F is for Fred

by Rebecca Cantrell

  “Reports in my office,” Brendan said.

  They sat down around his desk. Sofia recounted her hotel findings, Aidan what he’d gleaned from the surveillance footage. Brendan went last.

  “The police are fairly confident that Mr. Fantome’s death was an overdose, although they won’t know for certain until the toxicology reports come in. No sign of a struggle. No bruising. Coroner places the time of death at around two a.m.”

  “No alibi for our doctor, then,” Sofia said.

  “No alibi that we’ve found,” Brendan pointed out. “Just because he wasn’t tucked up in his apartment doesn’t mean he was out committing murder.”

  “Bet his wife would have liked it better if he’d been safe in his apartment with a clean alibi,” Aidan said.

  “Probably.” Sofia wasn’t so sure. “It’s going to be tough to figure out what he was doing.”

  “It’s never easy,” Aidan said.

  “One more thing,” Brendan said. “One of Dr. Solov’s prescription pads was found in Mr. Fantome’s bedroom.”

  “I saw an empty page from his prescription pad on the ground at Yvette’s birthday party,” Sofia said. “There’s a picture in my report.”

  “He didn’t seem to keep them under lock and key,” Aidan said.

  “Do the police know that Rhett Fantome was a drug dealer?” Sofia asked.

  “He has a record. Possession,” Brendan answered.

  Uh-oh.

  “Doesn’t look good for Dr. Solov,” Aidan said. “Even if he didn’t kill Fantome, the police will have to start investigating their connections.”

  “If they find any connection, Dr. Solov could lose his license to practice medicine, maybe face jail time,” Brendan said.

  28

  Sofia was up early the next morning. Brendan had texted her to drop by the Solov Clinic to pick up their check. Apparently, Mrs. Solov had never heard of the postal service. Or that Saturdays weren’t supposed to be work days.

  A quick shower, a dab of a leave-on conditioner that Gray was always raving about, and she was out. Fred squawked before she’d even closed her front door. Jeffery must not be awake yet because the bird wasn’t sporting the Fred-cam.

  “I don’t have any caviar,” she told him.

  He perched on her railing and eyed her.

  She pulled a bowl of fish pieces out from behind her back. She’d picked it up at the market the night before. It wasn’t exactly fresh, but Fred would have to make do. He dive-bombed the bowl and she set it down on her porch step, then sat next to it. Fred poked his beak right into it.

  “Are you sure about the movie business?” she asked him. “That party footage almost got you shot.”

  Fred stopped eating and peered at her. He cocked his head.

  “Think it over, bud.”

  He ignored her and went back to his fish. Probably the longest conversation they’d had. Which meant she must be going crazy.

  When she got to her feet to head to work, Fred didn’t look up.

  A half-hour later she was pulling into the Solov Clinic’s parking lot. She’d picked up coffee and had a bite of scone and felt a little more client-ready. She retucked her shirt and smoothed her blazer. She looked fine.

  But the parking lot didn’t. Empty except for Dr. Solov’s gray Porsche, his wife’s Mercedes, and a green Volvo parked by the door. A classic black Mustang hung back in the far corner. Clearly word had gotten around about his troubles and it was hurting his business.

  Sofia walked over to the front door where the uniformed security guard held up her hand. She wore reflective sunglasses and her bare arms showed she did some lifting. Sofia bet she belonged to the Mustang. “Name?”

  “Sofia Salgado,” she said. “Here to pick up a check.”

  “Is that what it’s called these days?”

  Sofia tried to channel Cassie and pulled out a calm and professional look. She remembered the rumor that the clinic security guards were retired special forces.

  “You’re not on the list.”

  “Mrs. Solov instructed me to come here.”

  That surprised the guard enough that she took off her sunglasses. Friendly brown eyes with the beginnings of crow’s feet around the corners. “Donna?”

  “I think we’re still on a Mrs. Solov basis,” Sofia said.

  The guard smiled. “That sounds about right. I’ll shoot her a quick text.”

