by Joanne Pence
“Go,” Paavo said.
“Stan, what were you doing?” Angie asked.
He pointed at Connie. “It was all her idea!”
“It was not!” Connie yelled. “He was the one who worried about you, Angie. I only tried to help!”
Angie gave Stan a look that should have turned him to stone. He muttered incoherent goodbyes and keeping as far from Paavo as possible, darted out the front door after Cat.
“Who is this strange, unwanted fellow?” Madame Hermione demanded, pointing at Paavo. “And why has he caused such disruption to my séance?” Her eyes narrowed as she faced Connie. “I still expect to be paid, you know. It’s not my fault I couldn’t finish!”
“Paid for what? A sham?” Paavo asked stepping closer to her. He regarded Hermione without expression, but his question dropped the temperature in the room about ten degrees.
Connie jumped between the two, facing Paavo. “It’s a party game, that’s all,” she babbled, then spun around to face Hermione. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. He’s Angie’s fiancé, Inspector Paavo Smith, SFPD.”
Hermione lifted her nose and regally sauntered towards the door. “Please drive me home.”
“Gladly,” Connie said as she grabbed her jacket and handbag.
Before leaving, Hermione looked back at Angie. “To you, this may have been a ‘party game,’ but there is a presence here. Most definitely.”
“You don’t have to pretend, Hermione,” Connie said sheepishly. “The joke is over. There were no spirits—just you and Stan having fun. I’m sorry, Angie. I thought it was a good idea at the time. One that would make you think seriously about this house before buying it. You don’t want to buy a place you have doubts about. But nothing turned out the way I planned. Again, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not pretending,” Hermione said. “Something is here…some presence. Let’s get out of here, Connie.” With that, head high, she marched out the door, Connie skulking at her heels.
“Angie, you idiot!” Maria shrieked, her holy water bottle empty now. “Don’t you know that when you open the door to the occult and dark spirits, even if you’re playing around, they just might take you up on it! Heaven help you!” With that, she stormed out as well.
As Maria pulled the door shut, Angie wished she could leave, too. Instead, she took a deep breath and faced Paavo. “You can clear out a party faster than anyone I’ve ever known.” She gathered up the wine glasses and brought them into the kitchen. Paavo helped with those she couldn’t carry, but after she put them down and turned to go back to the living room to get the cashews and pretzels she had put out, he caught her arm.
“Let’s talk.”
“Talk? About what?” she asked innocently. “And also, why are you here?”
“Bianca called and wondered what was going on. She told me about Cat and Maria arguing. She said she tried to find out more from Frannie, but she’s not involved at all. It’s clear Bianca can’t handle her sisters knowing something that she doesn’t. And she was worried. I had a good idea where I’d find all of you.”
“Bianca needs to mind her own business! Cat never should have called her!”
“Bianca also said something about worrying about a person who chooses a friend over her own sister as her matron of honor.” Paavo gave her a sidelong glance. “Is there another problem with the wedding plans?”
“There are always problems and hurt feelings with wedding plans! That’s one of the things that makes them so emotional. Now, I’ve got to clean up everything before we leave.” She again started towards the living room, when Paavo hauled her back.
“We aren’t doing anything until we get this settled,” he said. “I take it you honestly think this house is haunted.”
“Of course not! I don’t believe in ghosts! For pity’s sake, Paavo! Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Crazy enough to put salt packets in your parents’ house to ward off the evil eye,” he said with a grin, remembering the story Serefina once told him.
“I was just a kid!” she insisted. “Besides, all Italians believe in the evil eye. It means nothing!”
“Calm down, and tell me why you were holding a séance.”
“It was because of Maria.” She folded her arms. Paavo leaned back against the kitchen counter, one foot crossed over the other, as she explained how Maria wanted an exorcism but couldn’t get one so Connie hired a friend who knows a bit about the occult to put on a show and then declare the spirits had left the premises. “We were doing it to convince Maria, who does believe in ghosts, that Madame Hermione managed to free them from this house. It was supposed to be nothing more than that. Although it seems Connie had other ideas and roped Stan in as well. Anyway, I simply tried to be a good sister, tried to get Maria to believe this house would be safe for her and my mother to come visit.”
