Murder Served Hot

by Nancy Skopin

  “It’s a long story.”

  We slogged up the stairs—well, I slogged. Brooke and Robbyn pranced. Damned energetic Southerners.

  While Brooke poured me a cup of caffeine I set about telling them what Cross had said during his interview and explained that I’d had a friend, who would remain nameless, get me a home address for Archer.

  “I think you’re safe now that Cross is in custody, and since you hired me to find out who killed Stanley, I need to take a closer look at Archer.”

  “Did Detective Faulkner say anything about when I can have Stanley’s orchid back?”

  “No, but since it’s evidence, it might be a while. Why don’t you give him a call? At the very least he might grant you visitation so you can make sure it has sufficient light, water, and whatever else orchids need.”

  “I have no idea what orchids need,” Brooke said.

  “Look it up online. Then call Faulkner. I have a feeling he’ll be happy to hear from you. If you two can stay inside this morning, I’d like to take a drive and check out Archer’s home. I’ll meet you back here before the funeral.”

  “Do you want us to come with you?” Robbyn asked.

  “Nope. Thanks, though. Please just stay put until I get back.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be?” Brooke asked. “We were going to go to Aglaia for lunch.”

  “Have you made a reservation?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Make it for three people at twelve o’clock. I love Greek food.”

  Brooke nodded, and I left.

  I started the Bimmer, cranked up the air, and pulled my notes from my conversation with Michael out of the pocket of my slacks. Using my smartphone’s GPS to locate the address, I hit the road.

  Chapter 34

  Archer lived on Belmont Canyon Road. I followed the GPS directions until I found the street, and felt a chill as I made the final right hand turn. The street was crowded with police cars, an ambulance, and what I assumed was a coroner’s van. I pulled to the curb and parked.

  I quickly scanned my smartphone, found Faulkner’s number, and hit send.

  “What is it, Nikki?”

  “I’m at Archer’s home address in Belmont and there are emergency vehicles everywhere. What’s going on?”

  “Shit. How the hell did you get this address?”

  “So you’re here?”

  “I’m in the house. Stay in your car. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he said, and disconnected.

  I rolled down the car windows and lit a cigarette. Fifteen really long minutes later Faulkner appeared striding down the long driveway through the gate and approached my car. As he walked he withdrew a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit up. I opened my car door to get out, but he held up his hand, indicating I should stay put. He walked around to the passenger side of the car and climbed in beside me, leaving the door ajar.

  “We never had this conversation,” he began.

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me what you know about Nina Jezek.”

  “That’s going to take a lot of time. I assume you’ve spoken with Bill this morning.” Faulkner nodded. “So you know that Nina brought a child to my office around three a.m.”

  Another nod. “Anderson said you’ve agreed to help with an identikit rendering.”

  My turn to nod. I had no idea when I’d have time for that little chore.

  “What exactly would you like to know about Nina?” I asked.

  “Prior to this morning, when was the last time you saw her?”

  “December. She killed a guy in Los Altos and I caught her coming out of his house. Maybe caught is the wrong word. I held her at gunpoint and she still managed to taser me. Nina is very resourceful.”

  “Uh huh. How would you characterize your relationship?”

  “We don’t have a relationship. Before that night in Los Altos I’d only met her once.”

  “Then why she would chose to bring an endangered child to your office.”

  “I asked her that very question.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘I couldn’t very well take her to the police, now could I?’ And then she said she had to leave, and I shouldn’t try to stop her.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Try to stop her.”

  “Oh, well, kind of. I pulled a gun on her, but she’s HIV positive and was standing near the little girl.”

  “So rather than risk exposing the child to HIV, you let her walk out the door?”

  “More or less.”

  “Shit.”

  “My feelings exactly. So what’s going on at Archer’s house? Why all the emergency vehicles?”

  “Archer is dead. Killed sometime last night or early this morning. I came here to question him and found the security gates open and the front door unlocked. No one answered when I rang the bell, so I called for back up and went in with a couple of uniforms. Found him in the bedroom.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, putting the final pieces together. “Knife wound?” Archer had never been married and had needed large sums of money to supplement his income as a CFO, probably so he could purchase kidnapped orphans to molest.

  “Nope. Gunshot wound to the head. Close range.”

  “Wait. That doesn’t make sense. You’re thinking Nina killed him, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “But she always kills with a knife.”

  “There was blood on the floor near the bed. Coroner says it’s not Archer’s.”

  “Ah. So Archer shot Nina.” That explained the oversized, heavy jacket she had been wearing. She had to cover the wound to avoid getting her blood on Caifen.

