Murder After a Fashion

by Grace Carroll

  For dessert we had roasted banana bread pudding instead of the crème caramel. I sighed contentedly. Nick seemed as happy as I was. Even though I had a tote bag full of smelly, dirty clothes and I had a mystery to solve and a new job to contemplate, I was able to put myself in the moment and savor the experience of dining in a famous San Francisco landmark with an attractive Romanian gymnast.

  I knew I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but I couldn’t resist talking about my possible part-time job as a mystery shopper to such a sympathetic listener. His eyes lit up.

  “This is very exciting,” he said. “You are good at this. Catching criminals. Like the woman who killed your worker. That was you who found out the murderer.”

  “I won’t be looking for criminals,” I explained, always glad to hear a compliment. “I’m only interested in clerks who are not doing their jobs, that’s all. But I appreciate your confidence in me.”

  “Will you get a discounted price on merchandise?” he asked, looking more enthusiastic than he had all day.

  “I think so. If I do, I can buy anything you want. Just tell me.”

  He took out a notepad from his shoulder bag and jotted down a few items, like Italian men’s boots and Zanella slacks, a Prada belt and some Gucci sunglasses. Yes, Nick had good taste all right. But where did he, a gymnastics coach, get the money for high-ticket items like these? How could he afford to take me to this restaurant? Did he have a secret source of money? Maybe his family was secretly rich and he received an allowance.

  “How will you have time for this new job?” he asked as he handed me his shopping list. “You work many hours.”

  “Yes, but I have two whole days off a week and evenings too. I think it will be useful for me to see how the other half lives. The women who shop at Dolce’s are not average citizens. Maybe that’s why I need to get out of my comfortable rut and do something different.”

  “Then you won’t be able to join me for trips such as this?” he asked.

  I looked around the posh setting and wondered if I was doing the right thing. “I’d hate to miss our outings,” I said. He’d taken me on a vampire tour of the city once and I owed him. Was I plunging into yet another venture I couldn’t follow up on?

  On the way out of the restaurant we walked through the bar, and who did I see sitting by himself but Diana’s husband Weldon. Being the friendly person I am, I automatically opened my mouth to say hello, then I realized he probably wouldn’t recognize me and even if he did, I was a nobody and not worth acknowledging. I wondered if he was expecting his wife to join him after her tour at the zoo. Maybe that’s why he was here on the outskirts of the city.

  I looked around outside before we walked to a nearby bus stop, but I didn’t see Diana. It occurred to me I could stop by her house and see her, since I now knew her husband wasn’t home and there’d be no danger of any conflict. Maybe she’d be more able to speak freely without him around. Although she hadn’t seemed willing to talk to me at the zoo today. Still, she’d been on duty and I hadn’t been alone. I should give her another chance because I was worried about her.

  Nick and I took the bus from the Cliff House back to town. He apologized for not seeing me to my door, but I told him I wasn’t going home. I had an errand to do in Pacific Heights. Which was, of course, to stop off at Diana’s house to see if she was there. I had a feeling she wouldn’t answer the phone if I called her, but if I was actually on her front steps, she couldn’t turn me away, could she?

  When I arrived, there were no lights on in any windows though it was dusk. I knocked on her massive front door and rang the bell. When a woman came to the door, I thought I recognized her from the night we had our class as someone who had slipped in for a moment to speak to Diana.

  “Hello,” I said brightly. “I’m Rita, Diana’s friend. I don’t know if I met you the night of the jewelry design class…” I knew I hadn’t met her, but I’d seen her just for a moment. I’d said to myself, That’s what I need, someone to help me around the house.

  “I’m sorry,” she said curtly. “Mrs. Van Sloat isn’t home.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I just wanted to see if I left my scarf here yesterday during the house and garden tour.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “If you did, all lost items were collected after the tour was over. But I don’t know where they were taken. You’ll have to ask Mrs. Van Sloat.”

  “I will. I definitely will. The thing is, I checked with the tour people. They didn’t have it, so I thought—”

  “Then it isn’t here.”

