by ACF Bookens
“Ah, I see. You’re doing the Jessica Fletcher to keep busy.”
I smiled. My mom had LOVED that show. She’d watched it every Sunday night. I wondered if I could get it on DVD, or maybe Netflix had it.
“I suppose. Have you seen Fishman yet?”
Walter discretely pointed over Stephen’s shoulder as he went to stand beside his husband. “Over there, headed into the banquet room.”
I followed Walter’s gesture and saw our head of Major Giving talking with Fishman. Delaney Fishman was a big man, maybe 6’5”, and so broad at the shoulders that I didn’t think I could reach my arm around him, not that I was consider that possibility or anything. His skin was medium brown, and he had on a real nice, navy blue suit. I smiled, and Stephen elbowed me.
“Go talk to him.”
I looked at my friend and then at Walter, who shooed me toward the football player with a quick flick of his fingers, and then I headed toward Fishman. But before I reached him, Melissa Ward wrapped her thin, ivory arm around his neck and kissed him.
I stopped short, and Stephen and Walter plowed into the back of me. “What?” Stephen asked.
“That’s Melissa Ward.”
“Yes, that is. And?”
“She was engaged to Juan Ortega Montague.”
“Oooh,” Walter said.
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath and headed to my table. I had so many questions.
4
At the table, I quickly switched the name cards for the director of the local no-kill animal shelter with Fishman’s so that he was sitting next to me, and then took my seat, trying to look casual and not so shifty. Stephen had suggested I was giving off the air of someone about to rob a bank, so I drank a bit more wine, ate some bread so I didn’t get tipsy, and sat back to people watch while I waited for the table to fill.
The shelter director took her seat along with directors of a children’s club, a healthcare organization, a shelter for the homeless in the Tenderloin, and a suicide hotline. I’d met them all in my work as a fundraiser, and I liked them all. They were good people who put in extraordinary hours to help other people. But I wasn’t interested in talking with any of them. I had my target in my sights, and I wasn’t going to get distracted.
After fifteen minutes and no Fishman, though, I knew I was beginning to seem rude because I was purposefully not talking with anyone, even though my entire reason for being at that table was to make conversation. So I leaned forward and started asking about the children’s club’s recent musical performance. The kids had put on their own production of Jefferson, their Hamilton-inspired rap musical about our third president, and it had been a huge success. The event had raised a lot of money for the club and had even garnered a tweet of appreciation from Lin-Manuel Miranda himself.
As I had expected, I only needed to get the ball rolling, and the directors were off and running, telling me and each other all about their latest events, the most recent struggles with their communities: people objected to the shelter in their neighborhood because they liked to pretend homelessness wasn’t a problem in the city, even though San Francisco had one of the largest populations of people who were homeless in the country, and the director of the suicide hotline shared how the city kept cutting his funding because he couldn’t provide statistics on how many people hadn’t died. “The city wants me to go track down people who called us in the hardest moments of their lives and ask them if we were the reason they didn’t die that day. It’s ridiculous.”
I had gone into my job as a fundraiser because I really wanted to help people. I wanted to use my education – a BA and MA in English – to make the world a better place. That was my idealistic goal at age twenty-five, but I stayed – despite the hard hours and the sometimes-abusive folks who resented anyone asking them for money – because of these people. They inspired me. Some of them had been in their organizations for over thirty years. They were heroes.
Still, when the football player showed up, everyone stopped talking and looked at him. Despite my own reasons for wanting to get his ear, I sort of resented the idea that a man who could catch a ball – at least I thought that’s what a running back did – could stop a room, when these people who worked eighty-plus hours a week were almost unknown. That wasn’t right.
I did have an agenda though, so once Fishman took his seat and our entrees were served, I introduced myself and told him that I appreciated him being here.
“No problem. I’m glad to be here. That man right there,” he pointed over at the director of the children’s club, “he saved me. Got me into the club when I could have gone a whole other way.”
