by Kyra Davis
“I’m not loving this, Sophie.”
“I know, but if talking to Anne’s husband helps us figure out why your brother did what he did, wouldn’t it be worth it?”
Another long pause.
“Tiff? Are you still there?”
“I can’t believe I’m going to agree to this.”
“Thank you, Tiff. I promise that the friend I get to drive us will be quiet and sensitive to the emotional nature of the situation.”
Ten minutes later I was on the phone with Dena. Dena was not one of my more “quiet and sensitive” friends, which is why I called Mary Ann first, but she had to work and Marcus had a wedding to attend, so that left Dena and Leah, and Dena was quiet compared to Leah.
“Let me get this straight,” Dena said as I rolled on my side so that I could press the ear that wasn’t listening to her against the pillow. “You want me to drive you and this chick to Danville and sit around and do nothing while the two of you snoop through her dead brother’s place, then drop you off in Lafayette and then take her back to her house in the city?” “Yep.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but that’s not exactly my idea of a relaxing day away from the store.”
“Dena, I know I’m asking a lot, but I really need your help with this.”
I heard Dena groan into the receiver.
“Dena, try to understand, I started this thing because I wanted to help Melanie. I felt I owed her, but now…now things have changed.”
There was a moment’s pause. “What’s changed?”
“Dena, didn’t you read yesterday’s paper?”
“I almost never read the paper on Saturdays. You know that.”
“Melanie was killed.” I felt my throat constrict on the last word. “The police don’t know who did it, but I think it’s connected to what happened to Eugene.”
There was almost a full minute of silence before she audibly exhaled. “Shit,” she muttered. “Sophie, I’m so—”
“Please don’t,” I said quickly, forcing myself to suppress the emotions that wanted to come to the surface. “I can’t deal with it yet. Not really. But, Dena, I have to get answers. I just can’t let someone get away with this.”
“Sophie, I’m sure the police are doing everything they can.”
“The police have to follow certain rules. I don’t.”
“The hell you don’t! Just because you don’t have a badge doesn’t mean that you’re free to break any laws that you find inconvenient!”
“Yeah, well I don’t have a watchdog group hovering over my shoulder.”
Dena groaned again but this groan was softer than the last. I smiled to myself. “You’re going to help me with this, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m going to help you. You owe me big-time, Sophie.”
“Dena, I already owe you my life. Any other debt I accrue is kind of like adding twenty years to a hundred-year prison sentence.”
“Ain’t it the truth. What time do you want me to come over?”
“I told Tiff we’d pick her up at one, so if you could be here at twelve-thirty we’ll have lots of cushion room.”
“Twelve-thirty it is. I expect you to make some coffee for the road.”
“For you, Dena, I’ll make espresso.”
As if on cue Anatoly opened the door, a small cup of espresso in each hand. Unfortunately he was dressed. I hung up the phone as I accepted my beverage. “So you are awake,” he noted. “I thought I heard you in here.”
“I was just talking to Dena, who is by far the most fabulous friend anyone could ever ask for.”
Anatoly sat on the side of the bed while I explained the arrangements I had just made. “I’d invite you to come along with us, but I think that might be asking a little more of Tiff than I can get away with.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to make it, anyway,” Anatoly said after finishing off his drink. “I’m going to meet with Darrell Jenkins this morning. I want a full account of where Anne went, what she did and who she talked to while he was watching her. I also want to know what Sam told him when he initially hired him. That way when we talk to Sam I’ll be able to tell if he’s changed his story at all.”
“Good plan,” I agreed. I peeked over his shoulder. “I’m surprised Mr. Katz hasn’t come to find me.”
“I fed him this morning.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You fed my baby? Thank you!”
Anatoly waved off my gratitude and glanced over at the clock. “I should get going soon.”
“Just like that?”
“Is there something else I’m supposed to do?”
“Well, sort of. Where’s my goodbye sex?”
“Your goodbye sex?”