  “But it might be. Behind something perhaps,” I said, knowing I sounded lame. “Maybe in the craft room. I was there yesterday.”

  “I don’t think you’ll find it there,” she said. “I didn’t see anything like a scarf.”

  “Were you here when the jewelry designer cut himself the night of our get-together?” I asked. Not that I expected her to give any secrets away. And I was sure whatever happened after our class was supposed to be kept quiet.

  “I don’t know,” she said, glancing around as if she was afraid someone might overhear her. Of course she’d been there that night. I’d seen her cleaning the kitchen before we left. “I mean, I didn’t see anything.”

  What about now? Was she really alone? Was Diana really not there? Or did she just not want to see me or anyone?

  “Could I check and see if I left my scarf maybe in the kitchen or the craft room or in the front closet?”

  “Well…”

  It was clear she didn’t want me to come in, but unless she slammed the door in my face I wasn’t going to leave without at least taking a peek inside. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I knew what I’d love to see and that was the inside of that study with the gun cabinet, but that wasn’t going to happen. Even if I got to the second floor, the door to that room would be locked as it had been the day of the house and garden tour.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” I said as I breezed by the poor woman, hoping she wouldn’t lose her job over this. “I really need to find my scarf. It’s a Hermes, you know.” I didn’t have a Hermes scarf, but I hoped I looked like the type who’d wear one. It was on my list of must-haves.

  She frowned but she didn’t try to stop me; she just followed me, clumping all the way through to the kitchen, past the softly lighted rooms with all the strikingly modern furniture I hadn’t noticed the first time I came here. But which I’d read about in the brochure they’d handed out at the open house. Everything was perfect today, just as it had been during the house and garden tour. I made a mental note to hire someone to clean up my place just as soon as I could afford it.

  When we got to the kitchen, there was nothing out of place, no stains on the floor. Not a speck of dirt or dust. Not with a staff to mop up after spills. Over the massive chopping block in the center of the room hung a rack of knives, a collection a professional chef would be proud to use. Not at all like the ones we used to cut the leather that night. Those were just as sharp, but much smaller. Was that a blank space at the end? Was one missing? Or was I seeing things like missing guns and knives because I wanted to? I so wished that maid would go away so I could browse around, but that was not the way things were going. I was lucky to be in this room at all. I was thinking that the Van Sloats would be less than happy if they knew I or any other snoop was here.

  “I guess it’s not here,” I said. Then I took a chance she wouldn’t stop me, and opened the pantry door. “Unless I left it in there.”

  A phone rang somewhere. The maid looked startled. Why, didn’t they get many calls? She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She said something, then she backed away and left the pantry. I heard her speaking softly. I was alone in the pantry. The door was open but I couldn’t see her, so she couldn’t see me, right?

  I reached behind the jars of imported Italian products, pushing aside basil pesto, marinated mushrooms, artichoke hearts in vinaigrette and organic Tuscan white beans. All becaus
e of Guido’s influence?

  I was looking for something. Anything. My fingers touched on a sharp edge, so sharp I felt a prick. I yanked my hand back, wiped a drop of blood from my finger and then reached in again for a small jewelry knife, which I recognized and quickly stuffed into my purse. I didn’t need a detective to tell me I had no right to lift anything from this house that wasn’t mine, but I couldn’t resist. In a way it was mine if it was the one I’d used to make my bracelet, and I thought it was. But why was it in the kitchen? Why hadn’t Armando taken it with him? I was elated.

  When I stepped back into the kitchen, the maid was still on the phone, protesting that she was busy tonight and couldn’t help whoever needed her. I sidled up to the back door and with my hands behind my back, I flipped a metal knob that might be the lock. I hoped that I’d unlocked the door and that no one would notice.

  Then I stood there trying to look innocent. She hung up and glared at me. I had the distinct impression that either she’d seen me take the knife or unlock the door, or she just wanted me out of there for general purposes. Yes, yes, I’m going, I thought but didn’t say.

