Cook's Christmas Capers (The Angie Amalfi Mysteries)

by Joanne Pence

They stood at the window admiring the view. "Yes," he said. "I appreciate all I've done for myself every day when I look out and see this."

  For a moment, she thought she heard him incorrectly. She realized she hadn't.

  "That's the ISMI way, I guess." She smiled.

  "Absolutely. Our mantra: The one who does everything for me, who loves me, and cares for me, ISMI!" With that, he laughed and put his arms around her, pulling her close. "By the way, I heard someone phoned you yesterday, and again this morning. We don't normally allow our students to be interrupted by the outside world, but when she said she was from the San Francisco Police Department…"

  Angie saw the hardness lurking in his eyes even as he smiled down at her. "Oh, that was nothing. She's a friend. I called her when I was upset yesterday and told her I was leaving. She was worried when I didn't make it back to the city last night."

  "A friend?" he asked.

  "I do have them," she said with a smile, "no matter what Seven thinks."

  He laughed and his arms tightened. "We don't like the police getting involved in the good work we do here," he said. "It made me curious about you. I asked around and learned you work at Nona's with some of my friends. And that you ask a lot of questions."

  Lorenzo! She thought. Lorenzo was working with Gerling! She pulled free of him and backed away. She smiled as she said, "My questions led me to ISMI—to experience what a fine program this is."

  "Is that why you went to talk to Mary Jacobson?" His face turned fierce.

  Maria? Had her own sister told Gerling about her questions? She couldn't speak.

  "You wanted to know about Professor Starr," Gerling said. "I think you are arriving at some very erroneous conclusions, Angie."

  "Not at all," she cried.

  "You're not a good liar."

  She swallowed. He was right. "I…I learned Professor Starr would give his classes projects on what outrageous thing people might be not only willing to do, but would pay to do." She decided to take a leap—some of the information she had learned, and others she had extrapolated. "ISMI was developed in one of those classes. It was Alan Trimball's class project. He apparently kept carbon copies of the term paper he submitted to Professor Starr, and Starr may still have the originals."

  He laughed. "So that's what this is all about."

  "I know your name is Peter Lemon. You were in that class and you heard Alan Trimball's oral presentation of his idea. You knew it could work."

  He folded his arms. "This is madness. The idea for ISMI came to me in a dream—a mescaline-induced dream, if you must know. I worked all of it out on my own, with no help. I'm the creator. There's no doubt about it."

  "What happened? Was Alan going to sue you? I heard he was planning a lawsuit."

  "Sue me? Hah! He would have to get in line. I get threatened with suits all the time."

  She backed towards the door. "The police"—she had to divert his attention away from her—"the police think you killed Trimball."

  He laughed. "What do they know? I've never killed anyone!" He remained calm and controlled.

  "They also think you killed Professor Starr. Starr knew Trimball was telling the truth. He may have even kept Trimball's class papers to help prove his case."

  "What!" He frowned, suddenly perplexed. "Are you saying Starr was murdered?"

  His question stunned her. "Of course."

  "But the newspapers…they've been quiet about what happened to Starr, saying they were waiting for results from the autopsy. I assumed he had a heart attack or something."

  "The police kept the cause of death quiet on purpose," Angie said. "Both men were poisoned with the same food."

  He stared at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Poisoned…both? So that means whoever did it had to have access to that food, and also be trusted enough by both men." He paled. "Oh, my God! I know who did it!"

  If he was lying, Angie thought, he was quite convincing. "Who?" she asked.

  "Let me call the guards at the gate. He's coming here! They can't let him in! I—we—could be in danger."

  "Who?" Angie insisted as Gerling picked up the phone.

  He banged on the hook several times. "It's dead! He may be here already!"

  "That's ridiculous," Angie said.

  From the door came another voice. "Is it?"

  Angie spun around. The first thing she saw was the handgun pointed at her and Gerling. Then she looked up. "You!"

  o0o

  Connie told the guard at the gate that she, Paavo and Stan had a meeting with Gerling. The guard phoned his home office, but received no answer.