“It’s like a goodbye kiss but better.” I leaned forward and let my finger make an idle trail from his collar bone to the waistline of his jeans. “A whole lot better.”
Anatoly grinned and threaded his fingers through my hair. “I think I’m about to learn to love long goodbyes.”
At exactly one o’clock Dena and I arrived at Tiff’s place. Dena followed me through the picket fence and surveyed the property. “You said she lived in a house.”
“This is a house—or at least it qualifies as a cottage.”
“This place does not qualify as a cottage. If it qualifies for anything it’s a demolition.”
“Don’t be such an elitist,” I said while pulling her down the path by the sleeve of her red hoodie. “Not everybody can afford to live in a Noe Valley two-bedroom apartment.”
“I’m not saying she needs to live in a place like mine, but why wouldn’t she just get herself a nice studio? Or a one-bedroom in the outer Sunset? She might have a little less space, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about being condemned by the health inspector. This place is, what—eighty, ninety years old? Has it been painted since then?”
“I think she likes having an enclosed front yard.”
“And that’s important because…?”
“Dena, just shut up and be good, okay?” I said as we walked up the steps of Tiff’s front porch. “This is going to be hard on Tiff and we need to be as supportive as possible.” I pressed the doorbell, but it seemed to be out of commission so I rapped my knuckles against the door.
A moment later it swung open and Tiff was standing before us, smiling nervously.
I heard Dena gasp. I didn’t need to ask what it was that she found so shocking. It was Tiff’s jeans. Tiff’s acid-wash jeans. To make matters worse she had paired them with a leopard-print top with sequin accents. “You must be Dena,” Tiff said amiably. “Thank you for agreeing to drive us.”
Dena nodded but didn’t answer immediately. Tiff noted that we were both staring at her shirt and she looked down at it admiringly. “You like it? Can you believe they don’t let me wear this to work? They say that they want Mojo to be one of San Francisco’s hippest salons, but whenever I show up in something cutting-edge they make me go home and change.”
“Imagine that,” I said with a smile. Dena was still shocked into silence.
“Give me one second to get my shoes on,” she said, turning away from us and disappearing back inside the house.
Dena looked at me with wide eyes. “I gasped,” she whispered. “Sophie, I didn’t think I was even capable of gasping, but apparently a woman wearing acid-wash jeans and sequins in the twenty-first century is all it takes to completely shock me.”
“Dena—”
“Is it a costume?” Dena asked. “Is she in disguise? Please tell me there’s some kind of rational explanation for that outfit.”
“Tiff has her own sense of style.”
“That’s not style, that’s a disaster. Somebody needs to call FEMA immediately!”
Before I could respond Tiff came out again, this time wearing shoes and a cropped black leather jacket with shoulder pads big enough to intimidate any NFL linebacker. She also had Chica on a leash.
“Is it okay if I bring my dog?” Tiff asked. “I don
’t get to hang out with her as much as I’d like during my workweek so I try to keep her close at hand during my days off.”
Dena shook her head quickly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m not an animal person.”
“Oh, come on, Dena.” I gestured toward the little Chihuahua, who was patiently waiting at Tiff’s side. “Clearly Chica’s very obedient. Besides, she’s on a leash and you’ll probably only have to see her this one time. If you think about it, it’s not much different from one of your typical dates.”
Dena shot me a dirty look but didn’t disagree.
“So she can come?” Tiff asked hopefully.
“Yeah, fine, she can come,” Dena grumbled.
Tiff beamed. “Thank you.” She picked up Chica in her arms and carried her to Dena’s Avalon.
I offered Tiff the front seat but she demurred. She was being incredibly polite, almost too polite. Last I checked she was still rather ticked with me, and rightfully so. What had changed?
Dena popped in a Kanye West CD and drove off toward the freeway.
“Who is this?” Tiff asked.
Dena glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “You’ve never heard Kanye West?”
“I don’t really like rap.”