  I glanced at the door to the small walk-in freezer that Diana was so proud of, and I shivered. I’d seen too many movies where someone is locked inside. I couldn’t leave until I made sure that Diana wasn’t in there. Before the maid could stop me, I grabbed the handle and jerked it open. There were shelves full of labeled packages, but no Diana. No body. Suddenly the door closed behind me. Had that sullen, resentful maid pushed it shut? Was she going to leave me here and go home simply because I’d annoyed her?

  I gasped and turned the lever on the door. It spun around in my hand and nothing happened. I pounded on the door. The icy air sucked all the breath out of my lungs. I tried to call out, but my throat was too dry. Who would hear me anyway but the woman who’d locked me in here?

  A few moments later, though it felt like hours, the woman opened the door and stared at me as if I were an alien who’d suddenly materialized.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, taking great gulps of warm air. “I couldn’t get out. Did you lock the door?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a look that said I must be paranoid. The woman pointed at the hallway toward the living room. It was time to go.

  I hated to leave, but what could I do? Ask to see the rest of the house, which was what I really wanted to do? She coughed nervously, and I finally, reluctantly, left the kitchen with her on my heels. Passing the circular staircase, I had a mad desire to run up to the locked study, but I restrained myself. The elevator, too, beckoned me, but I gave it only a passing glance.

  “Please tell Mrs. Van Sloat that Rita came by to see her,” I said loudly just in case Diana was there and could hear me. If she did and all was well, surely she’d come running down the stairs calling, “Rita, I’m so glad to see you. Sorry I didn’t have time to talk at the zoo, but I was on duty with the primates. Let me make you an espresso in my state-of-the-art, restaurant-quality coffee machine.” But the house was eerily quiet.

  The woman quickly and firmly closed the heavy front door the moment I stepped outside. If I’d hesitated, I might have lost a foot or had my hand crushed in the massive door frame. I was glad to have found the knife, even though I had no idea what to do with it. It looked like the one I’d used, but was it? And why was it in the pantry? I knew I was missing something else. Something important. And it wasn’t an arm or a leg.

  It was some big clue to what had happened here. Maybe it was the knife. I hoped so. But if not, it was the gun. I just knew it. But how to put my hands on it? Was Diana really at home and just didn’t want to see me? Didn’t want to see anyone? Why? She’d been fine during our jewelry lesson. Then Armando had gotten hurt and Diana had disappeared from her usual shopping venue. If I hadn’t gone to the zoo, I wouldn’t have seen her because she didn’t answer my calls. If only I’d had a minute to check out that room with the guns. Though it was probably locked and I didn’t know how to pick locks even if I’d had time.

  If she wasn’t on the premises, then where was Diana now? Having drinks and dinner with her husband? What was wrong with that? Nothing. Just because he gave me the creeps didn’t mean he wasn’t a decent person underneath. What I knew for sure was that Diana was at the zoo today and she was not in the freezer. Other than that, her whereabouts was anybody’s guess.

  It wasn’t like she was a missing person. I’d just seen her. She was fine. Well, not really fine. She’d looked nervous to say the least. Right now she could be anywhere. She wasn’t my problem. I felt stupid for worrying.

  I walked slowly down the front walk past the lighted, well-tended gardens. I should have been bounding along, excited about what I’d found, but somehow I could hear Jack’s voice in my ear throwing cold water on my enthusiasm.

  “You did what?” he’d say. “You stole a knife? I ought to arrest you. You’ve done some crazy things, Rita, but this is beyond the pale.”

  I was mulling over what I’d say in my defense besides, “I just had a funny feeling it would be important.” That kind of remark has Jack seeing red. Not just seeing red but turning red and warning me to cool it.

  Then he’d tell me what he always tells me. “Stop playing detective, Rita, and stick to accessories. Something you’re good at.”

