by Nancy Skopin
She snorted. “Jack has acres of flowers. These are for me.” She nodded toward the bag I was carrying, and said, “The wine is for Jack.”
I looked down into the bag and discovered a bottle of Bolla Valpolicella. “Good choice.”
We set the bags on Elizabeth’s dock steps and she turned to face me.
“Jack tells me you’re doing a job for Cliff Montgomery.” She was not smiling.
“I am. Do you know him?” I asked.
“Not really. I’ve seen him around the neighborhood a couple of times.” She wrinkled her nose.
“And?”
“I don’t know. I have a funny feeling about his family.”
Elizabeth doesn’t often have funny feelings, so when she does, I pay attention.
“What kind of funny?” I asked.
“Funny weird,” she said. “Why don’t you go get ready for dinner and come back for a glass of wine?”
“Okay,” I said, hoping for more than the vague ‘funny weird’ comment.
I hurried back to my own boat, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless cotton blouse, scrunched some gel into my curls, and tucked my mini binoculars into my shoulder bag. Then I filled Buddy’s kibble and water dishes and waited for him to eat his dinner. After he finished I hooked his leash to his collar and we walked to Elizabeth’s trawler. She had already changed clothes and poured us each a glass of chilled Soave.
When I sat down, K.C. made himself comfortable in my lap and Elizabeth stroked Buddy’s silky ears as she told me about her observances of Cliff Montgomery. She had seen him talking to himself in his car on more than one occasion. She had also observed him pacing back and forth in the backyard of his parents’ house, looking behind bushes and trees, then looking up at one of the second story windows and frantically running his fingers through his hair. She felt he might be “troubled.” I was leaning in that direction myself, and said so.
“But what if someone is trying to drive him crazy?” I continued. “The things he described to me would do it, especially if he was high-strung to begin with.”
I gave Elizabeth the details of Cliff’s dilemma as he had told them to me, swearing her to secrecy. She nodded gravely, but made no comment until I had finished. Then she picked up her wine glass and grinned.
“What?” I asked.
“He’s lucky,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“Because if he’d gone to anyone else he’d either be laughed at and humiliated, or taken advantage of to the tune of several thousand dollars.”
I realized she was probably right, and sunk a little deeper into the role of protector of those unable to protect themselves. I frequently find myself in this state of mind. It may be a plus in my profession, but sometimes it’s a real pain in the ass.
We took my BMW to Hillsborough, with K.C. in his cat carrier on the backseat with Buddy.
Dinner at Jack’s house is always scrumptious, due to Ilsa’s creativity and skill. On this occasion, she had prepared duck a l'orange with fresh asparagus, and had baked the promised loaf of pumpkin bread as well as some cinnamon rolls for me to take home. The pumpkin bread has very little sugar, but the cinnamon rolls would do me in. Staying on my diet around Ilsa requires tremendous self-restraint. Luckily, Bill has a sweet tooth. I wouldn’t have to force-feed him the treats.
After dinner we adjourned to the backyard and Jack pointed out the Montgomery estate, which was on the other side of his neighbor’s hedge. It was some distance off, due to the size of the lots in Hillsborough, but the second story at the rear of the house was visible. I pulled the binoculars out of my bag and Elizabeth snickered.
The sun was just going down. There were blinds drawn across most of the windows but you could still see that the lights were on inside. I concluded that if someone wanted to shine bright lights through those blinds, the light would, indeed, be visible, but it would be diffused, not as bright as Cliff had made it sound. Besides, where would you hang the light source? There were no trellises to climb. There was no balcony. It seemed more likely a projector had somehow been rigged inside the room. I caught myself buying into Cliff’s drama without any actual evidence, and mentally slapped myself.
Buddy and I drove home at 9:00, leaving Elizabeth and Jack alone. The aftereffects of being in the presence of their blossoming romance made me want to drop in on Bill, but I resisted the urge, opting, as always, to sleep in my own bed.