  Sofia waited patiently.

  “She says to send you in.”

  “Great!” Sofia reached for the door.

  “But I need to take your phone.”

  “My phone?”

  “It’s to keep people from taking pictures of the patients. Privacy first.”

  Sofia had sympathy for that. She handed over her phone, then entered the inner sanctum. An atrium with high ceilings and amazing light, which she hadn’t expected when she’d been standing outside the smoky glass. Tall bamboo was arranged in pots, like screens for the self-conscious to hide behind. The floors looked like bamboo planks, and the walls shone the palest green. Priscilla probably knew the exact name for that color. Sofia wished she’d chosen it instead of the pink. The pink felt aggressive in comparison.

  Sofia walked to a circular desk in the center of the room. The scent of lavender. The murmur of running water from a wall fountain. No wonder Dr. Solov always seemed so mellow.

  “Miss Salgado.” Mrs. Solov inclined her head slightly.

  “Good morning,” Sofia said. “Brendan suggested I stop by.”

  She was careful about using the agency’s name or referring to the check, in case Mrs. Solov didn’t want anyone to know she’d hired detectives. Discretion seemed like a wise idea, even though there were no patients to be seen. But maybe some were hiding behind a clump of bamboo somewhere.

  “I appreciate your punctuality.” Mrs. Solov paused.

  “Of course.” Sofia waited for the check to appear.

  “How are things progressing?”

  “Have you been getting Brendan’s reports? Everything is in there.”

  “One came late last night. But I’d like your personal take on things.” Mrs. Solov cocked her head expectantly.

  Sofia quickly summarized Brendan’s report. She tried to make everything sound hopeful.

  “You proved my husband attended the rhinoplasty event?”

  “We did. The photos are attached to the latest report.”

  Mrs. Solov tapped one manicured nail against the counter. “And those photos couldn’t be from an earlier event or falsified?”

  “We don’t have the same tools law enforcement uses, but they’re pretty close. I think it’s unlikely the date or location were falsified.”

  Mrs. Solov seemed unconvinced. “And you have nothing that shows where he went after those pictures were taken?”

  “We’re working on it. Have you spoken to him?”

  “He claims to have driven straight home, then slept in another room so as not to awaken me.”

  The way she’d said ‘claims’ didn’t bode well for Dr. Solov. “Does your security company have camera footage of your front door? Maybe also your garage?” That would help Dr. Solov’s case.

  “Unfortunately not. We recently switched to another security company, and they hadn’t started their security procedures.”

  Bummer for Dr. Solov. “Do you know the name of your security company? The old and the new? Maybe they do have some pictures.”

  “They don’t. The police have already checked. Apparently, they think that Leonid was involved with the man who died.”

  “Rhett Fantome.”

  “The police showed me his picture. He’d been to the clinic a few times. Probably for some kind of procedure, but Leonid’s not telling what. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  “Maybe he should tell them a little to make it clear the meetings were innocent.”

  Mrs. Solov blinked. “He can’t possibly. If word gets out that he’s talking about work he does on individual patients
, he’ll lose his clientele forever. It’s the one unforgivable sin.”

  “Good point.”

  “He hasn’t been himself since the police came by.” Mrs. Solov took a deep breath with a hitch at the end. Her voice came out a little rough, but she caught herself. “I’m terribly worried about him.”

  “It will all work out,” Sofia said. But she wasn’t really sure that it would.

  “He seems so . . . lost and frightened, like a little boy.”

  Mrs. Solov looked down at her hands. Sofia was usually pretty comfortable with long silences, but this one was a doozy. Finally the woman cleared her throat. She opened a drawer and took out a check. “Please do your best for him.” Her beautiful eyes gazed into Sofia’s.

  Sofia smiled reassuringly. “We will.”

  She walked back out of the calming reception area and into the sunlight. She stopped next to the guard. “Thanks.”

  “Just doing my job.” The woman handed her the phone.

