just then the waitress came by to take their orders. Richie waited until she was gone before he leaned towards Rebecca across the table. He didn’t need Travis’s liar app to know, despite her words, the article had her steamed. “It’s just a dumb article filled with exaggeration and innuendo. There’s no reason for it to lead to anything, let alone arson and murder. There’s got to be another explanation.”

  “What other explanation?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me about Shig. Was he killed at work, or what? Did it look like a robbery or something?”

  She shook her head. “That’s the problem. We don’t yet know where he was killed. No crime scene, just the spot where we found … him.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “But it wasn’t where he died? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She bit her bottom lip, which meant she was truly bothered by all this. “Don’t say anything until it’s reported, but too many people know to keep it a secret much longer. He was beheaded.”

  He froze. That was the last thing he ever expected to hear. His mind raced. “Do you think it was some sort of terrorist attack?”

  “No.” She took a good-sized swallow of the wine. “The M.E. concluded that he was dead before his head was removed, thankfully. And wherever it happened wasn’t near the spot where the head was left because a massive amount of blood is lost in such a situation.”

  He placed his hand on hers and rubbed it gently, compassionately. “I’m sorry you have to deal with something so ugly.”

  “All murders are ugly,” she said, again removing her hand from his touch. “But I’ll be quite glad to find whoever it was and get that bastard off the streets.”

  “I know you will,” he said.

  She swallowed hard. “The rest of his body is still missing.”

  Richie made no comment; he couldn’t imagine something so macabre.

  “We understand he’s only about five-foot nine, but weighed well over two-hundred fifty pounds. That’s a lot to keep hidden,” she said.

  Richie took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to come to grips with all he was hearing. “He was one of those guys who gained weight easily, and then would go on a starvation diet to take it off.” He tried, but failed, to joke. “A chef’s curse, I’d say.”

  “So I’ve gathered from photos I’ve seen,” she said.

  “Maybe someone didn’t want to deal with moving all that weight, so just left the head for identification,” Richie suggested.

  Rebecca frowned. “Most murderers aren’t that finicky, or so interested in providing identification. It’s got to be something else—a message, most likely, for the police or someone else.”

  He nodded thoughtfully.

  The waitress brought their steak dinners out to them.

  Rebecca picked up her knife and fork, but then put them down again. She could scarcely keep the irritation out of her voice as she said, “I don’t understand why you didn’t at least mention the San Francisco Beat article to me.”

  Richie didn’t care for her tone, and took a sip of his wine before answering. Rebecca buttered her dinner roll, glaring at him and waiting. Finally, he said, “Maybe I was hoping you wouldn’t see it.”

  “But you knew the article was out there. You knew you and Bosque were in it, and both of you had your places firebombed. Two plus two, Richie!” The more she spoke, the angrier she became. “How could you not say anything?”

  He hated being pushed by anyone, and his irritation quickly matched hers. “What, I’m supposed to think some crazy person is out there who hates bachelors? Or some guy who’s jealous of us? Or maybe it was done by some woman who was jilted, read the article, went nuts and decided to take out her bitterness on all of us in the story?”

  He could see her working to maintain her cool. “Whatever the cause, you could see that something is going on with the bachelors in the write-up.”

  Damn! “Can’t you see you’re jumping to conclusions?”

  She lost it. “I’m jumping to common sense! Something that seems in short supply around here.”

  It was his turn to fume. “There could be other reasons for what’s going on.”

  “Name one.”

  He leaned back, arms folded. “Diego and Shig seemed to have some sort of business dealings with each other.”

  That set her back. “They did? I haven’t come across a hint of anything to confirm that.”

  “I just confirmed it for you.”

  “How do you know?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  He gripped the edge of the table. “You ask for my help and when I give it to you, you’re suspicious?”

  “No, I’m not!”

  He frowned. “You’re still mad about that stupid tabloid.”

  “Of course not! I couldn’t care less.” Her back stiffened. “And anyone who knows you was hardly surprised by what it said!”

  “Gee, thanks. That’s really great, Rebecca. Now I know what you honestly think of me.” He stood, took out a roll of money, peeled off enough to cover both dinners, and dropped it on the table. “Give Spike my steak. He’ll enjoy it more than I will.”

  “Wait,” she said. “You can’t just—”

  “Oh no? Watch me.”

  “Stop! You haven’t told me about the other bachelors yet! And I don’t want you to pay for my dinner!”

