by Joanne Pence
The two looked nothing alike beyond their blond hair, blue eyes, and too much red lipstick. Angie showed them to her living room as they oohed and aahed over her lovely apartment and view that stretched from the Golden Gate Bridge across the north bay and Alcatraz all the way to the Bay Bridge. Angie cringed as they headed towards her Cezanne but they either didn’t know the artist or didn’t care about the lithograph because they continued past it without a word.
They sat on the sofa and Angie took the yellow Hepplewhite chair.
“I’m Lara,” the one on the right said.
“And I’m Kara,” said the one on the left.
“We do everything you don’t want to bother with. You simply tell us what you want and we’ll do it, just like magic!” Lara said, brimming with enthusiasm.
“And we’re always Johnny-on-the-spot,” Kara said, her little fist punching the air.
“That’s why we came here so soon after you called,” Lara added.
“It shows our dedication,” said Kara.
“And consideration of you…” Lara waited for Kara to join in, as both added, “and your time.”
Angie blinked a moment. “You see, I’m not sure what I want or need.” She looked from one to the other. “That’s why I’m hiring a wedding assistant. I mean, I know the basics, but it’s the details I worry about.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Details. You just tell us what you want done, and we’ll do it,” Lara repeated, clapping her hands.
Next, Kara showed how over-the-top bubbly she could be. “Don’t worry, you’ll think of everything eventually. Our brides always do, don’t they, Lara?” Both nodded and smiled so broadly Angie could see their molars.
“But do you offer help or suggestions?” Angie asked.
“We can, but for some reason most of our brides don’t seem to like that, no they don’t.” Lara glanced at Kara and both women shook their heads vehemently.
“They want us to do what they want us to do, nothing more, nothing less,” Kara chimed, forcefully jabbing her forefinger on Angie’s coffee table.
Lara folded her hands together. “And that’s what we do. That’s why we’re…”
Suddenly the two hooked arms, leaned their heads towards each other and sang out, “Briiides little hellllpers!”
Angie gawked. She was already getting a crick in her neck going back and forth from one person to the other. No way in hell could she tolerate these two over the next four months. She stood and tried to sound calm as she said, “I’ll call you.”
Angie shut the door on them and returned to her sofa where she sat and miserably stared at the far wall. The one that was empty. No Cezanne, no nothing. Just like her wedding.
What was wrong with her? She couldn’t find anyone she liked to help with her wedding; she couldn’t find a house for Paavo and her to live in that wasn’t potentially haunted; and she hadn’t even found a wedding dress. Was her taste so completely out of step with the rest of the world? Other people found wedding planners; other people found houses to buy.
Other people found jobs they managed to keep!
Why couldn’t she?
o0o
Angie wasn’t the only one agonizing about life choices and the future. Paavo’s involvement with the dysfunctional Wyndom family caused him to think about and fret over the upcoming changes to his life.
He, who had never really had a family, would soon become part of an enormous one. He had to admit he found it somewhat horrifying.
But most horrifying of all was the wedding Angie planned. It sounded like a cross between “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” and the battle scenes from “Saving Private Ryan.” It was enough to give a 6’2”, 180 lb., strong and tough death cop palpitations.
He left Homicide early and went straight to Angie’s apartment.
o0o
Angie opened the door and greeted Paavo with a kiss. He set her from him and stepped backwards, his expression troubled. “Angie, I’ve been thinking.”
She stiffened as a thousand possibilities of what could be wrong flooded her mind, starting with “Stan was right! He’s going to call off the wedding!”
He continued. “Isn’t it going to be a bit weird to have a wedding with so many people from your family, and my side of the church has no one but Aulis? Why don’t we let your side have the whole church and let Aulis sit with your parents?”
She blinked a couple of times. Is that all? “I don’t think your side will be that empty, but that’ll be fine. I wouldn’t want Aulis to feel alone.”
“Good,” he said with a nod.