  "He's probably waiting for us outside," Connie said, and showed her badge. "We want to be let in. Now."

  "I'm sorry," the guard said. "Just give me a moment to—"

  A shot rang out from Gerling's residence.

  The three plus the guard ran toward it.

  Connie drew her gun.

  All was silent.

  She steeled herself as best she could even though the idea of confronting potential killers frightened her so much she could scarcely breathe. But she wore the uniform of a cop. Somehow, she could do it.

  The security guard, a fairly old man, said, "I'll make sure the students don't come this way."

  Connie nodded, then tiptoed toward the house, her gun aimed and ready to fire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Don't shoot!" Angie screamed, looking with horror at Gerling's body lying on the floor, blood flowing fast from a wound to the chest. "You need me to get out of this alive!"

  "It's too late!"

  "No! I'm sure you can explain everything. You're a smart man, Winslow," Angie said. "I wondered why you were working as a dishwasher even though you went to law school. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

  He extended his arm, stretching the gun closer to her. "You know too much!"

  "Make me your hostage!" Angie shouted. "If you kill me, what will stop the sheriff and his deputies, or whoever is the law up here, from bursting in with their guns blazing? I know you don't want to die. You did all this to save yourself, didn't you? I think, if you tell your story, people will understand. There will be extenuating circumstances. I know you. You aren't a bad person! You might get off with just a little time, and then you can go on with your life."

  "It's all gone wrong," he cried, his face reddening with emotion. She didn't know if he was going to burst into tears or shoot her.

  "Tell me about it," she said. "Please, Winslow. We've talked at the restaurant. You're no killer. Tell me, are you married? Do you have a family?"

  He shook his head. "I'm not. Just my parents and my brother and sister."

  "Your parents must be very proud of you, being a lawyer and all."

  "They used to be."

  "If you get killed, think of them," Angie pleaded. "Today is Christmas Eve. How would they feel if you were killed the day before Christmas?"

  A tear began to roll down his cheek.

  "Why has all this happened to you, Winslow?" She thought about the fact that he was able to get past security. That meant he had to be known to the guards. That meant…she gasped. "You're Hans Gerling's attorney, aren't you? Or should I say Peter Lemon's?"

  Winslow nodded. He relaxed his hand with the gun a bit, but still pointed it at her. "He changed his name to Hans Olaf Gerling when he founded ISMI. He got the idea of coming up with that kind of name after seeing the success Werner Erhart had with EST. People will shell out money to someone with a name like Hans Olaf Gerling a lot faster than someone named Lemon."

  "Yes, I think he was right about that," Angie said.

  Winslow scowled. "It was the only thing he was right about! The man was a fool! A pothead. I saw how much money Gerling was making, and that he was wasting it on drugs. If it weren't for me, he'd have nothing. I invested it for him, and built this compound into what it is today."

  "But now you've shot him…and"—she didn't want to use the word 'murder'—"you've eliminated two
others as well. Why, Winslow?"

  He began to shake. Angie gasped as the gun wriggled. She hoped it didn't have a hair trigger. "They would have messed things up!" he said on the verge of blubbering. She realized he was talking about Trimball and Starr. "They wanted to take this to court, to make me open my books to the world. No one would understand that I had to borrow some of Gerling's money. I had to! Do you know how expensive it is to get a law degree?"

  Winslow stopped a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes. "I had bills while Gerling had all this…thanks to me! I learned Trimball would not only file a lawsuit, but his professor would back him up! Professor Starr apparently gave Alan guidance as he developed his project, and now believed he deserved partial ownership of it! Alan agreed with him. Between the two of them, they would have bled Gerling dry. And me."

  "That's why you took the dishwasher job?" Angie asked, trying to put the pieces together.

  "I hoped to learn Alan was just boasting, and didn't really mean what he was saying. I wasn't anywhere near that stupid sociology class, I was over in the law school taking real classes! But I soon saw that Alan was serious, and he seemed to have all the proof he needed."

