Samson's Deal: A Laid-Back Bay Area Mystery (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series)

by Shelley Singer

  I laughed. “Maybe not. But you’re the enemy to them and to what they’re trying to do.”

  “What are they trying to do?” she asked wearily.

  “The question is, who’s doing what? Jared seems to have pushed for the fire, but who is Jared? Where does he go when he leaves town? Where does he come from? We just don’t know enough.”

  “Right,” Rosie said triumphantly. “That’s why I’m joining CORPS.”

  “I don’t know, Rosie,” I said slowly, still smiling. “Do you think you can act like one of them?”

  “Hey, what is this? Don’t you think I’m an American either?”

  I gave up. After her performance with the two-by-fours, the big brother stuff was even more ridiculous than it would have been normally.

  Once she’d won her point, she was perfectly willing to let me take a break from the case and have a nice, friendly, relaxed dinner. In fact, she was eager to change the subject. We talked about our personal lives for a while. She mentioned a date she’d had the night before, smiled a little and said she’d had fun but wouldn’t tell me any more than that. I figured if she was in love she’d say so. She encouraged me to keep trying with Iris if I was “all that hot for her.” We batted the cheerful nonsense around for a while until I realized my eyes were closing and my body was going numb. We called it a night. She promised to keep me informed, step by step, on her progress with CORPS.

  When I got home, there was only one message on the machine. From Rebecca. Just asking me to call her. I didn’t want to, but I guessed she must be upset about Cutter being able to identify her. So I took the phone into the bedroom, undressed, got under the covers, and dialed her number, yawning. She answered on the second ring.

  She said she just wanted to talk, that she was feeling lonely. Not a word about Cutter. Apparently she hadn’t heard from Harley yet. I asked her how come she was so lonely.

  “Oh, it’s John. He won’t see me. He won’t even let me call him. He says he doesn’t think it would be smart to take a chance on being seen together until this thing blows over.”

  “Well,” I said, almost choking on a yawn, “that seems reasonable.”

  “Don’t be silly. He saw me when his wife was alive. We were a big secret then, too.” Oh, wonderful. She had called to have someone to argue with. “I feel as though I was just a supplement or something. And now there’s nothing to be a supplement to.” A fascinating topic, but I really didn’t give a damn at the moment.

  “Rebecca…” I began, with something that sounded oddly like a whine. She caught the tone.

  “Listen, Jake, I really am about to go out of my mind with boredom. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  Very flattering. I mumbled “Sure,” agreed to meet her at the same place we’d gone to before, and fumbled the phone onto its cradle. It wasn’t even ten o’clock when I fell asleep, and it was ten in the morning when I woke up. Tigris was standing on my chest glaring into my eyes. Euphrates was standing in the bedroom doorway, waiting to escort me to the kitchen.

  I fed them and took a shower while the water boiled for my coffee. By the time I’d shaken off my heavy sleep, gotten dressed, and watered a few plants, it was nearly time to meet Iris for brunch. I wondered how many restaurant meals Harley would be willing to pay for. If I kept eating out at the rate I’d been going, the five-thousand retainer could be eaten up very quickly.

  Now that my mind was beginning to function again, the conversation with Rebecca was replaying itself in my mind. Her mention of the “big secret” of Harley’s relationship with her. But Cutter had known.

  Cutter was getting more and more interesting, and I was anxious to see what I could pull out of Iris by way of information about him. Without blowing the date.

  The place she had wanted to have brunch was one of my least favorite. It was fairly new and was the latest, maybe even the last, stage in the evolution of the health food business. If Safeway Markets had designed a restaurant, it would look like Simple Simon’s.

  Everything was very slick. Slick lighting, slick ferns, slick art on the walls, slick furniture, and slick food. The place was big enough to house an old-fashioned family cafeteria, and I found myself wishing for that wonderful dingy look and that wonderful overcooked food. But the nostalgia was brief. I was having trouble holding on to those memories of old tastes and old aromas. Nothing at Simple Simon’s smelled anything like veal cutlets, gravy, and real mashed potatoes.