Dena shrugged. I could tell that she had no intention of changing the CD, so I took the initiative and turned off the stereo. Dena shot me another glare, but before she could say anything I whispered, “Remember, be sensitive!”
Dena sighed and cast another look in her rearview. “What kind of music do you like?”
“I don’t know…I like Madonna, Michael Jackson, Duran Duran…but I’m more into their old stuff. I’m still a big fan of eighties rock.”
Dena turned her head to the side so she could once again check out Tiff’s jeans. “That doesn’t really surprise me.”
“Peter liked The Cure,” Tiff said quietly. “That’s something we had in common.”
I shifted in my seat so I could see Tiff, and for the first time noticed that her hands were trembling as she petted Chica.
“Tiff, are you all right?” I asked.
“Going to Peter’s place…it’s hard for me,” she whispered. Chica licked her hand, and for a second I thought Tiff was going to burst into tears. Instead she just blinked her eyes a few times and stared out the window. “I don’t feel like talking right now. Why don’t you put the music on again? Anything you want to play is fine.”
Dena wordlessly switched to Mix 106.5, the only Bay Area radio station I knew of that occasionally played Madonna’s early hits. Dena was not a Madonna fan so the gesture was extra sweet.
For the rest of the trip the only sound came out of the radio. Tiff continued to stare out the window as she methodically petted her dog, and Dena focused on the road, occasionally wincing when a Kelly Clarkson or Britney Spears song came on.
Eventually we arrived in Danville and easily found a parking spot in front of the somewhat run-down, light green, five-story apartment building that Peter once lived in.
“Oh, God,” Tiff whispered, although I’m not sure she had wanted anyone to hear her.
Tiff, Chica and I got out and Dena leaned her head out the window. “I guess I’ll just go to that café on the corner and wait for you guys. When you’re ready for me just call my…”
“You can come in,” Tiff said quickly.
Dena’s eyebrows shot up. “Sophie told me that you didn’t want me to be there for this.”
“You drove all this way,” Tiff said softly. “You might as well come up.”
“That’s really okay.” It was obvious to me that Dena would have rather listened to the entire Like A Virgin CD than hold Tiff’s hand through this particular adventure, but Tiff didn’t seem to be picking up on that.
“Actually,” Tiff said slowly, “I was kind of thinking that maybe you two could do this without me. Like, I could go to the café and wait for you to call me.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Tiff, you can’t put this off forever. Besides, there may be something in there that will explain your brother’s actions. You can finally have answers.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said quietly. “I told you that I didn’t know my brother all that well, but what I didn’t say was that I wasn’t always nice to him. I was always teasing him. I used to give him tons of f lack for being a mascot and then when he took that job at American and started traveling, I would tease him about where he chose to go. Like, I would pick on him because he wanted to go to Des Moines but not Cancún.”
“Wait, you’re saying your brother chose Iowa over Mexico?” Dena asked, clearly taken aback.
“Tiff, my sister and I are always giving each other a hard time,” I said, ignoring Dena’s last question. “That’s what siblings do. You don’t need to feel guilty about it.”
“I used to think it was in good fun,” Tiff said, her voice trembling more with each word. “But what if for him it wasn’t fun at all? What if I go into that apartment and I find a diary or something that explains why he didn’t turn to me when he was upset? Maybe he didn’t feel like I accepted him or—oh God, what if he didn’t think I loved him?”
“Okay, Tiff, you need to calm down,” I said in the most soothing voice I could manage. “All of this is just wild speculation. No one kills themself just because their sister gave them f lack for occasionally dressing up like an animal for a football game.”
“I can’t do this,” Tiff said with a quick shake of her head. She pressed the keys to Peter’s apartment into my hand. “It’s number 342. I’ll be at the café on the corner. I don’t need the car, I’ll walk.” She turned and started walking away.
“Wait, Tiff!” I called after her. “Come on, you can do this! Besides, that café isn’t even going to let you take your dog inside!”
