Murder Al Dente

by Nancy Skopin

  I turned the knob, but the door didn’t budge. I peered in through the windows. The small, street level office was unoccupied. I knocked anyway. No response. I scanned the area around the door and found a buzzer. I pressed the buzzer and could hear it vibrating through the entire building.

  Three minutes later Vanessa deigned to unlock the door and allow me admittance. She locked the deadbolt on the door behind me before greeting me with, “Nicoli Hunter?”

  I nodded. Vanessa was lovely in person, apart from the dark circles under her eyes. Brown-eyed blondes are uncommon, but I couldn’t detect a line of demarcation in the part of her hair. The contrast of dark eyebrows and light hair was striking. I wondered what her lineage included. She was dressed in business casual. Plum-colored gabardine slacks and a white silk blouse.

  “We can talk in my office,” she said.

  I followed her up a flight of stairs to a suite of individual offices. Apparently all manufacturing was done on the ground floor and business was conducted on the second floor. On the way up the stairs I tapped my iPhone’s recording icon. Vanessa led me into a huge office space with floor-to-ceiling windows. I glanced at the name plaque on the door before entering. “Chet Fortune” was stenciled in gold script. Interesting.

  “Close the door, please,” Vanessa said, taking a seat at her ex-husband’s massive oak desk.

  I complied and took a seat opposite her.

  “What would you like to discuss, Ms. Hunter?”

  “Call me Nicoli. As I mentioned on the phone, Chet hired me to look into the attempt on his life.”

  “So you said. What does this have to do with me?”

  “When he was killed, I felt compelled to follow up on the potential suspects he and I discussed during our meeting. You were among the few individuals Chet felt might somehow benefit from his death.”

  “And?”

  “And so he changed his will, removed you from his life insurance policy, and called you to notify you that he’d taken those steps.”

  “I still don’t understand how I can assist you with your investigation.”

  “At first I couldn’t figure out what your motive would be,” I said. “If you weren’t going to gain financially from Chet’s death, why bother killing him? So I hired a forensic accountant to look into your personal finances.” I was fudging the truth a little bit, but so what? I was dealing with a murderer.

  “And what, exactly, did your accountant discover?” she asked, calmly.

  “That you’ve been embezzling from Dr. Feelgood for the last six months.”

  That finally got her attention. Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.

  “That gave me the motive,” I said. “Here’s what I believe happened. When Chet told you he was going to sell forty-nine percent of the company to an equity group, you knew there would be an independent audit prior to the sale. The embezzling would be discovered, and you’d go to jail. Not wanting to risk prison, you decided to take care of the problem by killing your ex-husband. The first thing you did was drill a hole in his brake line. When that didn’t work you snuck aboard his yacht and poisoned his favorite bottle of bourbon with Zolpidem. I’m guessing you were still on board when he returned, so you hid somewhere. When Chet took the boat out, all you had to do was wait.

  “He anchored out near Westpoint slough, had a couple of stiff drinks, and passed out. He had the Colt on him when he was in my office that morning. I’m sure he still had it with him that night. You put the gun in his right hand, and pulled the trigger. I don’t get why you put the gun in his right hand, though, since Chet was left handed.”

  I caught a glimpse of a micro-expression on Vanessa’s face that looked a lot like a smirk, but it was gone so fast I couldn’t be certain.

  “There wouldn’t have been anyone nearby in the middle of the night, so no one heard the shot. Then you took Chet’s Zodiac and motored over to Cooke’s Harbor yacht club, where you tied it up at the guest dock. I have a nice video of you leaving it there, by the way.

  “That probably would have been the end of it, but you paid Chance to provide you with an alibi, and while he may not have cared about his father, he then inherited Dr. Feelgood. The company is worth millions, and Chance didn’t want to work for a living. What did he do? Offer to sell the whole operation to that equity group?”

  “How would I know?” Vanessa asked. Her voice sounded calm but there was a sheen of perspiration on her upper lip.

  “It doesn’t matter. For whatever reason, Chance became a threat, so you waited for him to come home one night and ran him down on the street in front of his condo.”

  “You certainly have an active imagination, Nicoli. But none of this has any basis in fact, so you can’t prove anything.”

  “You’re wrong about that. You disabled your car’s GPS before killing Chance, but I can place your Lexus on Bair Island Road the night Chet was murdered and I can place your cell phone in the Marina District the night Chance was killed. I can easily prove you’ve been embezzling from your employer for the last six months. The police don’t have any of this information yet. I wanted to give you the opportunity to negotiate with me before turning all the evidence over to the homicide detective in charge of Chet’s case.”

  “Are you attempting to blackmail me?”

  “I don’t like that word. Let’s just say I’m giving you something to think about.” I stood up. She clearly wasn’t going to confess and I had a bachelor party to get ready for. “You have until Monday. I hope I hear from you before it’s too late.”

  Vanessa Poneke’s lips tightened and her jaw clenched, but she remained seated as I swung out the door and down the stairs, letting myself out of the building. I assumed she’d come downstairs to relock the door to the street. Once I was seated in my car with the engine running I took one last look at the building. Vanessa was watching me through the glass pain in the door. The look in her eyes was calculating. Great. Now she knew what I drove. My office address was listed online and in the yellow pages. I felt a chill run up my spine and wondered if I should expect my brake lines to be cut sometime between now and Monday.

  CHAPTER 37

  Before going back to the marina, I stopped by the Mane Line hair salon and begged Arturo to trim a couple of inches from my unruly locks, even though I didn’t have an appointment. He finally caved after I played the wedding card. Hey, whatever works.