He wrinkled his mouth. “A good sister! I see.”
The little white dog got up and padded to Angie. She could have kissed it, since it gave her an excuse to stop the interrogation. She handed it a plain pretzel, and he scarfed it down hungrily. “Poor baby!” she said as she gave it a couple more. “I wonder what we should do with him.”
“Put water outside,” Paavo said, squatting down to pat the dog’s head. “He probably lives nearby. He’s too well cared for to be a stray. I suspect he’ll find his way back home. If he’s still here tomorrow, Cat should contact the realtor in charge. They can decide if they want to try to find his owners or send him to the pound as a lost dog.”
“He’s much too cute for the pound! I hate to leave him.”
He stood back up. “I’m sure he belongs to someone, Angie. He’ll most likely go back home without the distraction of a bunch of people holding a séance. He probably came here to have a good laugh.” At that, Angie watched his mouth slowly spread into a grin. “When I walked in,” he said, “you can’t imagine!” Paavo started with only a small chuckle, but soon he laughed hard.
Hands on hips, Angie shuddered at the memory of Maria smacking everyone with holy water, Cat and Connie furiously lighting candles that kept dying, the oversized seer bellowing for everyone to sit back down, and Stan looking like a newscaster reporting on a hurricane. When she opened the front door for Paavo, her sisters and Connie had gawked and cowered as if they expected someone to walk in with his head tucked underneath his arm.
Lifting her chin high, she announced, “I don’t see what’s in the least bit funny!”
Chapter 19
ON THE PHONE, Gillian from Wedding Vows had been the most unperturbed, placid person Angie had ever spoken with. Excited about meeting her face-to-face, she invited her to her apartment to talk, and now, a cherubic, fifty-something woman sat comfortably on her living room sofa.
“I want a traditional wedding—white dress, veil, five bridesmaids and bridegrooms, one flower girl—but I also want something unique and memorable,” Angie said.
“That’s a lovely idea.” Gillian put on her reading glasses. “I brought my spreadsheet so you can see what we need to do and by when. Now, when is the wedding scheduled?”
“In four months, Saturday the 25th, at Sts. Peter and Paul’s Church in North Beach.”
“Four months? You said four months?” She looked over the top of her glasses. “Goodness gracious! And you’re only now contacting me? Well, don’t worry about it, we’ll manage. That’s why my spreadsheet is so valuable. Have you done anything at all, as yet?”
“Yes, quite a few things,” Angie said. It seemed to her that four months was plenty of time.
“Let’s go through this.” Gillian slid her finger down her spread sheet as she read. “You’ll need to decide on flowers for the reception and the church, corsages, boutonnieres, and whatever you want to give to the parents of the bride and groom. Next, the photographer. Do you want video or stills? Invitations—have you sent out invitations yet? I hope you’ve at least ordered decent looking ones already. The reception location—you must have that by now as well or
it’ll be a complete disaster! But if you haven’t chosen a good place it’ll be a disaster anyway. How will you get from the church to the reception, by the way? And how many people will you be responsible for moving? How will your guests get there? Have you chosen your rings yet? Tuxedos for the men? Bridesmaids dresses? Your dress? What about shoes? Your menu? The cake? Favors? Wine or hard liquor, or both? Champagne? And we can’t forget music—music for the church, pre- and post-ceremony, a band for the reception. Do you want a cocktail hour? What about music for that? And we need to think about linens for the reception, and then there’s—”
“Stop! You’re making me so nervous, I can’t stand it! I’ve done a lot of that, I think. Well, at least the menu and the cake. And I’ve booked the reception hall and church. But I haven’t sent out invitations yet. And I haven’t chosen my dress yet because…well, because. And I’m still trying to decide on the bridesmaids’ dresses since they shouldn’t clash with the style of my dress. And I haven’t decided yet on the colors for them.”