CHAPTER 5
ON TUESDAY MORNING I called Cliff’s “downstairs” number from my smartphone. Even though I was in the office, I used the cell because the land line shows up on caller ID as Hunter Investigations.
The phone was answered by a woman. “Montgomery residence,” she stated, stiffly.
“This is Nicoli Hunter, calling for Clifford.”
“Junior or Senior?” she asked.
“Junior,” I said, after a brief hesitation.
“One moment please.” I heard her set down the receiver and walk away.
After about a minute Cliff picked up.
“I have it Mrs. Peterson,” he said. Then we both waited for the click signifying that Mrs. Peterson had hung up the extension. It took longer than it should have.
“Nicoli?” he whispered.
“Yes, Cliff, it’s me. I’ve got all the equipment, so I’m ready when you are.” I was whispering too, although I had no idea why.
“Great,” he said with what passed, in Cliff’s case, for enthusiasm. “My parents are planning to go out tonight. There’s a banquet at the country club. May I call you when they leave?”
“Sure. What time do you think that might be?”
“Should be around seven or seven-thirty,” he said. “Have you arranged for a suitable vehicle?”
Oops. I’d forgotten about that. “Not yet. I take it the domestic help will be at home?”
There was a pause, then he said, “Oh, you mean Mrs. Peterson? Yes, she’s likely to be here. She has nights off, but she lives here and doesn’t go out very often.”
“Could you pretend I’m your date?” I asked.
He was silent for several moments this time. “I suppose. But then I’d have to explain you to my parents tomorrow. Mrs. Peterson tells my father everything.”
“Okay. Let me think about it and I’ll call you back.”
I considered hijacking a phone company van, as Cliff had originally suggested, but that would involve breaking the law. I avoid breaking the law whenever possible, even laws I’m ambivalent about. I finally decided on an interior decorator cover. It was easy to fake and difficult to check up on.
A quick call back to Cliff confirmed that his parents would not object to his redecorating his suite of rooms, providing the structure of the house wasn’t altered. I suggested he tell them he wanted to keep the process as unobtrusive as possible, so I’d be doing most of the work myself. That way they wouldn’t be suspicious when I didn’t bring in a crew.
I called my neighbor, Lily, and arranged to switch cars with her. Lily has a non-descript white Econoline van, which is in pretty good shape, at least on the outside.
On a hunch I called the San Mateo County Clerk’s office and asked the young woman who answered if I could obtain a copy of the blueprints for the Montgomery house. She said that wouldn’t be a problem, providing I was willing to pay the copying fee.
I called Jim Sutherland next and told him we’d be starting the job tonight. He agreed to meet me at Cliff’s house at 9:00. That would give him time for dinner and a quick nap, and would allow me enough time to install the surveillance equipment and give Cliff’s rooms a quick going-over with my new bug detector.
After lunch, a chicken salad for me and half a cup of kibble for Buddy, I drove to the County Clerk’s office and waited around for almost an hour while a befuddled elderly gentleman behind the counter located the blueprints and copied them for me. It cost me $16.70 for three pages. Unbelievable. I tucked the receipt in my wallet and rolled up the copies, planning to have a look at th
em when I got back to the office.
I drove to Gray’s Paint & Wallpaper on Woodside Road and picked up swatches of what I considered masculine wallpaper, and one with water lilies and swans just in case Cliff leaned in that direction, as well as a book of paint samples. The sales clerk was also happy to sell me three large shopping bags with their logo on the side.
A nearby carpet store allowed me to borrow samples of the three carpets I liked. I made notes of the carpet and wallpaper prices, should Cliff decide to actually re-decorate his suite of rooms. It couldn’t hurt. He seemed to be having some kind of a personal crisis. Maybe a change of scenery would improve his self-esteem, plus I’d get a good look at every nook and cranny if we actually stripped the walls and the floor.