  I could remind him that I’d helped solve two previous mysteries, but he wouldn’t want to be reminded. But what if I showed him the knife and he sent it to the lab and we found out something important? Like blood on the blade and fingerprints on the handle. Yeah, like he was going to do that because I suggested it.

  As I reached the end of the walkway, I turned and looked back at the house. I couldn’t leave yet. I just couldn’t. I circled back toward the four-car, ivy-covered brick garage. I’d peek in the window and see if Diana’s car was there. Of course, its absence or presence wouldn’t prove anything.

  But when I looked in the window, the garage was so dark I could see only the outline of several cars. I didn’t even know what kind of car Diana drove.

  Out on the street they called Billionaire’s Row, I felt nervous. Not that there were criminals lurking behind the stately houses or the carefully tended hedges. The only people out this evening were rich residents walking their pampered pets. But the stillness on the ground and the sound of the wind in the leafy acacias and the needled redwoods bothered me. I kept looking behind me to see if someone was following me.

  My legs felt rubbery as I turned and walked as fast as I could down the hill to Cow Hollow where I knew I’d find bars and restaurants full of young professionals like me as well as a bus to take me home. I couldn’t go home yet. I needed a shot of normalcy among people like me. Not rich. Not poor. Working people. People out having a good time. People who weren’t worried about a murderer in their midst.

  I decided I needed a drink to calm my nerves even though I’d already had dinner with wine. Even more, I needed to mingle with warm bodies. I didn’t want to be alone. I walked into a bar after checking it out from the outside to make sure Meera wasn’t lurking there at a table. As much as I needed company, I couldn’t deal with her now.

  I squeezed between several men in casual designer jeans and button-down shirts who were with women in tight pencil skirts or voluminous pants and clingy tops, until I reached the bar where I ordered the special, a tequila cocktail advertised on a blackboard. It was a tasty blend of grapefruit juice, amaro, vermouth and maraschino. I helped myself to some local, organic bar finger food. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to eat something anyway to calm my nervous stomach. It was good to be in this convivial atmosphere, alone but not alone at the same time.

  Proving once and for all that San Francisco is a small town, the next time I looked around I saw Jonathan in the back with a drink in his hand surrounded by a crowd of friends. All this time I thought the reason I hadn’t heard from him was because he had to work nights. But here he was. Out on the town. Now
I felt worse than I had when I first walked into the bar.

  A moment later, as if he’d felt my eyes on him, he turned and saw me. His eyes widened, he waved and started across the room toward me.

  “Rita,” he said. “I can’t believe this. I’m here with my medical team. It’s somebody’s birthday. Do you come here often?”

  I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of barfly who hung out by myself picking up men at bars.

  “First time,” I said. “How are you?

  “I’m feeling good,” he said. He saw me looking at his drink. “Don’t worry, this isn’t alcohol. I’m back on the wagon. I’m drinking some fruit juices mixed together like they serve to Mormons and gallbladder sufferers like me.”

  “But I thought you were cured,” I said. “You seemed fine the last time I saw you.”

  “I am fine, but I’m not really completely cured. The stones are still there. My doctor is watching them so I don’t have to.” He grinned and he looked so healthy and gorgeous I couldn’t believe he was interested in little old me. I knew by his flirtatious manner that he was his same normal self, stones or not. I instantly forgave him for hanging out and socializing without me. “Come on back and meet everyone,” he said.

  I didn’t feel like talking to strangers, but what could I say? “I have to go home now even though it’s not even nine o’clock, because I have a knife in my purse that may have been used to attack someone”?

  What I did say was, “Can I show you something?”

  He said, “Sure.”

  I beckoned him to follow me out to the sidewalk where I asked him to hold my drink while I pulled the knife out of my purse, holding the handle with a tissue.

  “You know the Italian guy with knife wounds who you treated in the ER? Could this be the knife?”

  He studied it carefully, then he looked at me. “Where did you get this?”

  “You don’t want to know,” I said.

  “It could be the knife. But I see knife wounds and other wounds every day. I can’t remember your friend’s case very well. Sorry.”