Murder Served Hot

by Nancy Skopin

  “And you believe him? Why did Archer need a suitcase just to carry some invoice and check copies? And why couldn’t he tell you that without his attorney present?”

  “Maybe there were a lot of them? I don’t know.”

  “Did you ask him about the guy in the van?”

  “No. I need to find him first, in case he and Archer are in this together. Maybe then I can get one of them to roll on the other.”

  “You said you didn’t think Archer was a killer.”

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t hire someone to kill for him.”

  Huh, I thought, maybe my theory wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

  I ended the call with Faulkner and dialed Brooke’s home number. An unfamiliar female voice answered.

  “Evans residence,” the voice said in a honeyed Southern accent.

  “Is this Robbyn?” I asked.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “Nikki Hunter. Is Brooke there?”

  “Oh, you’re the lady PI she told me about. Hang on a sec.”

  Brooke came on the line and I told her about the latest development in the case.

  She listened silently, and then asked, “Is your friend still following me?”

  “You mean Jim? I don’t think so. Why?”

  “I’m probably being silly, but when I went to the airport to pick Robbyn up I had this creepy feeling that I was being watched.”

  I knew that feeling. “Did you see anyone?”

  “You know how crowded the airport is,” she sighed.

  “Let me call Jim and I’ll call you right back. Is your door locked?”

  “Yes.”

  I called Jim Sutherland on his cell.

  “What’s up Nikki?”

  “Have you or any of your operatives been shadowing Brooke Evans?”

  “Not since Friday night. Why?”

  “She’s pretty sure she’s being followed.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Yeah. Maybe whoever killed Stanley and searched his house thinks Brooke has what he, or she, was looking for.”

  “Did she take anything from the house?”

  “Just Stanley’s orchid journal.”

  “Have you looked at the journal?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Didn’t you tell me one of Stanley’s orchids was stolen?”

  “The hybrid, yeah.”

  “So maybe our killer is into orchids. I suggest you take a look at that journal as soon as possible.”

  “Good idea.”

  I ended the call with Jim and called Brooke back. I told her that he hadn’t been tailing her.

  “What did you do with Stanley’s journal?” I asked.

  “I put it in my safe deposit box. Whoever took the hybrid was probably looking for the journal. Without Stanley’s data on the hybridization method the plant will be worthless. It’s one of a kind. If it was another grower who took it, they’ll never be able to duplicate the process.”

  “Why didn’t you mention that to me before?” I asked, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.

  “I don’t know. I guess I was upset. Do you think whoever took the orchid is the person who killed Stanley?”

  “Well, it did happen on the same day.”

  You’d have to be insane to kill someone over a plant, I thought.

  “Brooke, is the missing orchid worth anything?”

  “You mean money?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure. It would be priceless to a hybridizer. Stanley said that once he introduced it at the conference his name would become legend in the orchid community.”

  “Would you recognize the orchid if you saw it again?”

  “I’m not sure. I’d recognize the pot.”

  “They could change the pot. What color was the bud?”

  “It was kind of a silvery blue.”

  “Wow.”

  I was thinking that if Faulkner failed to find the VW guy, Brooke and I might have to attend the orchid conference.

  “Nikki? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here. How long is Robbyn going to be in town?”

  “Till Sunday.”

  “Make sure you stay together. Are you going out tonight?”

  “We were planning to go out for dinner. You think that’s a bad idea?”

  “I do. Better safe than sorry. I’ll come by in the morning and I think either Jim or I should be with you at all times until this guy is caught. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure. What does Jim look like?”

  “He’s a tall red-head. If he isn’t available to come himself, I’ll get a description of the agent he’s sending and call you back.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Nikki.”

  “Brooke, there’s something else. Before all this happened, I was thinking about having you take a late night drive to flush out anyone Stanley might have had following you. It might speed things up if we did that now, but the risk has increased. Plus, we don’t know for sure that you’re being followed and, if you are, we don’t know what your stalker is after. I’m just thinking out loud here, but what if you get the journal out of your safe deposit box and make a show of taking it back to your condo. Then I could wait inside while you and Robbyn go out again.”

  “I’m all for speeding things up, but that sounds dangerous.”

  “Jim can follow you to and from the bank.”

  “No, I mean it sounds like it will be dangerous for you.”

  I was growing fond of Brooke. Not many people show concern for their personal bodyguard.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said.

  I knew I needed to tell Faulkner what I was doing, but I thought maybe I’d put that conversation off for a day or two.

  I called Jim and told him I needed someone at Brooke’s condo complex tonight.

  “I’ll go,” he said without hesitation.

  I told him about the plan to get the journal from the bank tomorrow, and that if we didn’t flush the killer out using the journal as bait, we might have to attend the orchid conference where Brooke had said Stanley was going to reveal his new hybrid.