Tiff stopped and turned again. “You’re right,” she said, and then strode up to me and thrust Chica into my arms. “I shouldn’t be around her right now, anyway. She’s so sensitive to my moods and I don’t want to needlessly upset her. Call me when you’re done looking for…whatever it is you’re looking for.” And with that she turned around and hurried away.
Dena cleared her throat and turned to me. “Your new friend is a little whacked.”
“Yeah,” I said flatly. “And we’re so normal.”
Dena laughed. “You got me there.”
“You want to come up with me?” I asked.
“What the hell, I’m here, aren’t I?”
The three of us (Dena, Chica and I) let ourselves into the apartment building, only to find that the elevator was out of service, so we climbed three f lights of stairs to Peter’s apartment.
“You say no one’s been here in almost two months?”
“Uh-huh.”
Dena scrunched up her nose. “The kitchen’s yours, and if I see more than five f lies or even one small mammal that isn’t a pet I’m waiting in the car.”
“Fair enough.” I opened the door and we both stepped inside. This time it was my turn to gasp, not so much out of shock but disgust.
Dena’s eyes perused everything from the stained brown carpet to the yellow floral wallpaper. “Ah,” she said knowingly. “So this is why he killed himself.”
“That’s not funny, Dena.”
“No, it’s not, it’s pathetic.” She gingerly stepped over a pile of dirty clothes that had been left on the floor. There were actually a lot of things on the floor, from Time magazines to dirty socks. I gently put Chica down on a dark green paisley sofa, also covered in clothes, not to mention a few cigarette burns, while Dena tapped the toe of her boot against a waste basket that was literally overflowing with candy wrappers, Kleenex and various other bits of trash. “Not the tidiest guy in the world, was he?”
“No,” I said, kicking an empty Diet Coke can away from a coffee table that was a little too big for the proportions of the room. “Neat is not a word I would use.”
“It’s forgivable, though,” Dena mused. “The me
ss draws attention away from the 1970s-style wallpaper.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I stuck my fingernail in one of the cigarette holes that graced the sofa’s armrest. “Do you think he smoked or do you think the couch had these holes when he bought it at…I’m guessing a garage sale.”
“He smoked.” Dena bent down and lifted up an empty carton of Marlboros she found on the floor. “But not that much because I don’t smell anything.”
I made a face and turned my attention back to the rest of the mess around me. I personally didn’t have a problem with slobs. Housework is both tedious and labor-intensive and I absolutely respect an individual’s right to turn on a television rather than a vacuum. But if you’re planning on throwing yourself out a fifteenth-story window you should clean up your place first. I mean, was this really the legacy he wanted to leave?
“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted.
“I’ll start with the desk.” Dena gestured over to a brown plastic slab that was supported by two three-drawer metal filing cabinets. On it was a computer, piles of mail and other random pieces of paper. “It looks reasonably safe.”
Damn, why hadn’t I called the desk first? Everything else was bound to be kind of icky. But someone had to go through this stuff, and if nothing else, I knew that if Peter had ever been in possession of the evidence I was looking for he certainly hadn’t thrown it out.
Like Dena, I was a little afraid of the kitchen. I lifted Chica off the couch and went into the bedroom. I was relieved to see that it was slightly neater than the living room. Here, too, there were clothes strewn around, but there were fewer Diet Coke cans. The bed was predictably unmade. I went over to the small walk-in closet and found its floor to be covered with several pairs of loafers, tennis shoes and dress shoes. In the back of the closet were a few empty suitcases that Peter undoubtedly used for his frequent trips. Fascinating stuff.
I shifted my weight back onto my heels and lifted my eyes to the clothing racks. Lots of chinos and cotton shirts, one suit that he had probably owned since he was sixteen and a couple of dry-cleaning bags filled with…costumes. I took a closer look. There was a lion costume, and one that kind of looked like a goat. They had to either have been left over from Halloweens past or his mascot days…but then again these costumes didn’t look bulky enough to work as a mascot get-up. The goat costume was downright sinewy.
