by Diana Orgain
Jim’s voice filled the line. “Honey, how are you?”
A sense of peace and security flooded me. “We’re good. I miss you. I found him.”
“Him, who?” Jim asked.
“The hit-and-run driver.”
“How?”
I hadn’t thought this conversation through. If I mentioned Chuck Vann, I’d have to tell him about the Christmas party, wouldn’t I? Better to save that conversation until he was home. “Long story,” I stalled. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.”
“I know, me, too. We landed the account!”
“Oh Jim! That’s great.”
“Yeah. It’s going to be big for us. Lots of work in the New Year.”
My phone beeped to notify me of a call waiting.
“I’m so happy for you. Honey, I have a call coming through, but I’ll pick you up from the airport.” I blew kisses through the phone and then clicked over to the new call.
“Kate? What are you doing? I haven’t seen you at the café for ages.”
It was my neighbor, Kenny. He was a gifted seventeen-year-old who’d graduated recently from the School of the Arts. He’d landed a spot as a substitute trombone player for the San Francisco Opera, but because he’d been helping me out of a jam, he had basically blown his shot to play. Now he was out auditioning again.
I moved to my front window and peeked out. Kenny, with his spiky green hair, waved at me.
“What are you doing out so late?” I asked.
“It’s seven.”
“That’s it?” I was so exhausted from running around all day it felt much later. “In that case, what are you doing home on a Saturday night?”
“I’m not home. I’m over here.” He pounded up my front steps. “You got anything to eat?”
I swung open the door. “Laurie’s asleep,” I said.
Kenny put his finger to his lips. “I’ll be quiet,” he whispered.
I smiled. “You don’t have to whisper, just don’t yell.”
He stepped inside and jumped on my couch in such a way that he was immediately reclined.
“Get your shoes off my couch.”
He kicked his Skechers off.
“I actually meant for you to sit up, you hooligan.”
Kenny laughed and propped his head up with a pillow. “I’m too weak. I need to eat. Whatdya got?”
“What’s wrong with your place?”
“My parents are visiting my aunt in Washington.”
“Didn’t your mom leave you any food?”
Kenny made a face. “Come on, Kate, they’re vegans. She left me bean curry.”
“That sounds good,” I said.
“No it doesn’t. No part of it sounds good. Not the bean part and not the curry part.”
I laughed.
“Where’s Jim?” Kenny asked. “Is he grilling anything?”
“He’s on a trip.”
Kenny pressed his lips together. “It’s a good thing I came by then.”
“Why?”
“So you and Laurie can have a man around. To, you know, feel safe.”
I kept the thoughts to myself that a) he was not a man yet and b) I hadn’t been feeling unsafe at all.
“What do you want to eat?” I asked.
“I really want some steak, but hey, I’ll take whatever you got.”
Because I’d actually gone shopping, I had a full refrigerator for a change, but the thought of cooking anything elaborate fatigued me.
“I got steaks.”
He sat upright. “Yes!”
“But I’m not doing anything fancy. Just a quick grill on the stovetop,” I warned.
“No problem. I’ll do the sides.”
We moved into the kitchen. As I prepared the steaks, Kenny cut some fresh green beans and sautéed them.
While we ate, I brought him up to speed on the events of the last week. Kenny offered to import the .pst file for me. It took him about three seconds.
If this keeps up I’m going to have to invest in a remedial computer course! Another thing to add to my to-do list.
Kenny hovered over my shoulder as I absently clicked through Chuck’s e-mails, sorting by the ones sent from Nancy. By the tone of the notes, they were obviously still very close. She seemed to depend on him for moral support and encouragement.
Laurie cried out from my bedroom.
“I’ll get her,” Kenny said happily.
He went to fetch Laurie out of the bassinet and returned shortly with her in his arms. “Uh . . . I think she’s wet.”
I nodded toward the diaper-changing table.
Kenny looked frightened and held Laurie out to me.
“You don’t know how to change a diaper?”
“Yeah. I know how. Sure. I know how.”
I nodded again toward the changing table. “I just grilled you a steak. The least you can do is a diaper change.”
Kenny sulked over to the changing station.
“Be sure to hold on to her. She’s very squirmy,” I said.
“How do I change her with only one hand?” he whined.
I ignored him and continued to review the e-mails. I found one long exchange about the consul, and could see why Chuck had been concerned, but it didn’t give me much to go on.
Am working on a story about the French consul, Eloi Leppard. He’s to receive the highest honor from the French government—the Légion d’honneur, only something is strange about it. I got a call on it today. I’m going to look into it.
And about a week later:
Things with the consul are turning grim. I went to the consulate today and I think I was actually threatened. I’m not liking this one bit, but if I’m scared I’m probably on the right path, right?
A string of frantic replies from Chuck followed, asking who threatened her and why she was scared, but as far as I could tell his messages had gone unanswered.