“Goodness gracious! That’s as much as you’ve done? And the wedding in four months? No, no, noooo.” Gillian brayed like a dying cow as she shook her head, all her previous placidity gone. “Such a disaster! All I can say is to do this right, we really should have twelve months. Minimum. These things take time, and much careful thought.” She took in a deep breath, and then announced, “You really must delay the wedding.”
Angie was struck mute. When she found her voice again, she could scarcely contain her outrage. “Twelve months? I don’t want to wait another year to get married! I’ve waited quite long enough already!” She felt her arms start to itch. Then the itchiness spread to her neck. Was she going to break out in hives on top of everything else?
“Well, it’s up to you, of course,” Gillian said. “If that’s what you insist on, somehow, we’ll manage. I’ll collect a bunch of things from weddings I’ve put together and you can choose what you want. That’ll help speed us up.”
Had Angie heard her right? “You’ll choose ‘things’ from other people’s weddings?”
“That would be best,” Gillian said firmly. “We can’t have a disaster, now, can we? In fact, I’m thinking already of one especially nice wedding I planned. We worked on it for sixteen months! I can simply import what I did onto your spreadsheet, and that’ll take care of most of the decision-making so we can concentrate on those items we have no choice but to change.”
Angie stood, walked to her apartment door, opened it, and said, “Goodness gracious! I think it’s time for you to leave.”
o0o
Paavo tried his best not to think of the bizarre scene on Clover Street the night before, and instead to concentrate instead on why Wyndom and Bedford had been murdered. Was it, as Marilee suggested, a matter of mistaken identity that caused Gaia’s death?
Listening to Angie talk about housing prices reminded him of something the twins’ elderly aunt had said to him—that they came into a lot of money when they sold their parents’ home. Gaia’s bank account and investments were substantial, but not for someone who sold a home in ritzy Kentfield. He wondered how much money she received and what had happened to it.
He looked for her financial papers and found she kept income tax forms and supporting documents going back to her early twenties. He had never seen anyone, not even accountants, with such neat and complete records. The sale of her parents’ Kentfield home took place ten years earlier. After paying all costs, taxes, and dividing the money with her sister, she had grossed over a half a million dollars. Three months later, she wrote out a check to Thomas Greenburg for $300,000. He could find no evidence that she received anything in return for that money. So why had she given it to him?
He went back to the paperwork he’d collected on Greenburg, and found, as he remembered, a statement that an anonymous “angel” had given Greenburg $300,000 to start his business.
Now he knew the angel’s name. But why had she done it?
Paavo headed to South San Francisco and Zygog Software.
A half hour later, he entered Thomas Greenburg’s office.
Greenburg hunched over his computer, every bit as sloppily dressed and unwashed as the first time Paavo saw him.
Greenburg glanced up, but as soon as he saw the fierce scowl on Paavo’s face his demeanor changed. He took his fingers off the keyboard and leaned back in his chair. “You’re the cop who came here before.”
“That’s right.”
“I told you, I didn’t know the dead people. Why are you back?”
“At least I have your attention this time,” Paavo said. “So you won’t have any excuses.”
“Excuses?” Greenburg’s eyes darted from side to side, and he adjusted his glasses higher on his nose. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you say you didn’t recognize Gaia Wyndom’s photo?”
“Gaia Wyndom? I don’t know. Maybe because I didn’t.”
“It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t recognize the person who was so important to you ten years ago.”
Greenburg rubbed his chin. A few long whiskers showed it had been a while since he shaved. “People change in ten years. Anyway, I didn’t deny she gave me start-up money.”
“No, but you didn’t offer it, either.”
“Why should I? It doesn’t mean anything. It has nothing to do with her death.”
Paavo leaned on Greenburg’s desk. “How do you know that?”