  No question about it. My tastes were handed down through generations of heart attack victims.

  Iris wasn’t there yet, so I took a small table with a view of the door, ordered a glass of carrot juice, and told the waiter there would be two of us.

  She arrived at the same time as the carrot juice and looked almost as expensive. She was wearing tan slacks, sandals, and a beautifully garish silk shirt in a tropical flower print. Her pale blond hair fell straight and heavy to her shoulders. I waved; she smiled and strode to our table. I don’t know if anyone else in the room was watching her. I was watching her too hard myself to notice. She slipped into the chair across from me and gave me an amused look. I checked to make sure my mouth wasn’t hanging open and handed her a menu.

  “So,” she said, “Eddie’s in jail and you put him there. Is that how your face got that way?” She was eyeing my bandaged chin.

  I looked at her carefully. No, there was no criticism in her expression. “Uh uh,” I answered. “But I thought turning him in was a better idea than being kidnapped.”

  “Much better.” She smiled. The waiter came back and we both ordered large salads with yogurt dressing.

  “How did you find out about his arrest?” I asked. “Was it in the papers today?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t read the papers. They depress me.” She lifted her eyebrows slightly, so I could tell she was making a joke against herself. “No. He asked if he could see his therapist, and they let me visit him. Who hit him with a rock?”

  “It wasn’t a rock. It was a pair of two-by-fours. My tenant. And my friend. She’s a carpenter.”

  “Interesting weapon. He wasn’t badly hurt, though.”

  I smiled sweetly. “I’m so glad.”

  “Of course, I’m not his therapist anymore. Now that he’s confessed, he won’t be coming to my office. Not for years.”

  I crushed a cherry tomato in my mouth, swallowed, and said, “What do you know about his confession?” I added diplomatically, “Whatever’s public, that is.”

  “Just that he started the fire.” She stabbed a lettuce leaf with her fork and held it midway between plate and mouth, studying my face. “If you’re wondering about the murder, he didn’t confess to that. He says he didn’t do it. Just the fire.”

  “Did he say who put him up to it?”

  “He says no one put him up to it, that he did it all on his own, all by himself. That CORPS wasn’t involved. Only Eddie. He says it was a political statement and there was nothing personal behind it. So,” she concluded, “I guess that solves the fire.”

  I didn’t correct her. “Iris, this is important. I just want your opinion. Maybe you can’t give it to me.” She met my eyes, and the gray ice flashed with wariness. “Do you think Cutter is capable of killing, was capable of killing Margaret Bursky?”

  “If I don’t answer that,” she shot at me, “you’ll assume it’s because I think he’s the killer.” This woman was sharp. She couldn’t be maneuvered without letting it happen. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he has ever killed anyone.”

  I pushed one more time. “What about Debbi?” She looked at me coldly and spoke through her teeth.

  “Drop it, Samson.”

  “Okay.” I showed my palms in surrender. “We can change the subject. I’m awfully glad you agreed to have brunch with me.”

  “No more business? Just pleasure?” she asked, and the gray eyes looked a little warmer.

  “Pleasure,” I said, tasting the word.

  She smiled. “Slow down,
pal.”

  “How slow can I be? I lead a life of great danger. I get beaten up, kidnapped, threatened by the police and by—” I almost mentioned Jared, but I decided I’d keep him to myself for a while. “Every day could be my last, my dear.” I crinkled my eyebrows Gig Young fashion. Urbane.

  She laughed. “Sounds like fun. A little self-indulgent, but fun. I’m free Wednesday night.”

  This was only Sunday. I wondered whether she was busy with work or with men, but of course I didn’t ask. I agreed blandly to Wednesday night, giving the impression that I was tied up until then, too. I probably would be.

  “Why have you changed your mind about going out with me?” I wanted to hear something wildly complimentary, but I should have known better.

  “Doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve seen most of the people in the group; they’ve talked about it among themselves. They know you’ve been to see me, too. Nobody’s even hinted an accusation at me. I guess you’ve brought adventure into their lives. This whole thing has.”

