Vivien got up and walked with unsure steps into the kitchen. The earlier spark of an appetite had vanished. She inferred that she would have a long night. She made herself a chamomile tea, had a hot bath, and then, she sat at the piano with the vast collection of Beethoven’s music before her.
* * *
Timothy Leigh could not forgive himself for giving in to such a rich dinner. For a few minutes, he navigated absently from one channel to another, only to turn off the TV set in the end. Even though he was bored to death at the moment, he savored his privacy. It was a nice change after the noisy company of his brother anyway! Clark would not stop talking, and he generously advised in all matters. He has an answer for everything, Timothy smiled inwardly, wondering what in the world had brought Clark to California this time. Most certainly, not the desire to see me or visit the grave of our mother. It was something else, but so far, Timothy had not been able to identify the actual reason of his visit. Out of the blue that evening, his brother had decided to stay at a hotel for the rest of his vacation.
“Bloody hell, mate, you need some privacy. I don’t want to impose,” he had pretended.
Timothy had not insisted. He knew damn well that he could not influence Clark in any way. Nobody ever had! When his brother made a decision, it was a waste of time to try to make him change his mind. I would’ve talked in vain. He’s as stubborn as a mule, Timothy reflected. Sometimes, he couldn’t wait to see Clark leave. Very often, he missed him, but his presence annoyed him. Clark was disorganized, he didn’t show respect to anyone and anything, and he acted as if he were permanently chasing phantoms. Not to mention his odd attitude toward women, an issue that created a real abyss between the two of them.
Timothy grabbed his coat and scarf. He put on his cashmere hat and pulled it onto his ears. Dead set to burn some calories and ease his digestion, he stepped out of the house into the night’s frigid air. He reckoned that a stroll on the city’s deserted streets would also drive his sadness away. He felt lonely. He could have found a woman to warm up his bed and soothe his body’s needs anytime, but that was not what he was longing for. He wanted love; he wanted something he had never had. He desired to be the dearest person in the whole universe for someone. And if tomorrow he would lose his house, his business, even his mind, he wanted to have the certainty that that particular person would stand by him, with unaltered love and faith. He wanted his half; he had been searching for her like a mad man for years. So far, he had been unsuccessful, but he would not give up. He refused to lose hope. SHE exists – I just know it in my heart. She had to be out there, somewhere in the labyrinth of life, waiting for him to find her and bring her home. He just needed to look more carefully…
Whom are you trying to delude? You know damn well where you’re heading right now, he told himself.
In less than half an hour, he stood before her house. He noticed the same car he had seen her drive earlier that day. She always parked it in front of the garage.
Only one car! So she’s single, he quickly concluded.
The windows were covered, but he could distinguish lights on inside the house. For sure, the woman was playing the piano again. In the cold silence of that late night, harmonious classical accords reverberated faintly.
Curiosity pushed him to inch closer. He took a few steps toward the first window that faced the street. The sound of the music increased immediately with a few decibels. He sat comfortably on one of the huge decorating stones that rested peacefully in the beautifully manicured garden. In the pale light of the street lamps, the red camellias boldly exposed their blood-red petals among a generous variety of evergreens. For a while, he just stayed there, fascinated by the harmony of musical notes and by the vague aroma of cinnamon and vanilla that escaped in stronger and stronger waves from behind those walls.
Suddenly the music ceased, abruptly, right in the middle of a divine waltz that seemed to caress his soul. A few seconds later, he heard muffled curses and trays being slammed and dropped. A reek of burned cinnamon rolls accompanied the following silence.
“That’s my girl!” Timothy laughed amused, guessing what had happened. No dialogue reached his ears. That consolidated his earlier belief that the woman was living alone.
An extravagant thought nestled daringly inside his mind – just as a pet anxious to be coddled that slinks up onto your lap and would not leave until it is completely contented. Baron St. Fontanel’s quote from the famous movie Sabrina ventured to drive that beautiful thought away: A woman happily in love, she burns the soufflé. A woman unhappily in love, she forgets to turn on the oven. Nevertheless, the bold idea would not leave Timothy alone. It pushed him insistently until he got up and started back home at a very fast pace. What do I have to lose? He asked himself. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. For his peace of mind, he needed to give it a try.
Timothy crossed the street and began to run on the empty sidewalks. From an open window of a white house, the high-pitched voice of a boy startled him.
“She’s a piano teacher, you know?”
“Thanks for the info,” Timothy answered smiling.
“Don’t bother! You know something else?”
“What?”
“I took a picture of you. I used my night vision camera. If something happens to her, I’ll send it to the police,” the kid threatened in a very serious tone.
Timothy burst into laughter.
“Fair enough for me,” he said, waiving to the boy at the window without interrupting his run.
If she has fans of this age, chances are she’s young and beautiful, he deduced.