  “Looks that way. There are taser burns on his chest, but he still could have gotten off a shot. The gun is registered to him. We also found a room where the little girl was apparently held captive.” He shuddered as he thought about that. Faulkner was a good guy.

  “If she’s wounded she might seek medical attention.”

  “We’re checking hospitals. It wasn’t a lot of blood. Probably a flesh wound.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Well, she came here to kill Archer. He shot her before she could finish the job. Then, with a bullet wound, she took the time to bring the little girl to my office.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I kind of admire her, to tell you the truth.”

  “The woman’s a psycho, Hunter. A cold-blooded killer.”

  “A cold-blooded killer wouldn’t have bothered to take care of an abused child.”

  Faulkner shook his head. “I gotta get back in there. I’m hoping Archer’s gun will be a ballistic match to the weapon used to kill Godard.”

  “Will you let me know?”

  “Sure. I have nothing better to do than keep you posted on the status of all my investigations.”

  “Don’t get snarky with me, Faulkner. By the way, your face is looking better.”

  He rubbed his jaw and shook his head again.

  “Brooke wants to know when she can have Stanley’s orchid back,” I said, knowing it would annoy him further.

  “It’s evidence.”

  “It’s a one of a kind hybrid. It needs special care.”

  “You are a pain in my ass, Hunter.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “I’ll talk to the DA and call Brooke about the orchid.”

  “You do that. We’ll be having lunch at Aglaia at twelve, if you’d like to join us.”

  His eyes momentarily brightened, then he got out of my car and walked back toward the house.

  Chapter 35

 
I called Bill on my way to Brooke’s condo.

  “Anderson.”

  “It’s me. I’m going to be with Brooke until after the funeral. Are you okay with that?”

  “You mean am I willing to stay with your dog so you don’t have to feel guilty about leaving him alone on the boat?”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “It’s fine, but we need to get an identikit drawing of Nina circulating ASAP.”

  “I know. I can do that around four, if you want to set it up. It would help if we had a photo of Nina to use as a starting place. Then I can just tell the artist what’s changed about her features.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I heard Buddy chuff in the background and knew he was asking for a walk.

  “Buddy needs a walk,” I said.

  “I’ll call you back when I’ve set things up with the department.”

  He hung up before I could thank him for taking care of my dog, again.

  Robbyn, Brooke and I drove to the restaurant together so I could fill them in on what had happened to Archer. It wasn’t the kind of conversation you could have over lunch.

  Brooke asked again about Stanley’s orchid, and I said Faulkner would be calling to let her know. I didn’t mention that I’d invited him to lunch because it seemed unlikely he’d take me up on that invitation, what with Archer’s murder and all.

  I parked the Bimmer in a public lot, and we crossed the street to Aglaia. I’d forgotten they had patio seating and felt a twinge of guilt knowing I could have brought my dog with me after all. I decided I’d over-order so I could bring him a nice box of leftovers after the funeral.

  We started lunch with an order of Hummus and Babaganush into which we dipped fresh, warm, pita bread. Heavenly. The waiter offered Retsina, but we opted for water since it was too early in the day for a Retsina buzz.

  I ordered the Greek Salad with a broiled chicken breast on the side, and Robbyn requested the Veggie Musakka. Brooke selected the Salmon Wrap. We were just finishing the appetizers when Faulkner strode up to our table, a huge grin on his face. He was carrying Stanley’s orchid, a green ribbon tied around the glazed yellow pot. He bowed with a flourish and said, “Mind if I join you?” his attention clearly on Brooke.

  Brooke blushed prettily, and I scooted over to the chair next to Robbyn who was now covering her smile with her napkin. Faulkner took the chair I’d vacated and gently set the orchid on the table in front of Brooke.

  The look on her face was priceless. Her mouth was open, eyes sparkling, but no words were coming out. Suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and lunged at Faulkner, wrapping her arms around him. A bemused look crossed his face until he caught me and Robbyn openly staring at him. Then he patted Brooke on the back and leaned away from her.

  She dug a tissue out of her clutch, wiped her eyes, and said, “Thank you so much.”

  Faulkner reached for some pita bread and dipped it in what was left of the Hummus. “Not a problem,” he said. “Once we found the gun that was used to shoot out Sutherland’s tire in Cross’s van, we had enough to hold him. There was also a Dell laptop in the van that we think was taken from Stanley’s house. We might need the orchid if we go to trial, but it’s yours until then.”

  Brooke beamed at Faulkner as the waiter set our entrées before us.

  “Monday is the last day of the Santa Barbara orchid show,” Brooke said, excitedly. “I can drive down tomorrow! This would have made Stanley so happy.” She began to tear up, and Robbyn handed her another tissue.