Now I had a strong desire to hack into Nancy’s computer. The police would certainly have her computer in custody. Who else would Nancy have confided in? Her boss, her boyfriend?
Kenny had bundled Laurie into a blanket and was seated in the living room with her in his lap while he channel surfed. I took advantage of his baby-sitting and continued to work.
I looked over the list of contacts Chuck had given me and began dialing. I left messages for Nancy’s father and brother, but got nowhere with the news station. I spoke briefly with her boyfriend, Ramon. He agreed to see me the following day in the afternoon. In the morning, I needed to pick Jim up from the airport. He’d be able to watch Laurie while I met with Ramon.
When Ramon gave me his address a chill tickled my spine. He lived in the Richmond district, which bordered Golden Gate Park. His apartment was just off the 41st Avenue park entrance, not far from where Nancy’s body had been discovered.
As soon as I hung up I did a cursory background check on him in the database Galigani had given me access to. He’d declared bankruptcy and lost the house he’d been living in a few years ago, but other than the financial troubles everything looked in order. There were no outstanding warrants or judgments on him. He seemed pretty clean.
I poked around online and scoured the news from the past few days. I knew Nancy had gone missing on Thursday morning, the day after Jim and I had seen her. I read that her body had been found by a couple walking in Golden Gate Park on Friday: William Clarkson and Mindy Burnfield.
According to the article, they lived in the Sunset District, which was my neighborhood and also bordered Golden Gate Park. They lived about ten minutes away from us. They were on Mr. Vann’s list of people to talk to so I copied their address into my notebook.
Man, this investigation business was starting to get so busy that I’d need an assistant myself. I laughed. If I was an “intern” for Galigani and I needed help, where was I gonna find an intern for an intern?
I checked on Kenny and Laurie. She was asleep in his lap. With his feet propped up on my coffee table he was watching a rerun of a reality
show.
“Nowhere better to be on a Saturday night?” I asked, as I took Laurie out of his arms.
Kenny shrugged. “There’s a new girl working at the café.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Hot butterfly tattoo on her shoulder.”
“So, why don’t you ask her out?”
“Pfft. You have to have money to take a girl out.” He rose. “Thanks for dinner. I better get home and practice. I have an audition next week.”
I let him out, then nursed Laurie. Before putting her down for the night, I laid her on the changing table to give her a clean diaper. I had the best laugh I’d had in weeks as I found that Kenny had put her diaper on backward.
I put Laurie down, then fell into an exhausted sleep.
I dreamt I’d caught Armand Remy on the balcony at the consulate. After a heated exchange, my hands had wrapped around his neck. I squeezed and squeezed. I woke with a start and noticed I had the sheets gripped tightly in my hands. I released the sheets and fell directly back asleep.
• CHAPTER NINE •
To Do:
1. ✓
2. Get Laurie’s dress cleaned.
3. Christmas cards and shopping.
4. ✓ —Armand Remy!—does he have insurance?
5. ✓ Prepare contract!
6. Call Christophe Benoit.
7. Computer class?
I awoke with a start as I heard our front door open.
Someone was in the house!
I jumped out of bed and looked around for the phone or a shoe or anything to hit an intruder with. Luckily, before I could grab anything I heard Jim’s voice call out.
I rushed to the living room and jumped into his arms. “What are you doing here?”
He squeezed me. “I caught another flight, didn’t you get my text?”
“No! When did you send it?” I kissed him all over his face. “I missed you.”
“Me, too. I’m glad I’m home.”
“You scared me though. You’re lucky I didn’t rush out here with a weapon and bash you—”
He laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He put his fingers in my hair and kissed my lips. A wail escaped from our bedroom.
“Uh oh,” I said.
“Peanut!” he said, taking off down the hall.
He scooped her up in his arms and cradled her. She stopped crying immediately and curled up like a little sow bug on his shoulder.
It was 6 A.M., still dark out, but feeding time for Laurie.
“Are you hungry?” I asked Jim. “I can make you breakfast after . . .”
“No,” he yawned. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Later in the morning, I prepared Mr. Vann’s contract. I had to spend some precious extra time fighting with our printer, not only reprinting, but shutting our temperamental computer system down and then booting it up again, hoping a new connection to the printer would help. A new printer was probably in order, or maybe a whole new system; either way, it spelled time and expense!
In the afternoon, I filled Jim in on the case and then left Laurie with him watching some football. I first drove by Mr. Vann’s house and dropped the contract in his mailbox, then took off for my appointment with Ramon. I stood outside his place and rang the bell. I was starting to feel good about taking on the case.
Ramon answered the door wearing khaki pants, a white T-shirt, and black apron. He was about five feet ten inches tall and tan with smooth, even facial features. He had full lips and high cheekbones. His hair was jet black and piled high with some sort of gel. He wiped his hand on the apron and gave me a smile.
