Whoa, what was I smoking?
There was no such thing as a love spell, enchanted or otherwise. Clearly, Austin and Robin had just experienced a simultaneous moment of supreme lust. I could dig that.
My only concern now was that I didn’t want Robin to get hurt again. But there was nothing I could do about it except follow Derek’s lead and keep it simple and positive.
After all, Robin had looked so happy and Austin so downright determined when they left. Who was I to worry or judge or interfere? All I’d wanted to accomplish in bringing Robin to Dharma was for her to be safe, away from bad people and out of the city. I’d achieved that goal.
I turned to Dad, who still looked shell-shocked. Feeling about the same, I held out my wineglass. “More, please?”
“Good idea, Punkin,” he said, and filled everyone’s glasses with golden, bubbly liquid.
As we all recovered from the shock, Mom filled us in on what was happening around Dharma. We talked and laughed and enjoyed the view of the rolling green hills covered in vineyards, broken by picturesque thickets of gnarled oak trees.
Mom was particularly proud that Annie’s kitchenware store, Anandalla, had been written up in several cooking magazines. Annie Karastovsky was relatively new to Dharma. She was the long-lost daughter of my former bookbinding mentor, Abraham. The whole town, and especially Mom, had adopted her as their own.
Gabriel’s recuperation was another of Mom’s triumphs. The formerly mysterious stranger who had saved my life in a noodle shop on Fillmore Street in the city, Gabriel was still in Dharma after almost dying last month, when he was struck in the head by a killer’s bullet. That attack had led to a daring sting operation and the arrest of a murderer. Gabriel had recently moved into a bungalow a mile away from Mom and Dad. I was surprised to hear that he seemed to be enjoying the slower pace of life up here. In his spare time, he was helping out Guru Bob with his massive library project.
Guru Bob, by the way, was more properly known as Avatar Robson Benedict, the leader of the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness, the artsy Sonoma County commune my parents had joined years ago, back before the commune got rich from the grapevines they grew and the winery they built. Back before the commune property was incorporated and morphed into the charming town of Dharma. Back when we all lived in Airstream campers. Those were the good old days.
Mom regaled us with the antics of the Wiccans who lived in the next glen over and how they’d finally accepted her into their coven.
“Wait’ll they hear about the power of my love spell,” she said.
“Do you think they’ll elect you chief witch?” I asked.
She laughed. “Oh, sweetie, you make it sound like the PTA.” But her eyes glittered with intent as she added, “No, they’ll install me as grand raven mistress of the most high druidic pentangle, if they know what’s good for them.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”
Finally, after securing Mom’s promise to call me with any news of Austin and Robin, Derek and I took off for the city, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge just before sunset.
As we wound our way through the Presidio, then onto Lombard until we reached Van Ness, my thoughts focused on Austin and Robin again. Were their paths about to merge for real? Or was it just that Mom’s ability to bust a love spell was more potent than we’d thought? Nope, I reminded myself. It wasn’t a love spell. Just some heavy-duty lust. Nothing wrong with that.
“Never a dull moment with your family,” Derek remarked as he parked the car in my building’s garage. We laughed about the afternoon as we stepped inside the old-fashioned, industrial-size elevator and rode it all the way up until it shuddered to a halt on the top floor. The ancient elevator was one of my favorite features left over from the corset factory that had inhabited this building once upon a time.
In contrast to the clunky old elevator, the corridors leading to the lofts were modern and elegant, with pale blue walls, contemporary white sconces, and wide sisal runners laid over the original dark wood flooring. Since mine was the top floor, there were skylights in the halls to further lighten the space.
Derek and I held hands as we walked to my door. It felt comfortable and right somehow to be coming home with him. But maybe that was just me, still reeling from my mother’s enchantment spell.
“Thanks for taking the time to drive up there with us,” I said.
