“I have to talk to you about Gudrun.”
“What about her?”
“Dorothy … ” I hesitated. “She’s heavily involved with the Prophet’s Tabernacle. I saw her at one of their services. I think she’s been influencing Eunice, and not in a good way.”
“Really?” Dorothy frowned. “But what can I do? I don’t want to have to find someone else right now. I don’t like Gudrun either, but she does a good job. Besides, Eunice wouldn’t do anything crazy. I’m sure she wouldn’t.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but this wasn’t the time to pressure Dorothy about it. “You have huge circles under your eyes. Go lie down. I’ll take care of the architect and the doctor when they arrive. I plan to stop down at the Eye later, but I’ll be back with Wizard and my things if you’re sure that’s okay.”
“It’s fine. I’ll go shopping a little later. Help yourself to anything you need in the kitchen.” Dorothy headed upstairs to her room.
A few seconds later, Gudrun entered the kitchen. The timing was such, I wondered if she had been listening at the door. She carried a large breakfast tray.
I held out my hands. “I’ll take care of that, Gudrun. Don’t wake Dorothy. She’s gone to take a nap.”
Gudrun handed me the tray, turned quickly, and left the room without a word. Dorothy’s description of her was apt. I carried the tray to the sink, rinsed out the pot, and washed all the plates and cups and placed them in the dish strainer. As soon as I finished, the front doorbell rang.
I pushed through the kitchen door and headed for the front of the house. Gudrun was on the telephone in the hallway. She was speaking in a low tone, her hand over the mouthpiece. When she heard my step, she turned, startled, and replaced the receiver. Then she hurried up the stairway without looking back. Something about her behavior sent a chill up my spine. I wanted to call her back and demand to know who she was talking to, even though I had no authority in this situation. I’d have to remember to mention her behavior to Dorothy.
The doorbell rang again. I opened one side of the heavy door. A tall man in an argyle sweater and a long dark coat stood on the threshold. Behind him, like a Sherpa, was a woman carrying a load of blueprints and two briefcases.
“You must be the architect.”
“Hello. Yes, I am. Is Dorothy at home?”
“She’s resting now, but she told me to let you in. Just go right through to the conservatory. I’ll be in the kitchen, so let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks. We’ll be fine. Two of our workmen are here today but I’ll let them in from the side yard. You won’t have to worry about them.”
I retreated to the kitchen and looked around to see if there was anything I could do to help out. I opened the refrigerator. Two covered casserole dishes took up most of the space. Dorothy had already prepared dinner.
The doorbell rang again. I shut the refrigerator and headed back to the front hallway. This time I found a man standing outside with his back to the door, surveying the street and surrounding houses.
“Yes?” I asked, quite sure he wasn’t the doctor Dorothy had described.
The man slowly turned and met my eyes, and I recognized one of the detectives from three days before. The day we’d discovered Luis’s body.
“I remember you … you’re Detective … ” My mind went blank.
“Rinetti,” he volunteered. “May I come in?”
“Please do.” I opened the door wider and he stepped into the foyer. He scanned the walls and stairway as he spoke. “Is Mrs. Dorothy Sanger available?”
“Dorothy’s resting right now. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yes. I’d like to have a look at the gardener’s quarters if you don’t mind.”
“Well, Luis didn’t really have ‘quarters.’ He didn’t live in. He just used a small outbuilding next to the garages.”
“I see. Would it be possible to have a look at that space?”
I hesitated, not sure what Dorothy would think if I gave my permission, but I couldn’t imagine why she would have any objection. “I don’t think that’s a problem. I hate to wake Dorothy—she’s been having such a rough time with her aunt. Follow me, and I’ll get the key.” I retraced my steps to the kitchen and pulled the key to Luis’s shed from the hook by the kitchen door. “Here it is. You might as well go out the back way.”
“Thank you,” he said, plucking the key from my hand. “I’ll bring this back in a moment.”
I waited to see if he’d volunteer any additional information, but he smiled and remained silent. “What exactly are you looking for?” I asked.
“I just like to check things out thoroughly in cases like this.”
His enigmatic smile was raising my hackles. “Cases like what?” I persisted.
“Any unusual death where there are no witnesses. As I said, I’ll return this in a moment.”
I’d run into a wall. “Fine. Okay.” I was tempted to follow him to the shed and keep an eye on him, but I couldn’t imagine he’d take anything, and even so, what could he possibly want with a collection of gardening tools?
The doorbell rang again as the detective left by the kitchen door. This time it was the doctor to check on Evandra. I explained again that Dorothy was resting but asked that he talk to me before he left. He nodded and headed up the stairs.
I poured another cup of coffee and put two pieces of bread in the toaster. When they popped up, I slathered on some butter and jam and wolfed them down. The detective hadn’t returned, but after a bit, I heard the doctor’s steps from the second floor and waited in the hallway for him to descend.
He spoke while he shrugged into his coat. “She seems quite lucid now. I suggested that I arrange to have her admitted for a few days’ observation, but she was having none of that.”
“That sounds like Evandra. What do you think is causing her symptoms? She’s confided some of her fears to me.”