  Faulkner, uncomfortable with Brooke’s tears, turned to me. “Archer’s gun was a match.” He didn’t need to tell me a match to what. He was obviously being sensitive to Brooke’s feelings, not mentioning Stanley’s murder.

  So, I thought, Archer killed Stanley to keep him quiet about the embezzling, and Nina killed Archer because he was an active pedophile. What are the odds? Not only were my two cases related, but one had resolved the other.

  The four of us drove to Stanley’s funeral together in Faulkner’s Chevy. Brooke carried the orchid with her to the front of the room, and placed it on a table holding Stanley’s urn and an enlarged copy of the photo of Stanley she kept in her wallet. I doubted that life sized depiction of himself had been part of Stanley’s plan for today. I was glad to see that Brooke was doing what she thought was appropriate, instead of following her deceased beau’s instructions to the letter. Stanley’s orchid was now sporting a fully open silver-blue bloom, and outshone all the orchid plants the florist had delivered.

  Brooke smiled sadly at Stanley’s photo, then turned to face the small crowd which included some of Stanley’s clients. I recognized the drycleaner, José Castillo, and the owner of the body shop, Scott Kopelin. It was easy to see the resemblance between Stanley and his family. His parents and siblings all had the same dark good looks, but their eyes lacked the tenderness that was visible in Stanley’s photo. My guess was that Brooke had taken that picture, and Stanley had been gazing at her when she did.

  All who were present were dry-eyed except Brooke. She withdrew a small stack of index cards from her pocket and began to read the eulogy Stanley had written about himself. When she replaced the cards in her pocket, her eyes rose to take in the group in front of her.

  “I doubt Stanley would approve of what I’m about to say, but he was one of the warmest, kindest, and most eccentric people I’ve ever known. He struggled every day with the need to maintain order and balance, and that made him a brilliant CPA. Life wasn’t easy for Stanley, but his expertise in his field made life easier for his clients, and for that we’re all grateful.” She turned to look at the photo and said, “I’ll miss you, Stanley. Thank you for being a part of my life.” She choked up on the last words, then took her seat between Robbyn and Faulkner. Faulkner reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  The owner of the mortuary approached the altar and asked if anyone else would like to speak. There was some uncomfortable rustling in the small crowd, but no one volunteered, not even Stanley’s family.

  When the service ended, Faulkner, Robbyn, Brooke and I made the short drive to the cemetery where Brooke had reserved a niche in the Columbarium for Stanley’s urn. She’d had the niche engraved with beautiful silver-blue orchids.

  On the way back to the parking lot I took her arm and slowed my pace so that Robbyn and Faulkner could move on ahead of us.

  “There’s something you should know,” I said softly. “We’ve identified Stanley’s killer.”

  Brooke gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Who was it?” she whispered.

  “It was Geoffrey Archer. The gun that killed Stanley was found in his home.”

  “Has he been arrested?” she asked. “Is he in jail?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “He was murdered in his home last night, or early this morning.”

  Brooke just stared at me, her mouth open, for a long time. Then she glanced quickly to where Robbyn and Faulkner were waiting, turned her back to them, and said, “Nikki… you didn’t…”

  “No,” I smiled. “It wasn’t me. I take my job seriously, but not that seriously.”

  “So who killed him? Do you know?”

  “Actually I do. Her name is Nina Jezek.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a story for another time.”

  Brooke nodded as though she understood, and we rejoined Robbyn and Faulkner at the car. Faulkner was unlocking the passenger door when Brooke reached for his hand. He dropped his keys on the ground and looked at where their hands were joined.

  “I don’t suppose you have time for a road trip,” she said.

  Faulkner’s already burned face turned crimson. He cleared his throat, then said, “I might be able to take a couple of days off.”

 
Brooke smiled happily. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “Would you mind telling me your first name?”

  “Oh, man,” said Faulkner. “What the hell. It’s Elton. My mom was a fan.”

  “I think it’s a lovely name,” Brooke said. Then she leaned in and kissed him.

  What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending.

  ~THE END~

  About the author

  Nancy Skopin is a native of California, and currently lives on the Oregon coast with her husband and their dogs.

  While researching her mystery series she spent two years working for a private investigator learning the intricacies of the business. She lived aboard her yacht in the San Francisco Bay Area for thirteen years, as does her central character, Nicoli Hunter.

  Nancy also works closely with a retired police detective who is both a consultant and a friend.

  If you’d like to be notified when new Nikki Hunter mysteries come out, email me at: NikkiMaxineHunter@gmail.com