Half an hour later, he returned to the area. This time, he drove his car. Only a few yards from her house, he spotted a place that was engulfed in darkness. He elected to park there. He didn’t want her to see him tonight. Not yet. For a moment, he looked absently at the envelope in his hand and chuckled amused at what he was about to do. Then, he exited his Mercedes and walked to the main entrance of her house. He carefully pushed the envelope between the door and the wooden frame. He chose to place it above his height – so it would fall when the door would be open, and she would not miss it.
Without any trace of regret, Timothy Leigh went back home, took a quick shower, and fell asleep immediately. He slept like a baby for the rest of the night. Next morning, he woke up full of hope that he would meet with her that very day. He wanted to know how she really looked like. He just wanted to stay close to her. It was a vital, internal necessity that needed to be fulfilled at all costs.
CHAPTER 6
Vivien peeled off her little night gown and thoroughly examined herself with a critical look in the huge bathroom mirror. I must double the number of squats and push-ups. The fight with Sir Time and Lady Gravity is extremely hard, she told herself. She came back inside her bedroom and lifted the silk yellow scarf from beside the bed. She had found it in the Tiffany box she had received from Tee fifteen years ago. Of course, it had not been destined for her from the beginning, but for that spoiled Nadine. Back in front of the bathroom mirror, she wrapped up her naked body in that fine silk. Is this way you wanted her to come to you that wedding night, Tee? Is it pure coincidence, or your action hides something rather sinister? Actually, who are you, Tee? the young woman demanded, confused. In the light of the events of the day before, she found his gift disturbing.
Always very organized, Vivien had already planned her day. On the back of the newly discovered painting that had elucidated the nature of the relationship between Mademoiselle Lili and Nadine, she had found an address in Menlo Park. She would stop by to check it out. It was surely an art studio, and the painting had been exposed or sold there. She guessed who the painter was. His signature on the canvas was indecipherable, and the label on the back of the frame was partially missing, leaving only an address. Time had worked miracles. The colors were as strident now as they had been in his adolescence. Still, the maturity had brought subtlety and exquisite refinement to his executions. That raw sensibility that brea
thed in every stroke of his brush raised the mysterious artist to the rank of a phenomenon in the world of modern painters. At least, that was Vivien’s educated opinion in the matter. She had studied music and arts in California and abroad, in Western Europe, for many years.
Vivien anticipated that she would finish with tracing the painting’s origin before lunch. That would give her time to pay an unexpected visit to Timothy Leigh. She had no doubt that, inside those walls artistically designed by the talented architect, there were old secrets hidden, and only she could decipher them. If he’s home, that’s fine. If he’s not home, that’s better, she thought. She was confident that she would find a solution to enter his house. With the risk that she would have to tell him who she truly was.
The start proved to be unsuccessful. She had just finished with the morning shower and the routine make-up. As she prepared to throw away the burnt cinnamon rolls from the evening before, the phone cut the peaceful flow of her early chores.
“Good morning, Miss Hopkins,” detective Art Leonard greeted. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“Good morning,” Vivien saluted, spiritless. “I have a habit of waking up early.”
“I just wanted to remind you that you can’t enter your store. You also can’t enter the room behind your store, the one where you found the corpse… I mean, where you found Miss Morgan,” the detective stuttered. “The entire place is still under investigation.”
“Of course, I imagined that. Anyway, thank you for calling and reminding me. I will wait for your instructions. I don’t want to create any problems. I’m more anxious than you are to see this horrible murder solved. Arlene was a wonderful girl. She didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that kind of death.”
“I agree with you. Unfortunately, monsters do live among us. Aaaa…tell me, Miss Hopkins, did you think of something… anything else regarding Miss Morgan? I repeat, the most apparently insignificant detail could be a break in the case.”
“No, I’m sorry, but I have nothing more to add to my initial statement,” she answered.
“Miss Hopkins, I looked through your store papers, and I noticed that Arlene was not your first choice as an employee.”
“Yes, the young lady before Arlene had worked for my grandmother too. Evidently, she had more experience, so I chose her. Subsequently, I caught her stealing money from the cash register. I fired her on the spot, and I hired Arlene who happened to be next on the list of candidates.”
“But there were also three men who applied for the job. Why haven’t you considered one of them? Do you have something against men, Miss Hopkins?”
“Detective Leonard, if your intention is to find out what my sexual orientation is, I don’t understand your behavior. It is ridiculously bashful. For that job, I preferred a woman – a young and beautiful woman for that matter – because the store sells jewelry and fine objects d’art. Just take a look at your hands. Do you think that you could present a diamond ring, a pair of filigree earrings, or a miniature glass puppy with grace and delicacy?”
“Are you a lesbian, Miss Hopkins?”
“No, detective Leonard, I am not.” But I could probably turn into one if all men were impossible and annoying as you are, she thought.
“Thank you, Miss Hopkins. Could you possibly come this morning to the police quarters here in Menlo Park? Let us say… around 10AM. We need another statement from you.”
“What about? The fact that I’m not a lesbian?” Vivien asked sarcastically.
“No, Miss Hopkins. About the yesterday morning events – the way you remember them today. Yesterday you were in shock. You could’ve easily omitted important details. Unintentionally, of course!”