  I nodded. That was nice.

  “And besides,” she said, “you are cute.”

  – 24 –

  Iris and I separated at Simple Simon’s door with the promise to talk to each other before Wednesday.

  I was feeling pretty good, so I left my car in the municipal parking lot and took a walk through downtown Berkeley, mulling things over. Exercising heavy mental discipline, I even managed to think about the case, instead of Iris. Business is business.

  Downtown Berkeley is pretty small and runs to old buildings and old businesses. Walking down Shattuck toward University, you pass auto dealers, glass suppliers, sound equipment stores. Then you start seeing restaurants, Chinese and Italian, mostly, and movie theaters. Berkeley has lots of movie theaters. There are always hordes of students wandering around, bearing their packs with that air of rugged bravado that implies a recent return from the wilds of Yosemite. Packs full of address books, old letters, a textbook or two, a stale sandwich, some notes, maybe some dirty underwear. The usual business people of all varieties. A few of the burnt-out relics of the sixties you see everywhere else in Berkeley, but not as many as you see on Telegraph Avenue. They cling to the campus, as though it’s the only memory left in their drug-fried minds.

  The case simmered in my own mind. Did Iris’s refusal to say anything about Debbi imply that she thought she was capable of murder? And Cutter’s confession was so much garbage. The fire wasn’t his idea, just his recreation. I stopped to get a couple of Sunday newspapers, tossed everything but the news sections into a trash can, and sat down on a bus-stop bench to paw through them. I checked out the San Francisco Examiner and Chronicle first and found a story on page three, just a few inches, about Cutter’s arrest and confession. The Oakland Tribune had a bigger story, at the bottom of page one. Unfortunately, I was in the story as his intended kidnap victim. Magazine writer Jacob Samson. But there was, at least, no mention of Rosie. I wondered if Hawkins had kept her out of it. If so, I was grateful.

  The publicity made me so nervous I decided to go home and take a nap.

  About six o’clock Rosie knocked on my door, and I pulled on a pair of pants and let her in. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “Where did you get that?” I choked, gaping. She was barely recognizable. She was wearing a dress with a gathered waist, short sleeves, and little flowers printed all over it. Topped by a neat pink cardigan sweater. She was wearing nylons and shoes that didn’t look like they came from a lumberjack emporium. All that looked strange enough, but the hair was the killer. She had it pulled back in a barrette shaped like a bow. She was laughing at me.

  “Like it?” she wanted to know.

  “It’s really awful,” I said. “You look—” I hesitated, searching for the word. Then I had it. “Neutralized. Can you carry it off, I mean walk around like that and look natural?” She smirked at me, enjoying my confusion. “Do you think maybe you went too far? I mean, couldn’t you have dug up something more, uh,” I hesitated again, thinking of the way Iris had looked at lunch, “fashionable?”

  Rosie was shaking her head. “No, no, no, Jake. You’re missing the whole point. I don’t want to look good. I want to be unimpressive, unremarkable, boring, nonthreatening in every way. Isn’t this perfect?”

  I had to agree. She was practically invisible. Her plan for the evening was to go the campus and seek out information about joining CORPS. She figured they’d have a notice up somewhere. I wished her luck and told her I’d be back early from dinner and wanted to see her before she went to bed. Just to find out how she’d done.

  – 25 –

  Rebecca was waiting for me when I got to Sen Ying’s. She looked even thinner than she had the last time I’d seen her, and she was working on a half carafe of wine. I sat down and ordered one for me.

  She managed a bent smile. “Looks like the police are moving along nicely on Eddie Cutter.” I nodded, noncommittal. “I guess they’ll have him on more than arson soon.” I shrugged. My wine came. If Cutter had told the police about her, I guessed they hadn’t visited her yet. If they had, that would have been her conversational opener. “I guess you and Harley have settled up for your work on the case?”

  “No,” I said, “we haven’t. I’m not finished yet.”