She knew there was something more, and expected it might be a subject they had put off talking about. But the time had come for her to broach it. “Since we’re on the subject of the wedding,” she said, “have you chosen your best man yet?”
He shook his head, walked over to the sofa, and eased himself onto it. She understood the problem—the person he wanted, Matt Kowalski, was dead. He also told her Matt’s wife had started dating. Life went on, but sometimes it was much more difficult than others.
She sat beside him. He once said he thought loneliness preferable to loss. He had suffered too many losses in his life, and she watched how, after Matt’s death, he never allowed himself to grow close to anyone else in the homicide bureau. With his job keeping him busy, he had little time to socialize and make friends outside the force. It was, frankly, amazing he was engaged.
She took his hand. “Yosh?” she suggested.
“We’re partners and I like him a lot, but we rarely see each other outside work. He might feel odd being a best man because of that. If I ask, he might want to say ‘no’ but feel stuck. The whole thing could be uncomfortable.”
“What about Calderon? You always seemed to like him.”
“Calderon hates weddings, and hates marriages.”
“But he enjoys talking to my sister, Frannie, I’ve heard,” Angie said with a wry smile followed by a shudder.
“I couldn’t ask Calderon instead of Yosh,” Paavo said. “That wouldn’t work at all. Yosh would be hurt. We should ask both to the wedding, although I doubt either will come.”
Angie thought he was wrong about that, but said nothing.
“What about Cat’s husband?” Paavo asked. “We got along well when we went to Rome together.”
“Charles? But he’s so boring! We’d have to hold a mirror under his nose to make sure he’s alive. Besides, he has to walk Cat down the aisle since she’ll be a bridesmaid.”
“Can’t Stan walk her?”
“Why not make Stan your best man?” Angie suggested. “That way he’ll have a role in the wedding.”
Paavo didn’t even respond to that. Okay, even she had to admit that was a stretch.
Paavo looked despondent. “I never realized I’m such a loner,” he said. “My work has taken over my life, cutting out friendships. I’ve got to do something about that.”
Angie wracked her brain; seeing her groom so unhappy hurt. “Who do you talk to at work?”
“Yosh, mainly. And Rebecca. Say, shouldn’t Rebecca be in the wedding somewhere?”
Angie thought about his tall, buxom, beautiful co-worker; the one who wanted to marry Paavo herself; the one—she had been told—everyone in homicide thought was perfect for him. Angie would feel as if she were standing in a hole if Rebecca were in the wedding party. She could just imagine Paavo looking right over her head into Rebecca’s big blue adoring eyes. The idea was horrible!
“That’s not going to work. I’ve got way too many sisters to have room for anybody else. It’s only through juggling that Connie fits in as my maid (or matron, since she was once married) of honor. And she’s my best friend!”
“Well…maybe I can find myself some friends before you finalize the wedding line-up,” Paavo said more dejected than ever. She had no idea this wedding would put such a strain on him.
Chapter 17
STAN, YOU WERE right,” Connie said into the phone the next mor
ning. She was bursting with excitement over her clever idea, and couldn’t wait to share it.
“What am I right about?”
Connie could hear that he sounded sleepy. “Did I wake you up? It’s eleven o’clock. Are you sick?”
“No. I just didn’t feel like going to work today. I’ve got a lot on my mind with Angie’s wedding and all. I worried so much about who my new neighbor will be once she moves, I must have dozed off again.”
“I’m calling about Angie, so wake up and listen to me!” Connie said. “It’s important!”
“Let’s go back to me being right,” Stan muttered.
“Angie is going too far with this house business. She’s hardly rational. She told me her sister Maria wanted to have an exorcism done on the house, and Angie doesn’t even realize how crazy that sounds! She’s losing it, Stan. Too much pressure between house-hunting and the wedding. We need to help her.”
“An exorcism? Are you joking?”