  Sofia was embarrassed by how excited she was to get it back. Maybe she needed to think about doing a digital detox.

  She headed over to her car. Then she drove to the end of the road, turned around and, for old times’ sake, parked out of sight of the front door for a little surveillance while she finished her scone and coffee. She and Aidan had watched that door, taking notes of license plates back when this case had started. Back when Yvette Fantome still had a dad.

  That was the hardest part of her job. Watching people cope with the death of those they loved. Aidan always said she needed to learn to compartmentalize work and not let things like that bother her, and he was probably right.

  But Yvette.

  Dr. Solov strolled out of the clinic with an elderly woman on his arm. He walked her toward the Volvo parked in the handicapped space by the door. Even though it was the closest spot, it took a long time to get there. He and the woman chatted comfortably during the walk.

  Sofia couldn’t hear the words, so she studied his body language. He looked relaxed and at ease, shoulders down. The same as he’d looked during their surveillance. Not hurried. Not worried. So why was his wife worried?

  Maybe Mrs. Solov wasn’t the only actor in the family.

  Or maybe he was taking his own pharmaceuticals and his mellow was all chemical.

  29

  Back at the office, Sofia gave Brendan the check and told him about Dr. Solov’s potential alibi.

  “Bad luck about the security footage,” he said.

  “Bad luck or good planning,” she said. “Maybe he cancelled them on purpose. Establish doubt.”

  “What’re the names of their security companies?” Brendan asked.

  “I asked Mrs. Solov, but she got distracted and I didn’t get a name.” She should have followed up.

  “I know some security guys who work in that neighborhood. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Anything else for me to do?” she asked.

  “Go home,” Brendan said. “I appreciate that you picked up the check on a Saturday morning, but it’s not a work day.”

  “Checks don’t wait,” she said.

  “Exactly.”

  Sofia drove home. Somehow she got roped into a spa day with Gray. It was fantastic and they plumped up her face after her debacle with the face mask. But the whole time she was there, she kept thinking about Yvette left alone with her terrible mother.

  The next morning she called Aidan, even though it was Sunday. No answer. Then she called Brendan.

  “I was thinking of heading over to Rhett Fantome’s apartment building to see if anyone saw anything the night he was killed,” Sofia said. “What do you think?”

  “Worth a shot. The police already did that, but folks might open up more to a friendly civilian. Take Aidan as backup.”

  “I called. He didn’t answer.” She paused. “It is Sunday. But I figure if I wait until Monday, people will be at work.”

  Brendan sighed. “Check in every hour.”

  “Will do.”

  On the way to Simi Valley, she stopped at a florist and bought a bouquet of lilies. She felt a little ridiculous about it. It wasn’t like she’d known Rhett. But he was still a person and she might literally be the only one who would buy him flowers.

  The drive over was much more relaxing without Aidan and the moan phone. Even with traffic. She found the apartment they’d so recently visited and parked across the street. Her Tesla was dustier today and fit in better than it had so she wasn’t worried about leaving it alone.

  Following Brendan’s advice, she texted him to check in, then got out of the car. She sipped the last of her coffee and tried to get a read on her surroundings. From where she was standing she could see yellow police tape crisscrossing Rhett’s front door. That meant the police were keeping the scene closed off. Maybe they weren’t sure that it had been an accident. Or maybe they were too indifferent to take it down.

  She hadn’t really liked Rhett, but she had sympathized with him about acting. Entertainment was a tough business, and much tougher if you didn’t have a flavor-of-the-month face. Some actors could have made Rhett’s kind of face work, but to him it had been one more obstacle in a business full of them.

  Which didn’t excuse him for becoming a drug dealer and neglecting his daughter.

  A white SUV halted at the stop sign. The woman at the wheel was texting. From force of habit, Sofia noticed the manufacturer (Ford), the style (Expedition) and the CA license plate. The woman’s hair color (brown), eye color (couldn’t tell), and distinguishing characteristic (not much to see). The woman finished her text and drove on.