“Anxiety is still one of the most common afflictions of the elderly. And certainly, if there’s failing health or loneliness, that’s understandable. Symptoms can present as shortness of breath, trembling. And depression can be diagnosed as dementia.”
“If she is suffering from depression, what would that look like?”
“The signs might be poor memory, a slow reaction time, difficulty communicating, maybe sleep and appetite irregularities. For now, I’ve prescribed an antipsychotic for her. It’s mild, and we can see if that alleviates these symptoms. Her heart rate is rather fast and she does still seem disoriented, but otherwise she’s fine. Oh, I might mention, she could also be a bit dehydrated. Make sure she drinks plenty of water.”
“I’ll tell Dorothy. Is that usual, prescribing an antipsychotic?”
“Very often. With older patients, it does help.”
“She’s seemed to have all her wits about her when I’ve spoken with her recently, so it’s hard to understand that she could be talking to people who aren’t there.”
“To be perfectly honest, we often find it hard to distinguish conditions in older people, but I do know the medication I’ve prescribed will make her less anxious, and that should help.”
I heard the door from the kitchen swing open and Detective Rinetti approached. “Thanks again,” Rinetti said. He nodded to the doctor and handed me the key. “I’ll give Mrs. Sanger a call later.”
“I’ll let her know you were here.”
The doctor waited until the detective had shut the front door behind him and we were alone. “Have Dorothy give me a call if she has any questions. I’ll call the pharmacy and have them deliver the prescription this afternoon.” He picked up his bag. I followed him and locked the front door behind him.
I wasn’t thrilled that the medical response to Evandra’s condition consisted of adding more medication to the mix, especially since her problems could already be caused by too much medication. I returned to the kitchen and replaced the key to Luis’s shed on the hook. My cell was ringing inside my purse.
I dug it out before the call went to voicemail. It was Don.
“Hey. Got some info for you.”
“Great. What?”
“Well, a birth date for starters. Your Reverend was born June 10th, 1969, in Baton Rouge.”
“That’s something. Anything else?”
“Seems a local paper published an article implying there were abuses at a shelter he’d opened. Another woman claimed she was beaten and sexually assaulted. She actually made a police report, so the paper was able to print the story. This happened after the first woman made her claim, the one who didn’t press charges. A lot of local people were getting funny ideas about this guy around that time anyway.”
“What happened? Was he arrested?”
“Apparently not. She ended up withdrawing her complaint too, and as far as anyone can figure, she left the area. Who knows, maybe she was threatened and got scared. So the whole thing had to be dropped.”
“Very convenient.”
“After that the Reverend decided Louisiana was not supportive of his preaching, so he headed for more fertile ground—California.”
“Terrific. Now we’re stuck with him.”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“It’s about your column.”
“What about my column?” I didn’t like the feeling I was getting in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t want you to get upset, because nothing’s really been decided yet.”
“Don. Spit it out. What are you trying to tell me?”
“Les has had the screws put to him to discontinue the AskZodia.”
My heart sank. “No!”
“Yes. He doesn’t want to. He’s fighting it. He’s got a meeting set up for tomorrow. I’m sure the pressure’s coming through local politicians, but we know who’s behind it.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it. Julia, be careful. The guy’s dangerous.”
I heard a loud knocking at the front door. “Don, listen, I’m not at home. I’m staying with a friend and there’s someone at the door. This place is like Grand Central Station. I better get it. I’ll talk to you later.”
Before I could reach the door, the doorbell rang in several short bursts. I finally opened it and came face to face with a young man in his mid-twenties with bleached blond hair. He was wearing jeans, a surfer T-shirt, and a windbreaker, with a knapsack on his back. He leapt across the threshold and enveloped me in a great hug.
“Auntie Dorothy! I’m so happy to find you.”
“What?” I gasped.
“I’m Reggie.” He spoke in a strong down-under accent. His smile was wide and generous. “Reggie Carrington. Your nephew from Australia.” He spoke as if talking to a slow child. I was speechless. “And you must be my Auntie Dorothy.”
“Uh … no. I’m not.”
“Oh! I’m hoping to find the Gamble family or Dorothy Marshall. Did I come to the right house?”
“It’s the right house all right, but I’m Julia, a friend of Dorothy’s.Her name is Sanger now.”
Reggie’s eyes looked past me to the stairway. I turned as he and Dorothy locked eyes. Reggie smiled broadly. Dorothy, standing motionless halfway down the steps, looked thunderstruck.
“Who … ?” she demanded.
“I’m Reggie … Reggie Carrington. My grandfather was Jonathan Gamble. I know he had two sisters, Eunice and Evandra. I’m hoping to locate them. If they’re still alive, I mean.”
“Oh, they’re very much alive,” Dorothy said. “But you’re not going to see them unless I have some proof.”
TWENTY-TWO
I COULDN’T DECIDE IF I should shut the door or wait to see if Dorothy booted the new arrival out to the street.