“I’ll be there in less than an hour,” Vivien assured him. She slammed down the receiver without another word.
Holy crickets! This is a wonderful way to start my day – at the police station! This miserable cop thinks I’m a suspect. You’re on the wrong path, jackass!
She elected to wear a fine wool suit in salt and pepper. It was an interesting design with large cuffs and ample, elaborate collar made of thicker black fabric. The pencil skirt ended four inches above her knee. It exposed only enough to arouse interest, nothing in excess. The coat, with its colors contrast, accentuated her small, delicate waist. She cheered it up with a very feminine ivory silk blouse that sported a deep, indented décolletage.
Just before leaving the house, she changed her black high-heel shoes with newly purchased over-the-knee boots. After that, she grabbed her purse and keys and opened the door furiously. A blue envelope fell at her feet startling her. She picked it up and examined it, sending a few suspicious glances around her. There was no one in sight. She opened it. As she read its content, her visage brightened little by little.
Dear Miss,
As I passed your house so many times lately, your interpretative talent and your passionate performances fascinated me. I would like you to be my piano teacher, and I assure you that I am the least trouble-making student you’ve ever had. I will be in front of your door tomorrow, November 1st, at 4PM.
She had finally found a possible piano student! It was about time! Her savings had started to diminish day after day, and she did not intend to touch a penny from her grandmother’s inheritance yet. Not to mention that she had always dreamt of teaching piano lessons, since her childhood. Vivien was so excited about the news! It didn’t matter to her that the student had signed: your sincere admirer.
* * *
“Detective Leonard, you will not believe the sensational discovery I just made!”
Young police officer Nick Alberman burst into Art Leonard’s office in a euphoric state that had miraculously canceled his ability to knock at the door first. His new uniform wore fresh spots of coffee.
“Fifteen years ago,” the young man started, “a face plastic surgeon from Woodside has been found shot dead along with his entire family: his wife and his two teenage daughters. The women’s bodies were wrapped up in huge yellow scarves. No forced entrance, no sexual assault on any of the victims. The death of all four of them has remained a cold case. Many have speculated that the doctor has killed his family and then has committed suicide.”
Self-assuredly, officer Alberman slammed the file on the detective’s desk. Art Leonard did not make the slightest gesture.
“And that’s not all!” the police officer went on, propping his hands on his hips with an almost aggressive attitude. “Who do you think was living in Woodside at that time? I’ll tell you who: our sweet, innocent, superb Miss Vivien Hopkins! What say you, detective?”
Art Leonard smiled derisively. He took the file in his hands and skimmed through it for a few seconds. Shaking his head and sighing deeply, he leaned on his desk and addressed the young police officer in a very serious tone of voice.
“Nicky, do me a favor, please! Tell me that you don’t really think you cracked this case. Because that would be such a huge mistake. Do you actually believe that an eight-year-old little girl could’ve killed a family of four and made it look like murder-suicide? Because I have an extremely hard time believing that.”
Alberman’s enthusiasm started to fade.
“No, but… she could’ve fantasized about it. It could’ve made such a strong impression on her in her childhood that, after years, she comes back to the area and commits a similar murder… a copycat…” He ended his pleading not very convincingly.
Detective Leonard scratched his chin and fixed him intently.
“Nicky, what hobby do you have apart from work? How do you kill your spare time, buddy?”
“Playstation, sir,” Alberman giggled, instantly in good spirits.
“I suggest you start writing crime novels, Nicky boy. With your imagination, who knows? You could hit the jackpot! No kiddin’! In the mean time, dust and clean the office next to this one. Don’t forget to take out the garbage. Miss Hopkins will be here in less than half an hour.”
“Oh, I’ll get some coffee started t
hen.”
“Miss Hopkins doesn’t drink coffee. She made that clear yesterday in the store.”
“Maybe she did it only to evade the suspects list. We found two coffee cups at the crime scene. One with no fingerprints and no traces of lips or saliva. I just found out that Miss Morgan has drunk from the other one - possibly her last coffee, poor girl.”
“Ok, Alberman, do whatever you want,” the detective said, exasperated. “Just watch out, too much coffee could be to blame in your case.”
Alberman didn’t get the detective’s innuendo. He shrugged his shoulders and left the office a bit confused.
CHAPTER 7
Menlo Avenue was crowded with cars and people, and Vivien encountered difficulties localizing “Vernisaj” painting studio. When she finally found its address, she had to drive around a couple of times until she discovered a convenient parking place.
She had finished the meeting unexpectedly quickly at the police station. Detective Art Leonard had welcomed her very politely, and then he had abandoned her in the company of officer Alberman. The young cop had invited her at least three times to taste his heavenly coffee. His insistence had grated on her nerves.
“You should study a foreign language or try to memorize math formulas,” Vivien had advised him as she had taken her leave.
“You don’t say! Seriously?” Alberman had asked her quizzically.
“Well, yeah! I hear that it does wonders for one’s memory,” Vivien had replied sharply, handing him back the untouched coffee cup.
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