  “If the killer is the same person who took Stanley’s orchid, he’ll probably be at that conference.”

  “You really think someone would kill for an orchid?”

  “It’s a very unique hybrid. Brooke is the only other person who’s seen it, and she’s not sure she could identify it if it’s in a different pot. I’m going up to the office for a little while. I need to do some research. Call me if anything happens?”

  “Will do.”

  I walked Buddy, then brought him into the office with me.

  I turned on the computer, opened a web browser, Googled Santa Barbara International Orchid Show, and selected the link to the conference website. The event was being held at the Earl Warren Showgrounds from March 4th through the 6th. Today was March 1st, so the 4th was Friday, only three days away. Not a lot of time to plan for a road trip to Santa Barbara. I surfed around a little and found a link for exhibitor registration. There was a note saying space was limited and encouraging exhibitors to sign up early.

  I spotted the contact us link, clicked on that, and got a list of e-mail addresses. I selected the one for registration and typed a brief e-mail saying I was a freelance journalist in Redwood City, writing an article about the upcoming event. I wanted to interview growers in the San Francisco Bay Area who were planning to introduce new hybrids at the conference, and I hoped they could provide me with the names of those who had registered.

  There were no phone numbers posted on the website, but if I didn’t get a prompt response to my e-mail, I’d try to find a local chapter of the America
n Orchid Society, maybe attend a meeting and see if anyone turned up in an old VW van.

  I shut down the computer and locked up the office, then took Buddy for another walk. We ended up at the point, at the end of the marina parking lot, staring out at the bay. It was a gorgeous evening, the sky clear and full of stars, and I almost felt guilty for enjoying it, considering what Brooke was going through. Almost, but not quite.

  Chapter 15

  Wednesday morning I was up early. I guzzled coffee from a thermal mug while I walked Buddy, and then hit the gym for my lower body workout. After I’d showered and dressed I called Brooke at home.

  “I’m on my way,” I said. “But I wanted to make sure it was okay to bring my dog, Buddy, along. Are pets allowed in your building?”

  “Oh, yes. Several of the tenants have dogs. Is he… um… well behaved?”

  I knew she was asking if Buddy was likely to soil her carpet. I stifled my indignation and said, “Very.”

  When I arrived at the complex I parked next to a silver Honda Civic with tinted windows. As I got out of my car the driver’s side window of the Civic lowered a few inches and Jim’s bloodshot eyes stared out at me.

  “Have you been here all night?” I asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Are you good for a couple more hours?” I told him what I had in mind for this morning.

  “I’m fine,” he said, reaching for a thermos of coffee.

  Lengthy stakeouts are easier for men because they can pee in a cup when necessary. Knowing that made me feel a little less guilty.

  “I’ll call you when Brooke and Robbyn are ready to leave. Stay close to them.”

  “No problem,” he said, and raised the window.

  Buddy and I knocked on Brooke’s door, which was opened by a slender, blonde woman in her thirties who could have been Brooke’s twin, except that she was slightly less muscular. I wondered about the genetic background of the Evans family. Were they all this stunning?

  The woman shook my hand and said, “You must be Nikki. I’m Robbyn.” Without waiting for an answer she bent down and crooned, “And you must be Buddy. Aren’t you a handsome boy?” She ruffled his ears and Buddy grinned, wagged his tail, and licked her cheek.

  Brooke came in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “I see y’all have met. Would you like some coffee, Nikki?”

  “I’d love some, thanks.”

  Before pouring the coffee, Brooke handed me a black and white drawing of a man with long hair and a beard. “That’s the identikit picture of the man driving the van,” she said. “Detective Faulkner dropped it off last night. He said I should be on the lookout for this man, and if I see him I should go someplace crowded and call him immediately.”

  “Sounds like good advice.”

  I studied the picture. The identikit artist had captured the eyes that Kopelin had described to me and Faulkner on Monday. This guy had some serious crazy going on.

  The three of us huddled around the kitchen counter and discussed my plan. At 10:00 Brooke and Robbyn would go to the bank and get Stanley’s journal out of the safe deposit box. Jim would follow. Walking from the bank back to her car, Brooke would wave the journal around and make a show of discussing it with Robbyn. They would drive slowly back to the condo complex, display the journal again for anyone who was watching when they arrived, then come inside and leave the journal with me. After a few minutes they’d leave again. Buddy and I would wait in the apartment, hoping someone would try to break in and steal the journal.

  The only flaw in the plan was Buddy. I couldn’t leave him home alone again, or lock him in the car, but he’s not always good at being quiet. If someone tried to break into Brooke’s condo, Buddy would probably go into protective mode and bark, and the thief would bolt. Then I’d have another chase scene on my hands. I was still a little stiff from tackling Archer yesterday. Of course, I could just shoot the guy in the ass as he was running away. That would slow him down.