By 3:30 I was running out of steam. I walked Buddy around the marina grounds, then left him onboard the boat while I went to see Lily on the next dock over. She happily traded me the keys to her van for the keys to my 2002, and invited me in for a soda, curious about the new case I was working on that required me to drive her van instead of my BMW. I declined her offer, explaining that it was only a surveillance job, and I needed a vehicle less conspicuous than the 2002.
Back on my own boat, I located my spare car key, then walked back up to the parking lot and moved all the surveillance equipment and decorating samples from my car into Lily’s Econoline, placing the Radio Shack supplies inside one of the empty paint and wallpaper store bags so I could take them into the house unnoticed. I locked both vehicles and took the blueprints to the office where I laid them out on the floor. There was still no air conditioning, so I used books and coffee mugs to hold down the corners of the blueprints, opened the windows, and turned on the fan.
I studied the layout of Cliff’s house. He’d said his suite was on the second floor, and there was an attic above it. A very roomy attic. I’d have to make a point of checking the ceiling in his bedroom thoroughly. There was also a hidden passageway and a staircase leading from the first floor kitchen up to the second floor. It was probably originally used by servants who were not allowed on the front staircase. The house had been built in 1936. I’d have another look at the blueprints after I’d been inside. Right now I needed to take care of a regular client. I rolled up the plans, shut off the fan, locked the office, and tucked the blueprints in the back of Lily’s van.
I walked past D’Artagnon’s boat on my way to my own, but it was apparently too hot for him to be outside. I left a meat-flavored mini dog biscuit on the bow of the boat where he would find it later. Thinking about that made me smile.
CHAPTER 6
I TOOK A QUICK SHOWER ONBOARD the boat, guzzled a mug of Kona coffee, and dressed in a pair of
rust-colored wool gabardine slacks, a cream-colored silk tank top, and strappy high-heeled sandals. I had purchased the outfit while working the investigation for Jack last summer. The case had required me to look the part of a wealthy widow shopping for high-end real estate.
I left Buddy on Kirk’s Bluewater with D’Artagnon and headed for the parking lot and Lily’s van. It took me almost five minutes to adjust the seat so I could comfortably reach the pedals and the steering wheel. Lily is tall. I already missed my little Bimmer. I’m used to its maneuverability and compact size. Driving the Econoline was kind of like piloting my boat.
I parked in a public lot on Emerson Street in Palo Alto and walked a couple of blocks to Benenati, an Italian restaurant and a new client. The owner wanted me to arrive at the beginning of the dinner shift, and I was right on time. When I tried the door of the restaurant, I found it was locked. I looked through the glass and saw a waitress setting a table, so I knocked. She turned her head and smiled at me, but made no move to come and unlock the door. After waiting a couple of minutes I knocked harder and the waitress approached, unlocked the door, and held it open, allowing me to enter. She wasn’t wearing a name tag and didn’t bother to introduce herself. She was about five foot five in her black Sketchers, at least a hundred and sixty pounds, and wore black slacks and a white cotton blouse.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “Table for one?”
“Yes, please.”
She escorted me to a table for two only a few yards from the kitchen, even though the restaurant was currently empty. Interesting. Of course, none of the employees would know I was a PI hired by the owner to insure they were all doing their jobs to her expectations and not attempting to steal her blind. The unnamed waitress handed me a menu, and collected the second place setting.
“Would you like anything from the bar?” she asked.
“Do you have Perrier?”
“We do. I’ll be right back.”
The music in the restaurant was overly loud. Dean Martin was singing ‘That’s Amore’, and from where I was seated I could hear the chef singing along, badly. I looked over the menu options, not wanting anything heavy that would slow me down later. I decided on a salad of arugula, fennel, and blood oranges with a vinaigrette dressing, and the sea bass entrée with pistachio crust and wild rice. I wouldn’t eat the rice. Too many carbs. I watched as the hostess greeted a couple who had just arrived, and escorted them to a table at the back of the restaurant.
I took out my smartphone and began typing notes for the report I’d later submit to the owner. As I was entering the chef’s lack of vocal talent, the waitress returned with a ballon goblet and a small carafe of red wine. I looked up from my phone as she poured the wine into the glass.