“Sure thing.” Reggie smiled and pulled out his wallet. A car had pulled up in front of the house. I saw Richard climb out and breathed a sigh of relief. If nothing else, he’d calm the situation. I decided this was a good moment to beat a hasty retreat. I didn’t want to wait around to follow the rest of the exchange. I needed to sort out my feelings about Don’s news about the column, and, given the recent arrival, decide if it was still a good idea to stay on Telegraph Hill. I could fill Dorothy in later about Detective Rinetti’s visit. What could he possibly have been looking for in the gardener’s shed? I grabbed my coat and purse and headed out the door with a wave to Dorothy, who barely acknowledged my leaving.
The Zodia column was to have appeared in the paper that morning, following its regular schedule. And Sam would have included my response to Desperate in San Leandro, the one that had started my troubles with the Prophet. If Les was under pressure to cancel my column, I had no doubt it was because of that.
I drove down the hill and through the tunnel heading for the Avenues. The thought of losing my column was more than depressing. I felt like a small boat with no anchor drifting through the city, unwilling to settle anywhere but afraid to go home. When I turned down 30th Avenue and reached my duplex, I parked across the street. I was leery of calling attention to my visit by pulling into the driveway, just in case someone was watching. As I crossed the street to climb the stairs, I spotted a piece of paper attached to the beveled glass of the doorway. I hesitated. Something told me this wasn’t a party invitation. I trudged up the remaining stairs and ripped it off the glass, convinced the Army of the Prophet had left me another nasty message.
At the top of the page, in large capital letters, were the words THREE DAY NOTICE TO PERFORM OR QUIT. A different sort of fear shot through me. The letter went on for two pages, citing various county codes, but the gist of it was that if my presence caused any more disturbances in the neighborhood, the owner would regretfully file an unlawful detainer complaint against me and I would be evicted and lose my lease.
I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. It was all I could do not to break down sobbing. I felt as if the earth had been yanked out from under my feet. I collapsed on the stairs and re-read the notice a second time to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. The bottom line was that the owner had the right to evict me if she so chose because I’d broken the terms of my lease by creating a disturbance and by operating a business in a residential apartment. I had three days to cure these supposed defaults. Just great! Just what I needed.
I pulled myself together, grabbed a few pieces of mail out of my mailbox, unlocked the front door, and climbed the stairs. The apartment was undisturbed. Mercifully. The bubble wrap I’d taped to the broken pane of glass was intact, as was everything else. The light on the answering machine was blinking. I counted ten more hangups. I didn’t have the heart to keep up with my log today. If it weren’t for the threat of eviction—no, not a threat, a promise—I’d move back in today. The hell with Reverend Roy and the Army of the Prophet. We’d see who’s tougher. But the hard practical truth was that discretion was the better part of valor right now. If there was a slight chance of keeping my lease, it was smarter to stay away.
On the positive side, the apartment was warm and cozy and the pine wreath smelled wonderful. I stepped onto the brick hearth and stuck my face in the pine needles to breathe in the fragrance. For a second, it almost lifted my spirits. I plopped down in a chair with my coat still on and sat there a long time, staring at the wall. I mentally reviewed my letter to Desperate in San Leandro. I had given her good advice. The Prophet’s Tabernacle was a con. What kind of church required its followers to sign over their worldly goods? Utter nonsense! But in the meantime, the Army of the Prophet was doing a pretty good job on me. I was about to lose my apartment and my newspaper column. And if these goons threatened my clients, I could lose them too. I shuddered, thinking of my night in the parking garage. And that could be just the beginning.
I finally stirred from my funk and sorted through the mail, tossing the junk in the trash and stuffing the phone bill and gas bill into my purse. Then I walked through the apartment, checking everything one last time, locked up, and drove away, heading for the Mystic Eye.
I wanted to touch base with Gale and Cheryl and see how they were coping with the repairs at the shop. I also wanted some reassurance from my friends that we’d all weather this storm.
I pulled into a vacant parking space in the back alley and spotted Gale’s Mercedes. I found her inside, in the tiny office behind the front counter going over inventory. Cheryl was at the front of the store unpacking more boxes. A side table in the office was spread with a napkin and four boxes of Chinese takeout. I sat in the chair across the desk from Gale. She was dipping into a paper container with a pair of chopsticks and expertly moving noodles and bok choy to her mouth without a drip. I was impressed.
“Help yourself,” Gale said, waving to the side table with her chopsticks. “Cheryl told me about your phone calls and emails. I wish we’d had more time to chat after the meeting.”
“It gets better.” I handed her the three-day notice. She flashed me a quick look and picked it up, skimming through the legalese while scooping up a piece of broccoli with her chopsticks.
She passed the notice back to me. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call my lawyer. Do you know when they posted this on your door?”
“No,” I replied, close to tears.
“Well, if they couldn’t serve you, they’d have to mail a copy as well, generally regular mail and certified.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I worked in real estate, remember? So there’s a good chance this was stuck on your door today, if there was no other mail. That means in three days the owner has the option of filing an unlawful detainer complaint in order to evict you. You’d still have another five days to respond. My guess is that she really doesn’t care if you’re seeing clients and probably doesn’t want to evict you. Why should she? You’re a good tenant, after all. I think she’s done this just to cover her bases in case things get worse. In any case, you’ll be able to fight this.”
The Madness of Mercury Page 13