“I was glad to do it. I would’ve hated to miss your mother’s stories of Wiccans and covens. Although,” he teased, “the ‘hey, nonny, nonny’ chant was my favorite.”
I laughed as I reached into my bag for my keys. “I’ll give Robin a call tomorrow and see how she’s doing.”
Without warning, Derek shoved me against the wall and grabbed hold of my chin to force eye contact with him.
“Stay right here,” he whispered, and drew a gun from his waistband.
Wow. He had gone from indulgent lover to warrior man in a heartbeat. “What’re you-”
“Do as I say.”
That was when I noticed that my front door had been smashed to splinters and was dangling drunkenly from one hinge. “Oh, no.”
He pressed his finger to my mouth to quiet me.
With his foot, Derek nudged open what was left of the door and proceeded to slip inside, holding his gun out in front of him. He checked one way, then the other.
His gun. Where the hell had that come from? I was pretty sure he hadn’t been carrying it in Dharma, but now? Didn’t matter. I was glad he had it with him.
I ventured a few steps closer and managed to catch a look at my studio. A gasp escaped from my throat. It was a shambles. Derek whipped around and dropped his hand so his gun was aimed at the floor. With his other hand, he pointed toward the hall.
“Back. Move. Now,” he said with deadly emphasis.
I nodded slowly and stepped into the hall. He edged back inside to continue his search.
Normally I would’ve bristled at Derek’s commands, but now all I could do was hold my hand over my mouth. I felt sick and scared to death. My home had been trashed. Again. The last time it happened, during the investigation into Abraham Karastovsky’s death, I’d known what the intruder had been looking for. This time, I didn’t have a clue.
Robin.
“Oh, God.” I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.
We’d gotten Robin out of the city just in time. I released the breath I’d been holding, so relieved to know my friend was miles away from here and safe.
There was no way this stupid act of vandalism was an isolated incident. It had to be connected to Alex. And Robin. And that lunatic Galina.
What the hell kind of shit storm had Robin stepped into?
And yes, my mother would have washed my mouth out with soap if she’d heard me using that language, but I didn’t care right now. Whoever had killed Alex and trashed Robin’s place, and then gone on to tear apart Alex’s apartment, had to be the same jerk who’d just wrecked mine.
And I still had no idea what they were looking for.
Last time this happened, I’d been devastated. This time I was just plain mad as hell.
I felt useless and stupid sitting out in the hall. Derek was inside risking his life and I was twiddling my thumbs.
“Well, I can call the cops. Duh.” I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911 to report the break-in. After a few moments, the dispatcher confirmed that a patrol car was in the area and would arrive shortly. I thanked her and hung up, then punched my speed-dial code for Inspector Lee, refusing to dwell on the fact that I actually had her private number. On speed dial.
Derek walked out of my place and returned the gun to his waistband. “There’s no one inside. Whoever did this is long gone. Are you calling the police?”
“They’re on their way,” I said, pushing myself up to a standing position. “Now I’m waiting for Inspector Lee to answer.”
“Good.” He peered up and down the hall, his eyes shadowed a
nd wary. He looked every inch the tall, dark, and dangerous security expert I knew him to be.
“Derek, where did that gun come from? I didn’t even see you-”
“Wait. Now, what’s this?” he said.
I let out a terrifying scream as something wrapped itself around my legs. The cell phone flew out of my hand. Derek grabbed it, put it to his ear, and walked away, shaking his head-in amusement, it appeared.
I looked down. “Tyler! Jeez, you scared the… Never mind. Are you all right?” He looked a little dazed as I knelt down and hugged him tightly, then held him at arm’s length to check that he wasn’t injured.
“The bad man broke your door,” he said in a tense whisper.
“What bad man, honey?”
“Did you catch him?” he demanded. “Did he take my book?”
“No, no,” I said. “I’m sure your book is fine.”
“But I saw him. He was a mean giant and he threw your stuff around. Did he break my book?”