“No, but at least it’s not going to happen. I’ve got an idea, however, about something that can happen. I know a woman who performs séances. I called her and she’s available tonight.”
“A séances sounds even goofier than an exorcism,” Stan said. “I don’t want anything to do with a séance! You’re more insane than Angie!”
“Me? You’re the one who’s the spoils sport!” Connie spat out the words. “My idea is perfect! I’ll get Angie to hold a séance with Madame Hermione, and invite her sister Maria to attend. Now, here’s where it gets clever. Angie will think Madame Hermione is there to convince Maria that the house isn’t haunted, but in fact, she’ll do the opposite. She’ll act like it is! That way, Angie will be forced to drop the whole idea of buying a house that scares her.”
“And she just might stay in her apartment,” Stan said hopefully.
“For a little while, at least. Anyway, I think we’re on the same page,” Connie said. “Now, you and I need to meet with Hermione this afternoon. She’ll brief you on scary ‘ghostlike’ things to do. I think if you hide outside in the back yard and work with Hermione to make noises and what have you, it’ll appear that she’s conjuring up spirits. Then she’ll announce that the house really is haunted, and Angie will drop any ideas about buying it!”
“Yeah, but what am I supposed to do to sound like a ghost?”
“You can take some heavy chains. Don’t ghosts rattle them? And bring a horn with a low, deep sound.”
“A horn? I don’t…oh, I played clarinet in middle school for a couple of months. What should I blow on it?”
Connie looked heavenward for strength. “Anything, Stan! Who cares? What about the ‘Dies Irae’ theme?”
“I don’t know how it goes.”
“Find anything that makes noise or flashes lights. It doesn’t matter what. It’s the thought that counts.”
Stan remained quiet. “Stan?” she called.
“I’m here. I was hoping I could go back to sleep so when I woke up, I’d find this was all a terrible dream.”
o0o
Early that afternoon, Paavo and Yosh pulled onto the driveway belonging to Urda Wyndom, aka Marilee Wisdom.
Once Paavo learned she might be living in Marin County, he tracked her to Lagunitas, a small community surrounded by park land and redwood forest preserves.
Urda Lee Wyndom had legally changed her name to Marilee Wisdom when she was only twenty-two years old. Paavo looked up the proceedings for the name change. She petitioned the court saying being stuck with “Urda” the rest of her life should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. The judge agreed.
Paavo had worked cases before where someone had their name legally changed, but records of the earlier name had always remained on the books. New records came into being, but the old ones hadn’t been deleted. Not in this case, however. He had no idea how she had pulled that off, but somehow she had.
Adding to the strangeness, Paavo found Urda—or Marilee as she was now known—had a completely made-up biography on her website and Facebook page claiming Marilee was British and lived in London, of all places. He supposed she claimed friendship with J.K. Rowling as well. Everything about her seemed to be imaginary.
Yet, even knowing this, he found it startling to see a person open the door who so greatly resembled the picture of the corpse he had on the murder board facing his desk. Even their hairstyles were the same—side part, casual, chin length.
“Inspectors Smith and Yoshiwara, San Francisco P.D.,” Paavo said as he and Yosh showed their badges. “Are you Marilee Wisdom?”
“Yes, I am.” She looked confused. “What’s this about?”
“Your sister, Gaia Wyndom. May we come in?”
She let them into the house, a small A-frame with large windows facing the forest. The interior consisted of a great room with rustic plaids, comfortable pillows, and leather and wood furnishings. It was a far cry from the sterile, stiff furniture in Gaia’s home. Upstairs was a bedroom loft. Marilee picked up two gray and white cats from the back of the sofa, tossed them out to what appeared to be a covered back porch and shut the door, then invited Paavo and Yosh to sit down.
“When did you last see your sister?” Paavo asked.
Marilee shrugged. “Some weeks ago. Why?”
“Did you communicate otherwise? Texts? E-mail?”
“Sometimes. Not recently. What’s this about?”