“I didn’t order wine,” I said. “I ordered Perrier.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. The wine must have been for one of the other tables. This is my second shift today and I’m exhausted. I’ll get your water right away.”
Instead of returning to the bar with the empty carafe and the full wine glass, she hurried over to the partially enclosed, and currently vacant, reservation desk. She furtively glanced around, and then chugged the wine. Impressive. It takes a committed drinker to down a glass of wine that fast. I considered snapping a quick photo with my cell, but even with so few customers nearby I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. She stashed the empty glass and carafe in the trash container under the desk before getting back to work.
I looked down at my phone as she walked past my table toward the bar. She returned a few minutes later with a chilled bottle of Pellegrino, not Perrier, and a glass containing a wedge of lime.
“Would you like to hear tonight’s specials?” she asked.
“Sure.” I didn’t need to hear the specials, but part of my job is evaluating all aspects of service, and reciting the specials in an enticing manner is essential.
She described the Cheese-Filled Manicotti with enough graphic detail to make my mouth water. Luckily the other special was a Chicken and Sundried Tomato Pasta Salad, and my taste buds had calmed down by the time she finished.
I placed my order and she collected the menu, then sauntered off to check on other tables before going to the kitchen to inform the chef of my selections. Since it was early, only a few couples had been seated, and my waitress appeared to be the only server presently on duty. Five minutes after taking my order, she returned with a basket of warm sourdough bread and a dish of chilled butter pats, which I did my best to ignore.
I let my gaze drift over to the bar and the patrons seated there, and almost did a double take when I recognized a man I’d met a few months earlier at a seafood restaurant down the block. His name was Aaron, and he’d saved me from having to kick the ass of a guy who was assaulting me in the parking lot. I’d been working that night and had been spotted by a waiter I’d previously caught stealing from another client. I had been involved in his termination, and after a few drinks he’d decided he owed me some payback. I had the situation under control, but Aaron had seen him follow me out of the restaurant in a hurry and was concerned for my welfare. It was sweet, and kind of noble.
Aaron isn’t a classically handsome type. His nose has been broken at least once, but it works on him. His hair, eyes, and long
lashes are dark. He’s about five-ten, adequately muscled, and favors bright colored Hawaiian shirts. I briefly considered inviting him to join me for dinner, but he’d been more than a little flirtatious the first time we met, and I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. I was in a committed relationship with Bill. Not that I didn’t appreciate knowing men like Aaron found me attractive.
My waitress served my salad within seven minutes of taking my order, and returned to my table five minutes later to ask if everything was to my satisfaction. Her timing was acceptable, but the arugula was uncut and difficult to get into my mouth without slopping vinaigrette down my chin. The lettuce had a wonderful nutty flavor, and the blood orange sections were plentiful, sweet, and juicy, but the dressing had way too much red wine vinegar, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth.
I kept a casual eye on Aaron, not wanting to initiate contact, but not wanting to ignore him if he happened to notice me. He appeared to be chatting up one of the female bartenders. So much the better.
The waitress served my entrée as soon as I’d finished my salad. The sea bass was succulent on the inside and crunchy on the outside with the pistachio crust, but the chef had used a heavy hand with ground pepper and it totally overwhelmed the fish and side vegetables.
The server approached when I set my napkin on the table, and offered dessert and coffee. I accepted the coffee, because the menu noted that the restaurant used a dark roast made with Arabica beans, one of my favorites. When she served my coffee, I asked for the check. She returned with a leather folder before I’d finished the cup, and I slid my credit card into the folder, scanning the tab quickly to determine if anything was amiss. I was surprised to see that she had charged me for the wine, and not just any wine, she’d guzzled a glass of Georges Latour Private Reserve Cab. If I pointed it out to her and she removed the very expensive glass of wine from the receipt, I’d lose the proof I needed to bust her, so I penned in a twenty percent gratuity and handed the folder back with a smile.