  He had no idea what she did next, because by the time she finished giving him orders, he was already out the door.

  o0o

  Richie decided to take Shay’s advice and not go back to Logan Travis’s home. Instead, he asked for a meeting at a bar owned by an old friend of his, Johnny Fazano. For one thing, he needed a stiff drink to calm him down after his fury at Rebecca. He really didn’t need her nitpicking his every move, always ready to criticize. One of these days, one happy day, he was going to meet som
eone who’d make him forget all about that cranky, uptight, suspicious cop. And then he’d never look back.

  What was unfortunate was that he had had glimpses of another side of her—a side he really liked. A lot. When she wasn’t going all ‘Rebecca Rulebook’ and hard-ass cop and every other walking cliché there to prove that she was every bit as tough as any male cop, she could be warm and funny and fun to be around.

  In fact, when he thought about her, about the way she handled herself, did her job, pulled herself up in the ranks of what was still very much a “man’s world,” he admired her. A lot.

  From the time he first met her on Christmas Eve when he went to homicide looking for help from his cousin’s husband but found Rebecca instead, he kept trying to walk away, and to stay away, from her. It hadn’t worked. Until now.

  Now, he’d had it.

  Sometimes he wished he’d never moved their relationship along to the next level. But at the same time, he found her too damned irresistible to keep walking away from. After they’d solved a case together—a case that had put his own mother in jeopardy—he knew it was decision time. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Whatever was going on between them had clearly driven him mad.

  His thoughts returned to a Saturday night not long ago, and how, after he had closed up Big Caesar’s, he realized he couldn’t take what was going on between them any longer. He needed her, and more than anything physical between them, he wanted to know if she felt the same way about him. If not, he vowed he would never see her again.

  He had been heading home, but turned towards Rebecca’s apartment instead. Then, like some dummy, he’d stood out in the rain and phoned her.

  He’d been about 50% sure she’d hang up on him when he told her he was outside her apartment. Instead, she opened the door.

  He’d been a good 60% sure she wouldn’t let him whisk her out of her apartment to his car. She went with him.

  Some 70% sure she’d balk at going into his house. She didn’t complain.

  Definitely 80% sure she’d demand to be taken back home when he put his arms around her. She moved closer.

  And 90% sure she’d never welcome anything more than a chaste kiss. Instead, she made it 100% clear she was feeling exactly the way he was, and wanted the same thing.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had walked out while he slept that night, but she hadn’t, and they had had such a good time together on Sunday, it still boggled his mind. They mainly stayed at his place, except for going out for lunch and taking a long walk along Ocean beach in the afternoon. For dinner, they ordered pizza and put a baseball game on the TV. He scarcely watched the game, so busy was he watching Rebecca.

  Everything had been so perfect it actually scared him. He hadn’t felt that way being with a woman since … well, not for a few years. And now …

  What a romantic idiot he’d been. If that was all it took to destroy her faith in him, the hell with her.

  He downed his whiskey and asked for another. That stupid tabloid had sent all his hopes about her straight down the crapper.

  They’d spent the next weekend together, and the next. How could she have changed that much from Monday morning when she left his home, his bed, to return to her apartment to get ready for work, to tonight? She was loyal to a fault.

  And that, he realized, was the problem.

  The article had depicted him as anything but loyal. A guy who got women to fall in love with him only to dump them. One who sent flowers …. His hand went to his forehead. The roses. He had sent them thinking they might make her happy, let her realize how much she was on his mind.

  It had been a perfect storm of bad timing. And now that he’d walked away, he should simply say good riddance.

  He still was trying to convince himself that the “good riddance” sentiment was right and just, when Travis finally arrived.

  Richie took one look at him and decided Shay had been right in his warnings. Travis came into the bar wearing a red wig that made him look positively crazy. All he needed was clown face make-up and a red ball for his nose and he could get a job with Ringling Brothers. As soon as Richie saw him, he took his drink—Jack Daniels on the rocks—and moved from the bar to a dark table in the back of the room.

  The bartender gave him a “What the hell?” look. Richie rolled his eyes. He knew Johnny always looked out for him and would keep a close watch on Logan Travis.

  Richie quickly told Travis the results of Shay’s investigation of his former partners, Jason Singh and Mitch Voltz, leaving out the part where the two men thought Travis was crazy and his design badly flawed. Travis looked neither happy nor upset to hear there was no indication his former partners, or anyone else, wanted to kill him.

  “Maybe it’s not Jason or Mitch who’s trying to kill me,” Travis said. “But somebody is. I know it. Somebody killed Shig Tanaka and I heard Bosque is missing. I bet he’s dead, too. I was in that magazine article, and so were you.”