I felt myself smiling. At least he got it.
We chatted about football – I tried to act like I knew what I was saying – and he asked me how I liked fundraising. “I like it, but I’m kind of tired, to be honest. I don’t know a lot of new ways to ask people for money, you know?”
I hadn’t told anyone that, not even Trevor, not even Mart. I wasn’t sure I’d even let myself really think it, but as soon as it came out of my mouth, I knew it was true. I was tired.
I had a job to do that night, though. Two, actually. Keep our donors happy and find a murderer. I gave Delaney– he’d suggested I call him that after I’d called him Mr. Fishman about a dozen times– a smile and said, “I’m sorry about your friend Juan Montague.”
Delaney looked at me and gave a sad smile. “You heard about that, huh?”
I felt the color rise to my cheeks. “Actually, I was the one who found his, um, his body.”
The football player sat up a little straighter. “Oh, really? Well, isn’t that something?” He sounded kind of angry.
I decided to own up about switching the cards. “I wanted to sit next to you because I wanted to ask you about Montague.”
He smiled. “You’re a reporter, aren’t you?”
I laughed so hard I felt the ribbon around my torso stretch. “No. Not a reporter. Just curious, I guess. Something about finding him has got me curious.” I could hear Mart’s voice in my head, “Do not tell this man you are newly separated. He does not need to know.” I cleared my throat to keep from blurting out that tidbit. “Too many mystery novels maybe.”
It was Delaney’s turn to laugh. “An amateur sleuth, huh? Don’t you know that usually results in a near-death experience for the amateur.”
I nodded. “I did, but how did you? I mean, I don’t know many professional athletes who have time to read, let alone choose to read mystery novels.”
Color flooded his face and made him even more handsome than before. “My mom read to us kids all the time when we were little. As we waited after practice, before bed, even while we took our baths. And she loved mystery novels – not the really scary ones, but the ones in small towns, where everyone knows everyone, and no one minds that the person who got killed is dead.”
“Ah, yes, cozy mysteries those are called. You know your books.”
“I suppose so, although I prefer a good novel myself. Just picked up the new Kate Morton. You read it?”
I felt my own face flushing then. Handsome, in good shape, and well-read. “I haven’t. But I plan to.” I was lying completely, but I would make it the truth as soon as I got home. I’d have that book – whatever it was – on my e-reader before bed.
“But you wanted to know something about Juan?”
I tried to look him in the eye but between my growing crush, his intense gaze, and my mild embarrassment that I had been cyber-stalking him, the best I could do was look at his left ear and hoped it looked like I was looking him in the eye. “I was doing a little research.”
“Um-hmm,” he said with a smile.
“And I saw that you and Juan were buying up a lot of places in the Outer Sunset—“
“You want to know if we were competing over properties, if I might have killed him over some piece of land?” There was no malice in his voice, just a matter of fact straight-forwardness that I found mighty attractive.
“Well, yes.” I finally met his eye.
He leaned forward and put his cheek next to mine. “Nope. But I’m glad you thought so, since it gave me a chance to sit next to you.”
Was he flirting with me? I thought he was flirting with me. I fanned myself with my napkin.
“Me, too, Delaney. Me, too.”
He sat back in his seat. “Seriously, though, Juan and I were partners. Not formally or anything. But we both wanted to preserve those houses, keep them the way they were – well, mostly. We wanted to improve the electricity and sewer lines and stuff, but we didn’t want to tear them down or anything.”
“So, you weren’t trying to flip them? A friend of mine said Juan really wanted to buy his place.”
“Oh, we did want to buy them. We were trying to do business, for sure. But we weren’t out to change them into condos or anything. Just upgrade, not remodel.”
I settled back further in my seat. That didn’t seem like much of a motive to kill a man.
I leaned forward to say as much to Delaney but never got the chance, because Melissa Ward interrupted us by putting a hand on Delaney’s shoulder and giving me a look so cold, I needed to exchange my napkin fan for a heat lamp.