“Did she ever mention to you anyone who had threatened her, or anyone she was afraid of for any reason?”
“No. You two are scaring me. Is she all right?”
“Was there any special person in her life? Someone she may have been romantically involved with?”
Marilee’s whole demeanor suddenly changed. She snorted. “Gaia? I don’t think she’s had a boyfriend since high school. Oh, wait.” She smirked. “She didn’t have any in high school either.”
Marilee looked them straight in the eye as she announced, “I went to the prom, not her. Why are you asking such questions?”
Paavo glanced at Yosh, who then took over. “I’m sorry to say, we have bad news,” Yosh said, and then gently told her of Gaia’s death.
Marilee showed little emotion, and what she showed was a combination of surprise and disgust. She took a deep breath then asked, “So, it was suicide?”
“That has yet to be determined,” Yosh responded.
“I see.”
“Is there anything in Gaia’s past that would lead you to believe she might commit suicide?” Paavo asked.
“She wasn’t a happy person. Lonely, I’d say.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear about her death from anyone,” Paavo said. “And didn’t read about it in the newspaper.”
Marilee brusquely tucked a lock of hair behind an ear as if all these questions wearied her. “I don’t pay attention to the news. I hate hearing or seeing anything about all the death and destruction going on in the world. I’m much happier ignoring it. The only newspaper I look at is the local one, and I’m afraid people living around me don’t care about the terrible things that happen in San Francisco.”
“You recently faced the death of someone else close to you,” Paavo said.
Marilee stiffened. “Oh?”
“Taylor Bedford,” Paavo said.
Marilee paled. “I should have expected the police would turn up information about his personal life.” Her jaw clenched and her breathing became quick and shallow. “Have you learned who killed him yet?”
“We were hoping you could help us.”
She looked from Paavo to Yosh. “Do you think there’s a connection between his death and Gaia’s? That’s so hard to imagine! According to Taylor, he rarely saw her at work, and their jobs had nothing in common.”
“Right now, you’re the only connection between the two of them.”
Her eyes widened. “Me? You think this had something to do with me?”
Paavo’s expression was cold. “We were told he kept your relationship a secret. That he never e
ven spoke about you to anyone.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her tone was harsh. “He wanted to announce to the world the way he felt about me. He even pursued me at work!”
“Pursued you at work? What do you mean? You didn’t work with him, your sister did.”
She looked stunned a moment. “What I mean is…is that I didn’t tell him for a long time that I wasn’t Gaia.”
“Why not?”
She folded her hands, fingers intertwined. “When we met, he thought I was Gaia. It was easier, in some ways even more exciting, if I pretended to be my twin. The poor waif, coming out of her shell thanks to the love of a rich, powerful man in her company, yada yada. I felt I was in an old Harlequin romance come to life.” She chuckled. “I’m a romance writer, if you didn’t know. Paranormal romances—sexy vampires, sexy shape-shifters, sexy werewolves, occasionally sexy humans. They’re very popular these days, and sell remarkably well.”
“And you make enough to live on?”
“More than you can imagine,” she said with a cloying smile.
“I see.” Paavo said. “Did you ever tell him who you were?”
“Eventually,” she said.
He noticed her fingers turning white she clutched them so tightly. “When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“How long ago did your affair begin?” he asked.
“I’d say, um, six months ago. In the spring.”
“And all that time he thought you were Gaia?” Paavo couldn’t believe that degree of deception.
“What did it matter?”
“I think it would have mattered a great deal to him.”
Marilee sighed. “I’m not proud of what I did. It started out as a lark. I never dreamed I would fall in love with him.”
“Go on,” Paavo urged.
“I met Gaia one day after work. We walked into a nearby bar to talk about some financial stuff, but we no sooner entered than she froze. She didn’t want him to see her—or us—I’m not sure which. She pointed him out as a big shot in sales and from the way she talked and stared at him, I could tell she was smitten. It made me curious.”