  “Nobody was killed because of a magazine article,” Richie said.

  “It could have been a former lover pissed off at him,” Travis said. “Thank God I don’t have any of those. Not women, at least. And men are much more rational and understanding about such things.”

  Richie just nodded. Wasn’t that the truth!

  “I heard from a good source,” Travis added, his voice low, “that Tanaka was beheaded. Women don’t do things like that.”

  Richie sipped his whiskey. “True.”

  “Why was he killed?”

  A cocktail waitress came by, but Travis waved her off.

  “Whatever the reason, I’m sure it has nothing to do with you. You should go back home and stop worrying,” Richie said.

  “I don’t know about that, but before I go anywhere, I need to know how my app is working for you. Do you like it? Have you used it much?”

  Is there no ridding me of this weirdo? “I don’t know. I used it a couple of times.”

  “Let’s see,” Travis said as he took the phone.

  “Who’s this Tommy?” Travis asked. “He lies to you all the time.”

  Richie swallowed. “He’s my new manager. I wonder if I shouldn’t have given him so much responsibility?”

  “I don’t know, but there’s something going on with him.” Travis’s words were dire.

  “What about Rebecca?” Richie asked.

  “Whoa. Tense. Lies. I think she hates you.”

  “Great. That’s just what I want to hear,” Richie muttered.

  “But this last one … Hmm. Looks like there’s a problem with my app,” Travis said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This guy, Shay. Obviously, the two of you talked, but the app recorded no reactions from him at all. No positive, no negative. Not a blip. I’ve never seen this before. Got to be something wrong. I’ll have to figure out what and work on it.”

  “Good,” Richie said with an inner chuckle. He always knew Shay had ice in his veins. “You do that.”

  “Anyway, I’m leaving,” Travis said. “Would you hire a security team for me? I want more than computers protecting me. All this trouble because of a sleazy magazine article has me feeling paranoid.”

  “No kidding,” Richie said as he went back to stewing over which part of Rebecca’s conversation with him had been a lie. Or, was all of it? Then he realized Travis was still staring at him. “Okay, I’ll find a security crew for you. And after that, I’d say our business is finished.”

  “Maybe,” Travis said and then he sauntered out of the bar.

  “Good riddance,” Richie murmured. He slowly finished his drink. It hadn’t helped. He thought about ordering another, but decided the best thing to do was to go home.

  The hell with all of them, he thought, as he went to the bar and put some money on it to pay for his drinks. He then turned around … to come face-to-face with two young, skinny, Latino-looking thugs.

  “Richie?” The “spokesman” had long black hair and a thin, wispy mustache so
long it reached to his even stringier-looking goatee.

  Richie nodded.

  “Good. Outside.”

  Richie almost said, “No,” when he saw the flash of a steel blade in the man’s hand.

  Richie glanced at Johnny and gave a small shake of the head.

  Next thing, Johnny aimed a shotgun at the two punks. “I’d say it’s time for you fellas to leave.”

  The few other bar patrons saw the firearm and ran for the exits.

  The thugs eyed each other.

  “Right now,” Richie said, “the people who left are calling the cops. I think you’ve got about ninety seconds, max.”

  Without another word, they left.

  Richie faced the bartender and sat back down on a stool. “I think I’ll have another drink after all.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rebecca left her desk the next morning to walk to the San Francisco Beat magazine office. For once, the sky wasn’t gray and foggy, but bright with sun. The tabloid’s office wasn’t far from the Hall of Justice. Sometimes it was easier to walk than to fight traffic and then hunt for parking.

  It was strange, Rebecca thought, as she walked, how quickly things could change in life. She’d thought her life might be moving in one direction, and then, at the drop of a hat—or a magazine article—it had made a complete U-turn. She hadn’t thought, until she faced Richie at the steakhouse, how deep the sting of the San Francisco Beat article had hit. And then, out of her mouth, came words that were both hateful and unfair. As soon as she’d said them, she regretted it, but was too angry to say so.

  Well, it was probably for the best. This way, they could end it now, before things became even more complicated between them.

  But now, she had work to do and the magazine article was, so far, the only solid connection she had between the two arsons and Tanaka’s death. And that was the reason for her morning stroll.

  The address she sought was in an old building on the ground floor, right behind a tattoo parlor. She knocked and then pushed open the door.

  She entered a large open space with two women working at a table in the back of the room, and a third sitting at a computer near the door. The woman at the computer glanced up. “Yes?”