“Delaney, darling. I’ve moved you to our table. I just missed you too much.”
Delaney looked at me and winked. “I’m just fine right here. Harvey Beckett, meet Melissa Ward.”
Melissa put out her limp hand, and I wondered if she expected me to kiss it. Instead, I just shook it awkwardly and sat back down. “Nice to meet you.”
She gave me a courtesy smile and turned back to Delaney with a pout. “I had to do a lot of favors to get you at my table. Don’t disappoint me.”
I felt like I was back in high school with this girl, Tabitha. She’d put on that duck-lip face and whiny voice anytime she wanted our friend Shane to do something. He fell for it every time.
Delaney was no Shane. “I’m having a lovely conversation about Juan with Harvey here. She’s doing a little exploration around his murder. She’d probably like to ask you a few questions, too.”
Melissa’s face got very hard as she looked at me. “Are you a police officer?” The disdain in her voice was palpable.
“No. Just an interested party.”
“We were just talking about his real estate dealings. You were doing some deals with him, too, right? That big high-rise over in SOMA?”
I could tell Delaney was enjoying getting a rise out of Melissa because he had a smirk. She, however, looked like she could chew glass. “That’s private business, I’m afraid.” She glared at me. “But if it helps, Juan and I had a very amicable relationship.”
“Even after your break-up?” I couldn’t believe I said that.
Her entire body turned pink. “Yes, even after. It was mutual, of course.” Then, she got a small smile. “Plus, well, we were—“ I think she remembered she didn’t know me and stopped herself, but I’m pretty sure she was going to say that they were going to get back together.
“Delaney, are you coming or not?” She was petulant now.
“Nope, I’m quite content. I’ll see you later.” He shot me another wink, and I had to stifle a giggle as Melissa stomped off.
“So, were they really going to get back together?” I was feeling cheeky and brave from Delaney’s attention.
“No way in hell. Juan couldn’t stand her. She knew it, too. Not sure why she keeps hinting at their reunion.”
I had a couple of theories why, but I wasn’t interested in pondering them much. My attention was elsewhere.
The meal got underway soon after, and I managed to not spill any of the chicken cacciatore sauce on my dress, and only have one glass of wine with my meal. It was turning into a good night.
During the awards ceremony itself, I kept glancing over at Delaney only to see him glancing at me. I felt like I was in high school, and I was loving it.
Clearly Stephen and Walter were loving it, too, because as soon as everyone began to leave the ceremony, they were at our table with grins that made the Cheshire cat look timid. “Did you enjoy the evening, Harvey?” Stephen said with absolutely no subtlety.
“I did. Delaney, this is Stephen and Walter. Stephen and I work together.”
Delaney put out his hand and shook both men’s. “Nice to meet you. And before you can ask, I had an amazing night chatting with Harvey. She’s remarkable, but I think you know that.”
I blushed a color of red that probably matched my ribbon, but I loved this attention. I ached for it in fact. And realizing that put a bit of a damper on my mood. I wasn’t even a week separated yet. What was I doing?
Delaney walked me out, and when a car came around the corner to pick him up, he offered to have it take me home instead. “I’ll catch BART over the bridge,” he said.
I was dumbfounded by his generous offer, but I knew I couldn’t take him up on it. Thankfully, Stephen saved me by walking up and telling me they were parked around the corner. We hadn’t planned that, but I think Stephen could tell I was a bit out of my element.
“Thank you so much. What a kind offer. But Stephen and Walter will get me home. Thank you, though.”
He smiled that bright grin that made my insides all squishy. “Then, I’ll just have to be less subtle and ask for your number. Would you mind if I called you?”
My brain and my heart were doing a little tap dance battle, but for whatever reason – maybe because she was so bruised – my heart fought harder and won. “Sure. I’d like that,” I said and took his phone to put in my number.