  "So how did Nona Farraday get involved in all this?"

  Winslow shrugged. "It just happened. At one point, before I knew Starr was involved, I tried to simply steal his school papers, but he must have put them in a safe deposit box or hid them some place. When I couldn't find them, I knew Alan would realize his apartment had been broken into, so I stole his recipe collection to give him something to focus on that had nothing to do with ISMI."

  Angie nodded. "So that's why, when you decided to kill him and Starr, you went with one of the recipes from the restaurant and added arsenic to it. But how did you get them to eat it?"

  "That was easy. I heated up a bowl of poisoned food and told Alan that I saw Nona cooking it. I thought it was really delicious, and if she kept cooking so well, she might not need him much longer. Then I said she must have used some odd spice because I couldn't tell what it was, but it made the food really tasty. That was enough to pique the interest of a chef. He took the bowl from me and put a spoonful in his mouth. He said it did have something odd in it, but he couldn't tell what it was. By the third mouthful, he was feeling ill. I encouraged him to take another couple of bites and then got him out to my car before he passed out. I rolled him into an alley near Nona's apartment."

  "Clever," Angie said, well understanding both the jealousy and curiosity chefs have about each other’s recipes.

  She noticed that the doorknob on the office door appeared to be slowly turning. She raised her voice—"But what about Starr? How did it work for Starr?"—just as someone pushed the door open a sliver of an inch.

  "Starr took even more cleverness on my part, if I do say so. I delivered a 'home-cooked meal' to him, saying it was from Alan. Fortunately, he ate it. I suspected he would—a single man, retired. I suspected if he could avoid having to cook for himself one night, he would do so."

  "You're definitely clever, Winslow," Angie said.

  "But not clever enough to keep out of trouble!" he cried. "Let's go. It's still quiet here. I thought that gunshot might draw the security guard, but obviously, he's paying no attention. We're going to go for a ride. Don't make a fuss, and I'll let you go as soon as I get across the Canadian border."

  As he walked toward her, she sidled along the wall of the office, inching nearer the door.

  "Don't do that, Angie!" he said as he stepped closer to the door, facing her and blocking the exit. "You've cooperated so far, and it was your idea to use you as a hostage, so don't make me hurt you now."

  "I really don't feel like going to Canada," she said. "Let's talk about this some more."

  "We're done talking," he said. "Now, move it!" He reached for her arm. Angie dropped to the floor and dived behind the sofa just as the door behind him burst open. Paavo barreled into him, knocking him half-way across the room, and sending the gun flying.

  Angie didn’t come out until she heard Connie make the arrest.

  o0o

  Paavo rushed Angie to the dormitory for her few belongings and then to Nona's car. He took the car keys from her—she was in no shape to drive—and immediately headed back to San Francisco.

  He and Connie had discussed this on the way up. If everything went according to plan, Connie didn't want Angie to make any statements to the Mendocino police. Statements from a crazy woman could cause more problems to the case than they would solve at this moment. Later, they could decide what to do about her.

  Stan was willing to go along if they would convince Angie to give him an exclusive interview of all she saw and did while at ISMI. They agreed to try.

  Connie needed to stay in Mendocino for a while to work out jurisdictional issues. Hans Gerling would survive, the gunshot wasn't fatal, but Winslow would have a number of charges in Mendocino for attempted murder as well as embezzlement. Those paled compared to the two murder charges he would face in San Francisco.

  Connie's mentor, Inspector Bruce Whalen, was driving up to Mendocino help her deal with both charges and jurisdiction. He also told her he didn't think it was right that she would have to spend Christmas alone.

  o0o

  Angie leaned back against the car seat and shut her eyes. She was glad Connie wouldn’t be alone, and judging from the happy, rosy-cheeked way Connie talked about her mentor, something else might be at work there, even if Connie didn’t know it yet.