Greenburg scooted his chair back from the desk, but it bumped into the wall and he could go no further. “Why should it? That was a lifetime ago!”
“Why did she give you the money?”
“She was generous. And knew genius when she saw it.”
“Sure she was. Now answer the question.”
“How should I know?”
“Gaia Wyndom wasn’t the type of person who gave away that kind of money for no reason.”
Greenburg stood. “I don’t like what you’re saying to me! I want to talk to my lawyer.”
Paavo stepped directly in front of him. “In other words, you did something illegal. Something to do with hacking, I suppose.”
Greenburg backed up until he reached the wall, then folded his arms and jutted out his bottom lip. “I’m not saying.”
Paavo looked over the man and saw someone much more immature than his years warranted. He decided to back off. He walked over to a small table, pulled out a chair and sat, hands folded, and waited a moment before saying, “Look, Thomas. I really don’t care about what you did ten years ago as a hacker as long as it didn’t involve murder, treason, or something equally weighty.” He paused and let his words sink in. “If you pulled some goofy stunt, I’m not going to waste my time doing anything about it. I simply want to get this murder solved. And I think you can help me.”
Greenburg scrunched his lips. “How do I know I can I trust you?”
“Did you commit a major crime, such as murder?”
“No, not at all! Of course not! I’d never do that!”
“What then?”
He gave no response.
“Just between us,” Paavo urged. “You have my word.”
Greenburg put a finger in his ear and wriggled it around as he pondered what to do. After a while of this, he dropped his hand. “Promise?”
“Yes.”
Greenburg bit his bottom lip a moment before speaking. “Just between us, Gaia told me she once had a twin sister, Urda Lee Wyndom. Urda died, and Gaia was constantly getting Urda’s social security and other data mixed up with her own. She asked me to go into Federal and California records and remove all trace of Urda. I didn’t think it was anything particularly wrong. After all, poor Urda was dead.”
Paavo rarely heard a bigger bunch of B.S.. “You’re saying she offered you $300,000 to do something you thought wasn’t illegal or in any way wrong? You expect me to believe that?”
“Why shouldn’t you? It’s true. She was a nice woman. Honest. Just like me. If she had money to
burn, so be it.”
“How did Gaia find you to offer you this windfall?”
“I’m not naïve. I checked around. She read about me online, and tracked me down to offer me money. Actually, I thought that was pretty nice of her.”
“What else did she say about Urda?”
“Nothing! I swear. Only that Urda had died.”
“Why did you give her a job at Zygog?” Paavo asked.
“She said life bored her and she wanted to work.”
“And?” Paavo asked.
Greenburg shrugged. “After a while of listening to her, I realized she wasn’t as rich as I originally thought, and a whole lot crazier. I even considered that Urda might not be dead. Bottom line, I wanted to keep an eye on her. Anyway, it was just a job.”
Paavo couldn’t take any more of Greenburg. He got up and left the office.
Chapter 20
AFTER GETTING RID of her latest disastrous wedding planner, Angie pondered the prior evening’s fiasco. She had had it with goofy ideas about the spirit world. Séances, Stan playing a demented Wizard of Oz hiding in the backyard, the whole nine yards. With friends like those…
Her phone rang. It was Connie, who said as she drove Hermione home, the seer insisted she felt a real presence in the house, even though she had never felt a presence anywhere before. Madame Hermione had Connie so scared, Connie believed her and now sided with Maria. Angie needed to forget about buying that house.
Angie hung up the phone without saying some very bad words.
When it rang again, she thought Connie might have come to her senses, but instead it was Cat. Cat informed her if she wanted that house she would have to find a new realtor because Maria threatened to kill or at least maim her if she didn’t get Angie to walk away from the deal.
Angie hung up on her as well, wondering if you could divorce your family.
What was with these people sticking their noses into her life? She, who was not in the least bit nosey and never got involved in other people’s lives, didn’t deserve such treatment!