“Kate? Come in. I hope you brought your appetite.”
Although I never left home without it, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t eat anything prepared by a suspect ever again. The last time I’d eaten at the widower’s place I’d landed myself in the emergency room to get my stomach pumped and it had all been due to my paranoia. Not worth eating here.
As soon as I stepped into his apartment the smell of frying onions hit me. I breathed it in—certainly that couldn’t hurt.
“Come to the kitchen, we can talk there,” Ramon said.
I followed him down a narrow hallway to the brightly lit kitchen.
“I’m making pollo adobo, a traditional Mexican dish. Have you tried it?”
I nodded. “Delicious.”
I watched as he expertly mixed in a puree with some chicken that was browning. When he put the dish on simmer, the timer on the stove beeped, and he opened the oven door to reveal a glass pan of cheesy enchiladas.
Using an oven mitt he extracted the pan. “Sit,” he said, “I’ll get you a plate.”
There was a small table with a window bench. Some mail was on the table alongside several covered hot dishes.
My mouth watered as I seated myself. “None for me thanks, I just ate,” I lied.
Ramon looked hurt. “Oh.” He glanced from the pan to me. “They aren’t very big. Won’t you have just one?” He smiled. “I have a nice red sauce, not too spicy. My secret is I mix fire-roasted tomatoes with sundried.” He brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, indicating a mouth-watering, delectable sensation.
I busied myself pulling out my notebook and pen, something else to focus on rather than melted cheese and frying onions. “No, thank you,” I muttered into my bag.
Ramon put the glass pan down on a trivet. “Well, it should cool a minute anyway. It’s okay to change your mind.”
I nodded. “As you know, I’ve been hired by Chuck Vann to investigate the murder of Nancy Pickett.”
Ramon’s face darkened. “Do you think I need an attorney?”
NOTE to self: Do not sit in the farthest corner of apartment with suspect between you and the exit!
I swallowed a dry lump in my throat. “Why do you think you need an attorney?”
“Chuck hired you to investigate me, right? He thinks I killed Nancy? The cops asked me a bunch of questions around the same line. I can’t prove that she actually left my house and then, God, she was found only a couple blocks from here.” He pinched his lips together as if trying to suppress his emotions.
My palms were moist and for some inexplicable reason, I rose. Maybe I figured I’d feel less vulnerable standing if he was standing.
“I wasn’t hired to investigate you, per se. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”
He licked his lips and sized me up. “I’m on everybody’s short list. Doesn’t take a genius to see that, but I didn’t do it and I’ll help however I can. What do you need?”
He pushed the pile of mail to the side to make room for my notebook. I noticed the top envelope looked like a cell phone bill.
I opened my notebook. “What can you tell me about your relationship with Nancy?”
He returned to the stovetop to stir the pollo abodo. “We’d been dating for about six months. The night before she disappeared she was here with me. I think I was the last person to see her alive. Well, I mean, you know, the last person who didn’t kill her . . . I mean . . .”
I nodded. “I understand, go ahead.”
“We weren’t living together, but we spent a lot of time together. Or . . .” He looked up from his stirring. “A lot of nights together. Nancy worked a lot, and I really never saw her during the day. Mostly she’d come over for dinner. I like to cook. Well, I love to cook. I’d give anything to have my own catering business.” He nodded toward the enchilada dish. “Are you sure you don’t want to try?”
It took every ounce of willpower I had to decline again. I love Mexican cuisine and his cooking looked and smelled authentic and traditional, yet I could tell he was clever about putting his own twist on recipes.
Ramon pouted and sprinkled salt into the adobo. “Anyway, with Nancy we’d watch a movie, drink wine, and, you know. She’d usually spend the night, so that morning was really no different. She always got up super early. I’m not a morning person. I don’t know how she did it, but she�
��d get up early, still dark out, you know? Have on her workout clothes and just go. I wouldn’t see her again until dinnertime.”
“When she was here did she run in the park?”
Ramon looked up from the pot. “No. She had a membership at Club Zen, do you know it?”
I shook my head.
“It’s new.” Ramon continued, “It’s a fancy fitness center in the Embarcadero. Near the station. So, she’d go there, work out, shower, and then go over to work.”
So, maybe she’d never made it to her destination.
“Did you tell the police this?”
He put down the spoon and slowly nodded.
So either Nancy had been picked up outside his house, killed, and dumped in the park, or . . .
I pushed the thought of Ramon as a suspect out of my mind. If I focused on that I’d never make it through the interview.
I eyed the cell phone bill on the table. Certainly the police had access to all that. I was always one step behind.
I indicated the phone bill. “You didn’t happen to have a family plan with Nancy, did you?”
Ramon crossed to the table. “We did! Free to call each other, you know?”
He handed me the bill and my fingers virtually zinged. I was going to get inside information! I ripped open the bill. “Can you help me identify the calls?”