  But Angie had no idea what her own future held. She felt great relief that the murders were solved, and that she hadn’t been killed in the process. If she thought proving Nona innocent would help her find her way back to her own reality, however, looking at ‘Polyester Paavo’ singing “Groovin’ on a Sunday Afternoon” along with the radio, that wasn’t happening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Back in his apartment, Paavo poured them each a glass of Chablis, and then put a record on the turntable. Soon, Nat King Cole was singing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.

  Paavo took Angie's hand and led her to the couch where he kissed her. She melted into his kiss for a moment, then pushed back. Gently, she rested her hand against the side of his face. "You're a good man, Paavo Smith, but I don't belong here."

  "You don't have to go anywhere. Stay with me, Angie." He took her in his arms again. "I think you're crazier than a bed bug, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters as long as we're together. I don't care if you say you're from the future, or another planet, or even if in a former life you were Cleopatra. I'm falling in love with you."

  "I'm so sorry, Paavo. I don't know what to do, but I can't make a life here."

  "If you leave, I'll have no one."

  "You've got Nona," Angie said.

  He shook his head. "I like her, but it's not love. I know Nona doesn't love me. It sounds harsh, but I think she's too much in love with herself to see anything love-worthy in another person. Does that make sense to you, Angie?"

  His phone began to ring.

  "It does. If she's missing out on a good man like you because of being self-centered, I'm very sorry for her." The ringing continued. "Are you going to answer?"

  "I don't care who it is. No one is as important to me as being here with you. It's as if I lived in shadow, and now there's sunshine. To me, you've made all the difference."

  The answering machine clicked on.

  —Paavo, it's Nona. I'm being freed! The police found the real killer. They're letting me go. I'm taking a taxi home. Come and see me, darling. I've missed you. I've missed you very—

  At that, the tape ran out.

  Paavo caught Angie's eyes, then he dropped his gaze.

  Angie took his hand. "You should go see her."

  "Is it fair to her, when you're the one I want to be with?" he asked. "Although why that is when I hardly know you, I have no idea."

  "I'm sorry, Paavo," she said.

  "I see how you look at me, Angie. You can't look at so
meone like that and then deny that they're special to you. I don't know what any of this means, or where it'll lead, or even why it's happening. I only know I want you to be a part of my life."

  His words cut through her. There was much to this man that was lovable, but he wasn't her Paavo. He had potential, but he wasn't the full measure of the man. She looked away.

  "We'll work it out, Angie," he said. "We'll see some doctors, find out what's wrong. In time, I'm sure you'll get over this idea of being from the future. You're the sanest person I know, so I can't explain what's happened to you, but whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I don't want to lose you!"

  "Don't, Paavo. Please. This is wrong."

  "No! It's the most right thing I've ever done or felt."

  Her heart was breaking as she stood up and put on her coat. "Go to Nona. She cares about you, she really does. She tries to bully her way through life, always the tough person who pretends she isn't bleeding on the inside, but she often is. That's why it's necessary to let her know she's loved and appreciated. Sometimes people pretend that they're strong because they're afraid to show how vulnerable they are. I've always believed that explained Nona. She can be a bitch, but there's a soft side too. I guess that's why, despite the fact that I'm usually fighting with her, deep, deep down, I actually…kinda sorta…do like her."

  He grimaced. "That isn't much of an endorsement."

  "Maybe not, but it's the best I can do. Oh, and suggest she make Greg Reed her next chef. He's really quite talented."

  Paavo nodded, even as his gaze turned sad. "Where will you go, Angie?"

  "I don't know. But I've got to try to find my way back."

  "How are you going to do it?"

  "I don't know that either. But I have no choice."

  She turned toward the door and opened it.

  "Tomorrow's Christmas," he said. "Surely you don't want to be alone on Christmas. You should stay here. Wait until the new year."

  She shook her head. "I'm afraid if I stay too long, I may never be able to go back. And I do want to be home for Christmas."

  "In case you can't get there," he said. "I'll be here waiting for you, here and now."