  Rebecca’s smile bent a little more and was slipping badly on one side. “What are you trying to do, get more money out of Harley? He’s not a rich man, you know, and the police have the killer.” Not a rich man, I thought, but he was due to pick up an extra hundred thousand soon.

  “Now look, Rebecca…”

  “Oh, come on, Jake, be a sport. Admit it. How about a toast? To the conviction of Eddie Cutter. For murder.”

  “I’m not sure he did it.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she cut in. “Of course he did.”

  This was beginning to sound like a replay of my last conversation with Harley, I was sick of them both.

  “Did you invite me out to bitch at me or to have a little company on a lonely evening?” I asked.

  “That’s the whole point, Jake.” The sharpness was gone. “Lonely evenings. This has got to be settled. Then Harley and I can slowly start seeing each other again and eventually not even worry if we’re seen together, and then—”

  “And then,” I interrupted, “you will get married and live happily ever after.”

  “Why not?” She asked the question like I’d told her she could never have another glass of wine.

  “No reason. I hope you do.”

  “Thank you,” she replied suspiciously. “But I don’t think you understand how it’s been. Months of secrecy, and now it’s even worse. Now I can’t see him at all.”

  “And just because of a little thing like a woman’s death.” I spoke gently to take some of the sting away.

  She drew her breath in sharply. It sounded like a hiss.

  Even though I’d had only a salad for lunch, I didn’t feel hungry. I felt a little sick. Sizzling rice soup and a couple of egg rolls were all I thought I could handle. Rebecca’s appetite had improved since the last time I’d seen her. She ordered ginger beef.

  “You know, Rebecca, your relationship with Harley wasn’t as much of a secret as you seem to think.”

  She frowned at me, as if she were considering an argument.

  “Cutter knew about it. So did Harley’s wife.”

  She paled, then tossed her head. “Nonsense. It’s not possible.”

  “I’m afraid it’s true. Tell me something. How could Cutter have known who you are?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “He told me he knew Harley was having an affair with you. He saw the two of you together once. I asked him how he knew who you were, and he told me he’d heard things. Could he have heard things?” She stared at me blankly. “How could he have heard things if you two were so good at keeping your secret?”

  She collected herself enough to speak. “Maybe they had Harley’s phone tapped.”

 
“They who?”

  “CORPS, naturally. Trying to get something on him so they could destroy his reputation.”

  “But if they meant to do that, why haven’t they used it against him politically?”

  “Maybe they decided to wait. I don’t know. How could I know?” She was no longer pale. She had a spot of color on each cheekbone, like a tuberculosis victim. “Anyway, I don’t know Cutter and he doesn’t know me. How should I know where he heard my name? Why are you asking me these idiotic questions?”

  I ate an egg roll, dipping it into hot mustard.

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “Just a habit. Looking in a lot of different directions. Little bits of information. Some of them matter. Some of them don’t.”

  She settled back, relaxing. “Priorities, Jake. You really should learn to get them straight.” I choked back a retort. I was feeling kind and generous.

  “I am looking for more evidence against Cutter, Rebecca. If my questions seem strange, it’s because I know more about this case than you do, and there are some pretty convoluted interrelationships involved. Incidentally, had you heard that they found Cutter’s prints at the scene of the killing?”

  Rebecca smiled, actually smiled. She hadn’t known. “That’s wonderful! Now I know this mess is almost over.”

  I smiled and patted her hand. Rebecca was in worse shape than I’d thought she was. She’d been so busy spinning happy fantasies of Cutter’s immediate indictment that she hadn’t taken his knowledge about her all the way to the logical next step. He was in custody. He had no reason to conceal her identity. The police would be visiting her.

  – 26 –

  When I pulled up in front of my house about nine-thirty that evening and parked behind Rosie’s pickup on the street, I felt a sudden flash of fear.

  Oh, God, I thought. Her pickup. That battered truck with the tool chest bolted to the side. Her dress, her stockings, her barrette, and a pickup truck that not only didn’t fit the image but could be traced to her.

  She was home, dressed in a more familiar fashion, and she greeted me with a big smile. I walked in calmly and sat down.