I would decipher his ramblings later. Right now, only one thing concerned me. “Tyler, where were you when you saw the bad man?”
His smile was cunning. “I was hiding.”
“Hiding where?”
He pointed to the stairwell door a few yards down the hall. The stairs led down to the ground floor. “In there.”
“Did the man see you?”
“No,” he said patiently. “I was hiding, but I could see through the crack.”
“Right. Did you see what he looked like?”
“He was big!” To demonstrate, he stretched his arms out as far as they would go. “And he was ugly and mean. He kicked your door. He kicked and kicked and didn’t stop until he got inside. Did he take my book?”
The thought of the big man discovering Tyler made me dizzy and sick.
“Did he? Miss Brooklyn?”
I shook myself back to the moment. “What, honey?”
“My book,” Tyler said, tilting his head to stare at me as though I’d gone off my rocker. “You were supposed to fix it.”
“Right. Your… book… Oh, shit, my book.” The Kama Sutra! I headed for my studio.
“That’s a bad word,” Tyler said, folding his arms across his chest.
I turned. “Tyler, I want you to go home right now.”
His lower lip wobbled. “But I want my book.”
“I’ll get it in a minute.”
“I want it now.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Was he going to cry? I would start crying, too, and then we’d all be a mess. There was a reason I didn’t have kids. I took a calming breath. “I’ll make sure it’s okay, honey. I know the bad man didn’t take it.”
He looked doubtful, but then he nodded, turned, and walked to his front door. Where he stopped and waited, watching me.
And that was when two things hit me. First, where were his parents? Why hadn’t they heard someone smashing my door down?
Second, and probably more important, this little six-year-old was the only witness to the break-in. That wasn’t good. But on the positive side, Tyler might be able to identify the man who killed Alex-if it was the same person.
The police would want to talk to Tyler, might even bring a sketch artist over to get a detailed description. His parents were not going to be happy about this. I hated to be the ones to tell them, but I looked around and didn’t see anyone else stepping forward to do the job.
“Wait, Tyler. I’ll go with you.”
I figured the Kama Sutra was either still where I’d hidden it or it was gone. I would find out soon enough. Right this minute, Tyler was the priority. I ran back to Derek, who was still on the phone with Inspector Lee, quickly explained the situation, then jogged back to face the wrath of Tyler’s parents.
The good news was, the Kama Sutra was right where I’d left it, in the safe box under the floor of my hall closet.
The bad news was, Tyler was grounded for life.
To say that his parents were upset with him for hiding in the stairwell was putting it nicely. Now he was the only witness to a crime and could possibly identify a murderer.
Tyler’s father had been in his office in the back of their apartment on a conference call. His mom had been giving her two little girls a bath, during which they’d screamed and laughed nonstop. Neither parent had heard the door-bashing racket going on in the hall.
I tried to calm them both down, but I wasn’t doing a very good job. Inspector Lee showed up shortly after that and I was off the hook. She took young Tyler under her wing, impressing me with her charm when it came to kids as well as with her ability to deal with Mr. and Mrs. Chung respectfully and authoritatively. Maybe it was due to our own casual, bantering relationship style, but I’d never realized that Inspector Lee could communicate so intelligently or maturely on almost any topic. My mistake.
In this case, Lee had one big point in her favor. Despite growing up in San Francisco’s Chinatown, where many of the immigrants spoke only Cantonese, Lee also spoke Mandarin, thanks to one of her aunts. Henry Chung, Tyler’s father, spoke Mandarin, too. He also spoke perfect English, but Mr. Chung, very angry that his little boy had been drawn into the investigation, had drawn some sort of psychological line in the sand and decided that he would speak to the police only in Mandarin. It was satisfying to see the shock of surprise in his eyes when Inspector Lee answered him in perfect Mandarin.