  At 9:55 I called Jim on his cell and told him Brooke and Robbyn were coming out. He was parked near enough to Brooke’s Jetta that he wouldn’t need to move his car to cover them.

  We had decided to leave the deadbolt unlocked in order to facilitate my plan, so after they left Buddy and I sat in the living room watching the front door.

  Thirty minutes later Jim called to tell me they were back. I heard a key in the lock and Buddy barked one time as the door opened, before he saw Brooke and Robbyn. Then he started wagging. Brooke handed me the journal.

  “Lock the deadbolt please,” I said. “Did you see anyone following you?”

  “We didn’t even see Jim.”

  “He’s good.”

  I called Jim before they went back out, and stayed on the line with him until I knew Brooke and Robbyn were safely in Brooke’s car.

  “Have you seen anyone suspicious?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “If he doesn’t come after the journal in the next hour or so, I think we can assume he isn’t watching.”

  “Sounds good. Talk to you later.”

  Brooke and Robbyn were going to do some clothes shopping at Neiman’s, where Robbyn intended to take full advantage of Brooke’s employee discount. I was only a little bit envious. Jim would keep an eye on the two women from a discreet distance.

  I filled a bowl with water for Buddy, set my Ruger on the coffee table, and opened the journal. Stanley’s handwriting was precise and easy to read. I scanned the pages leading up to February and then began reading the details. Unfortunately, everything in the journal related to his work on the orchid hybridization process. There was nothing about other members of the orchid club who might have been jealous of his recent success.

  By 11:30 I was bored with the journal and convinced the killer had missed Brooke’s performance this morning. I’d have to think of another way to get his attention, assuming Stanley had been killed for his hybrid. I still had my doubts about that. If Archer had been skimming funds from his employer, and Stanley had been onto him, then Archer had a strong motive. It crossed my mind that Stanley might not have been above blackmailing Archer. I was contemplating the possibilities when my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

  “Any luck?” asked Jim.

  “Nothing.”

  “The girls are done shopping. They want to stop for lunch before we head back. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure. It doesn’t look like our guy’s going to try anything today.”

  We disconnected and I looked down at Buddy. “What do you think? Was Stanley killed for his new breed of orchid or because he knew too much about Archer?”

  Buddy chuffed noiselessly. Probably a Rhodesian Ridgeback trait. He only barks out loud when he perceives a threat.

  Since there was nothing happening with the case, I took a tour of Brooke’s condo. Everything was neat as a pin, including the huge master bathroom. I took in the double sinks, overhead sunlamp, and expensive assortment of treatment creams and lotions on the vanity counter. Brooke favored Chantecaille “Pure Rosewater” toner, La Mer “The Hand Treatment,” Lancome “Progres Eye” cream, Laura Mercier “Flawless Skin Repair Day Crème,” Clarins “Super Restorative Night” cream, and Palmer’s “Cocoa Butter Firming Butter” body lotion. That last one didn’t look like something you’d purchase at Neiman’s, but what do I know. I went back to the living room and grabbed the notebook I carry everywhere, then copied down the names of all six products. Brooke’s radiant complexion was probably inherited, but I love trying new things.

  At 12:45 my cell vibrated again. I assumed it was Jim, calling to tell me they were on their way, so I didn’t bother checking the display.

  “Hunter.”

  “Nikki, it�
�s Bill. I have bad news.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but I just caught a homicide. The victim, Nick Lawrence, was killed at his home in Westport. Weapon was a knife coated with garlic extract.”

  “Oh shit. Nina’s back,” I said, my blood running cold. What I didn’t say was that Westport was right next to Redwood Shores, where I was sitting at this very moment. Could there be more of a coincidence?

  Chapter 16

  Nina Jezek was a notorious multiple murderer of pedophiles and the miscreants who engage in child trafficking for the purpose of sexual exploitation. Her M.O. is killing with a stiletto coated with garlic, which prevents blood from coagulating. We’d met briefly two months ago when I was hired by the nine-year-old son of one of her victims. The last I’d heard, she was on a killing spree in Europe, leaving me to assume that Nina would be Interpol’s problem until she was caught. I had tried to put her out of my mind.

  “Nikki?” Bill said.

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks. Was the victim a known sex offender?”

  “The FBI says he was associated with Alfredo Giordano, who was suspected of being a supplier of… you know… children.”

  Alfredo “The Tongue” Giordano had been killed at his home in the Woodside Hills last December. Jim Sutherland and I had been watching Nina that night, and I’d followed her to Giordano’s house. After his body had been found, Bill had mentioned that Giordano had been on the FBI’s Violent Crimes Against Children watch list because he was suspected of child trafficking. That, of course, was also why Giordano had been on Nina’s list.

  “How does someone even get into that line of work?” I asked.