  Sofia turned her attention back to Rhett’s drab apartment building. The curtains were open at most windows but nobody was moving around behind them. She’d try them later.

  One apartment had its curtains closed: 101. That was a good place to start.

  What was her angle? She couldn’t pretend to be a cop. Journalist? Friend of the family? Would a snoopy neighbor let her in? She dropped her empty cup in a trashcan and took the lilies out of the passenger side of the car.

  Deep breath, squared shoulders. She walked over to 101 and rang the bell. Unlike Rhett’s, this door was immaculate. The brown paint gleamed and the numbers shone as if they’d been freshly polished.

  The door opened an inch, then stopped against the chain.

  “Yes?” a man’s voice said. She couldn’t even see him in the darkness of his hall. He sounded old. A cat meowed in the background.

  “I hate to bother you. I know you must be very busy, but I was wondering—”

  “Here about the dead drug dealer?”

  Sofia pasted on a surprised look. “Mr. Fantome was a drug dealer?”

  “What’re the flowers for?”

  “Well, I was—”

  “Wait a second.” The door closed, the chain was released, and the door opened wider to reveal a wizened old man wearing gray slacks and a white shirt with burgundy pinstripes. “Half Pint Detective?”

  Maybe it would work to her advantage. “Yes, and I’m—”

  “Were you one of his clients?”

  Clearly this guy didn’t have any time to waste on letting her finish her sentences. “I don’t know what you mean. He was on the show once. We never kept in touch.”

  “When was he on your show?”

  “As an extra.” She tried desperately to think of episodes that might work. “In crowd scenes and one time in a parking lot.”

  “Was he credited?”

  No, because he wasn’t there. “Maybe?”

  “I don’t remember him.”

  “You’ve seen my show?” Establish common ground, she told herself, then ease into it.

  “Everyone has seen your show. It’s still on reruns.”

  And still helping to pay her bills. “Thanks for watching, Mr. . . .” She paused, hoping he’d fill in a name.

  “Jimenez. Alberto Jimenez.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She held out the hand that wasn’t ho
lding flowers and he shook it. His hand was cold, but his grip was firm.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “Mr. Fantome was on a few shows and I heard that he recently . . . passed away.”

  “Died with a needle in his arm, you mean.”

  “Really? A needle?” That did seem to point to an overdose and not foul play.

  “His curtain was open that morning, which it never is.”

  Sofia waited, but no luck.

  “Do you know lilies are poisonous to cats?” He pointed accusingly at her flowers.

  “I do,” she said. “And I had them cut off the stamens at the florist’s. Just in case there were any cats around here. It’s only the pollen that’s poisonous.”

  “Glad you’re being careful.”

  His faded brown eyes looked at her for a few more seconds. She felt like this was a test, and she hoped she’d pass. She must have, because he reached back and grabbed a straw boater off an old-fashioned coat rack. She hadn’t seen one of those in a while. He set the hat carefully on his bald head, adjusted the angle, and smiled. “I’ll show you.”

  She’d passed his test.

  He led the way to Rhett’s apartment. “I saw you here before, with your cop friend.”

  She’d thought she’d seen someone peeking through the curtains of apartment 101 on her last visit. That was why she’d gone there first today. “He’s not a cop, but he does walk like he has a stick up his . . . nether regions.”

  Mr. Jimenez laughed. “You can say ass.”

  “He’s also an ass sometimes.”

  “So, why were you and the ass here?”

  “I wanted to talk to Mr. Fantome about his daughter.” Not entirely untrue.

  “Is she good?” Mr. Jimenez asked. “He thought she’d become famous.”

  “She has potential. But there’s a lot of luck involved.”

  They arrived at Rhett’s door. Sofia carefully set the lilies on the stoop and leaned them against the crime-scene tape. They looked ridiculous and out of place. But she was glad she’d brought them. If Yvette did come by, she’d see that at least one person mourned her father.

  “Why didn’t you talk to that Amazon of a wife of his about the daughter?” Mr. Jimenez asked.