The fear that Tyler had been traumatized for life faded as Mr. Chung watched his little boy jump up and down at the chance to work with the police artist. Tyler was also anxious to reenact the scene for the police, so both parents stood in the hall, each holding the hand of one of their little girls, as Inspector Lee led Tyler over to the doorway leading to the stairs.
Before she had him scoot behind the door, Inspector Lee asked, “Do you know how to tell time, Tyler?”
“Yes, I have a watch.” He thrust his arm out for her to see his red plastic wristwatch.
“Can you tell me how long you think the man stayed here breaking the door down?”
Tyler frowned. “Not very long.”
“Five minutes?”
“Oh, no. Maybe… ten minutes?”
Lee glanced at her partner and Jaglom shrugged. Who knew what ten minutes translated to in little-boy time? Lee thought of another question. “Did you see the man go inside?”
“Yes,” he said spiritedly, excited to know the right answer. “He was inside; then the elevator made that loud noise and the man ran out of there.”
“How did he leave the building?”
“Down these stairs.” Tyler pointed down the stairs he was on.
His father grimaced at the realization that the man had been within inches of his son.
“Now, Tyler,” Lee said, pointing at Derek, “do you think the bad man was taller than our friend Derek?”
The stairwell door was partially open, and Tyler stared at Derek, who stood in front of my doorway pretending to kick it. His studious gaze moved from Derek’s feet up to his face. “I think so. Bad man was fatter. But his hair was that color.” He pointed at Derek.
“So he had dark hair?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe it?”
Tyler held his breath and blew out his cheeks.
Lee glanced at Jaglom, who was taking notes, then back at the boy. “Okay, you’ve made it pretty clear he was heavyset.”
“Fat,” Tyler said firmly. “And ugly.”
“Okay, thank you, Tyler,” Lee said with a tight smile, then checked her watch. “Now I think it’s way past your bedtime, isn’t it?”
“That’s okay,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I can keep working.”
Lee chuckled as she walked with him over to his mom and dad. “He did a great job. I’ll bring the artist by your place tomorrow morning.”
His parents nodded.
Lee looked down at Tyler. “And if I have more questions for you,
I’ll ask them at that time, okay?”
Tyler glanced up at his parents. “Okay?”
“Yes, it’s okay,” Lisa said, resigned to the fact that, rather than being distressed, Tyler was having the time of his life.
Lee thanked them all; then Mr. Chung hefted Tyler up in his arms and they returned to their home down the hall.
“Bet they’re happy they moved in here,” I muttered.
“I’m not saying a word,” Lee said, holding up both hands.
“I appreciate that.”
One of the crime scene guys walked out my door and I was reminded that my place was a complete mess. I was too tired to fume over the injustice of it all.
“I don’t suppose you’ll have Tyler look through mug shots,” I said.
Lee shook her head. “And give him nightmares for a year? Probably not.”
“I know. But I hate that we have only Tyler’s word that the guy who broke in was fat and ugly.”
Lee closed her notepad. “The way I see it, the guy could look like Keanu Reeves and Tyler would call him ugly because he was scared of him.”
I gave her a reluctant nod. “That’s probably true.”
“Huh,” Lee said, clearly thinking about it. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind finding Keanu Reeves breaking down my door.”
It was well after midnight when the police hammered a beat-up slab of plywood over my door and draped it in yellow crime scene tape. Suzie had taken Pookie home for one night, so Derek and I left to spend the night in his suite at the Ritz-Carlton. I made sure Tyler’s book was safe on the shelf, but I wrapped up the Kama Sutra and packed it in my overnight bag. I wasn’t willing to risk it behind a flimsy wall of plywood.
Walking through Derek’s sumptuous hotel suite, I was reminded of the incriminating evidence we’d found here during the last murder investigation. Would all our best memories revolve around murder? Or I supposed I could dwell instead on the fact that Derek still kept this suite available to use while he transitioned his business from London to San Francisco. Was this his escape hatch for when he grew tired of our relationship?
Murder Under Cover Page 12