Then, we stood there for a few minutes and looked at each other. I knew he wasn’t going to kiss me – he was too wise for that – but I did lean forward and give him a hug. “Thanks for making tonight actually fun.”
“Actually fun. Well, that’s high praise indeed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I nodded and then turned and walked to Stephen and Walter’s car. As I walked around the corner, I saw Delaney watching me, making sure I made it safely. What a guy.
I didn’t even get the car door shut before Stephen and Walter were asking questions. I kind of wanted to squeal like a schoolgirl, but I just said, as calmly as I could fake, “I gave him my number when he asked.”
Then Stephen squealed, and Walter squeezed my hand. We laughed all the way to my apartment.
* * *
The next day, I practically bounded out of bed to grab my phone. No message yet, but it was 4:30 am. I was a little overexcited, I guess. I spent the two hours before I had to get ready for work looking at pictures of Delaney online. I didn’t let myself get too carried away though. I was still technically a married woman, and besides, Delaney Fishman had women falling all over him. He was probably just being nice.
But when my text tone went off as I headed out the door to work, I did a little dance on the stairwell. “Really enjoyed last night. Want to enjoy a real Italian meal on Friday?”
I tried to play it cool, act like I was considering his request, and I did well. I made it all the way to the corner of Clement before I texted back. “Sounds great. Send me the details?”
“Will do. Have a great day, Harvey.”
I must have been smiling like a fool because as I passed Ms. Wang’s store, she said, “Well, that’s the face of a happy woman. What’s got you so pleased?”
I had a couple of minutes before my bus would arrive, so I stopped to tell her about my date and the night before.
“Oh, he sounds delightful. And dinner sounds perfect. I wonder where he’ll take you.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know when I do.”
“So, who is this lucky guy?” She was smiling in only the way someone who is truly happy for another person can.
“Delaney Fishman.”
Her smile fell away immediately, and I felt my heart skip. She thought he was out of my league. She recognized his name and thought he was beyond me. I had thought the same thing over and over, and she was confirming it.
&n
bsp; “The real estate buyer?”
“Um, well, yes, but he’s more famous because he plays football for the Raiders.” I looked over my shoulder and saw the bus coming. I had to get across the street. “How did you know he’s interested in real estate?”
Ms. Wang moved to straighten something on the shelves behind the register. “Oh, I must have read it somewhere. Have a good day, Harvey.”
That was odd, I thought as I jogged across the cross walk to the bus. But I was too excited about my date – my DATE – to give it much thought. I had to get Stephen all caught up.
5
I spent most of that week texting with Delaney, giving fundraising talks at a local trucking company. (I really loved talking with the truckers. I could never do that work – I’d fall asleep in the first hour – but I loved their stories of snowstorms and sketchy truck stops) and looking up more on Melissa Ward and Juan Montague. I didn’t like that woman – I could admit that – but I also thought it was suspicious that she wanted everyone to think she had still been involved with Montague.
From what I could see online, she was working that angle pretty hard, but reading between the lines, it didn’t seem like anyone was really buying that. Even Juan himself had said, in an interview with the Chronicle a couple weeks before he had died, that he was enjoying single life for the moment. So, was she just trying to save face, or was she trying to hide something?
I decided I’d try to get a little bit more information about Melissa from her myself, and asked Delaney if he knew where I could find her. He didn’t like the idea – “The amateur sleuth nearly dies in every book when she snoops too much, Harvey,” his text said – but he told me that Delaney always had lunch at Caffe Trieste on Tuesdays. Apparently, she had a thing for the Beat poets and tried to “get their vibe” by eating at their favorite café as often as possible.
So on Tuesday at 11:30, I made my way up and over to the North Beach café and took a seat by the window. I wanted Melissa to see me, and I definitely didn’t want to miss her. I should have realized that wouldn’t be a problem because a six-foot tall white woman in spike heels is not easy to miss, even in flamboyant San Francisco.