  I was in my office when Michael arrived at 4:45. We had reservations at Michelino’s at 5:00, so we were cutting it close. Buddy was already on board Kirk’s yacht and would be spending the night, so we wouldn’t wake Kirk when we got home from the bachelor party. Bill would be joining me at the estate whenever he got off work.

  I gave Michael a hug to which he responded by asking, “Where are we eating?”

  I laughed. “Hungry?”

  “Starved. I skipped lunch.”

  “Do you like Italian?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  “Good. We’re dining at Michelino’s in San Mateo.”

  I turned off my computer, shut off the lights, and locked the office doors before activating my perimeter alarm. I’d threatened Vanessa and I was sure, at some point, that she would return the favor.

  Michael followed me to the restaurant so he could head straight home after dinner. I pointed out Michelino’s as I drove past, and Michael took the last available parking space on the street. I drove around the corner and parked in a liquor store lot. As I walked through the back entrance I asked the cashier if he was going to have my Bimmer towed while I was at dinner. He was in his early forties with curly brown hair, and eyes that had a noticeable twinkle in them.

  “Not if you buy something. Can’t tow paying customers.”

  “Great! How about a bottle of your best cognac?”

  That got a huge smile out of him. Maybe he was the owner. “We have a Gautier Cognac VSOP that’s only sixty bucks.”

  “Perfect!” I’d bring the bottle to Jack’s party
tonight. Elizabeth’s last name was Gaultier. It was close. Jack would love it.

  I entered Michelino’s and found Michael conferring with the maître d' at the podium. They were enthusiastically discussing entrées. When the maître d' saw me he said, “Ah, Ms. Hunter, you have arrived.”

  I was well known at Michelino’s. Not because the employees knew what I did for a living, but because of the frequency of my visits and because the staff thought I dressed the place up. I often found myself seated at a window table. Jim had explained this phenomenon to me, once upon a time. He said people walking by on the street would look in the windows, see me sitting there in a clingy dress, and suddenly feel inspired to eat Italian food.

  We were, indeed, seated at a window table. Our server approached and took our drink orders, then left us to consider the menu.

  “What do you like here?” Michael asked.

  “I like everything here,” I said. “Though most of it isn’t on my diet. I usually avoid the dishes that are heavy on carbohydrates, but the pasta is house made. Do you like seafood?”

  “Are you serious?”

  I pointed out the Tagliolini alla Vespucci on the menu. “This is a black pasta made with squid ink. They serve it with fresh salmon, clams, calamari, and shrimp, all drenched in a lobster sauce.”

  “What’s lobster sauce?” Michael asked.

  “It’s a béchamel sauce, a cream sauce, but the base is lobster stock.”

  “Oh. My. God! I’m in.” He set down his menu. “What are you having?”

  “I’m going to have the Arugula salad and the New Zealand rack of lamb, without the mashed potatoes.”

  Over a fabulous dinner, I told Michael about my “interview” with Vanessa. He nearly dropped his fork when I got to the part where she was staring at me through the glass pane in the factory door.

  “Shit, Nikki! Now she knows what your car looks like.”

  “Relax. I can take care of myself.”

  “Sure you can. How many people have tried to kill you since you became a PI?”

  “Um. A few.”

  “Seven. There have been seven attempts on your life since you became a PI.”

  “You’ve been keeping track?”

  “I’m your friend. You matter to me. It’s only a matter of time before your luck runs out.”

  “Are you offering your services as a body guard?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Great! You can come with me to Jack’s bachelor party tonight. Make sure I get there without anyone running me off the road.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. There’s also a lingerie party taking place at the estate tonight.”

  “A lingerie party?”

  “Jack and Elizabeth eloped last weekend. Their formal wedding is tomorrow, so we’re having the bachelor and bachelorette parties at their estate in Hillsborough tonight. Will you come? I’m the best man.”

  “Why not? That lingerie party sounds pretty interesting.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Michael followed me to Hillsborough and we rolled through the open gate caravan style. Jack had hired a couple of valets to handle parking, but I called him on my cell and asked permission to keep my car on the property. I explained why I didn’t think it was safe to park it on the street tonight, and he not only agreed, he came outside and assigned one of the valets the responsibility of making sure no one went anywhere near my car. It was sweet.

  I introduced Michael to Jack, Elizabeth, Ilsa, and Joachim. No one else had arrived yet. I presented the bottle of cognac to Jack and he laughed as he read the label. He showed Elizabeth the bottle and she grinned at him and whispered, “Does this mean you’re going to drink me later?”

  Jack’s eyes glowed like the cat burglar who’d swallowed the canary. It’s a look he frequently exhibits in his new wife’s presence. This wasn’t awkward at all. Luckily I was the only one standing close enough to hear his response, and I won’t embarrass you by repeating it.

  Bill and Lily arrived at the same time and I corralled all the men outside on the patio where a professional bartender was set up. I gave Jack the box of Cuban cigars then rushed back inside to give Lily my gift for Elizabeth. She was in charge of listing which gift came from whom, so Elizabeth could write thank you cards at some later date.

  “What is it?” she asked, when I handed her the gift-wrapped box.

  “La Perla.”

  “Oooh! Nice. So who’s the redheaded cutie outside?”

  “Oh, that’s my friend Michael. We’ve known each other since grade school.”

  “Yum.”

  I looked at Lily quizzically, then shrugged and retreated back to the pool deck, where I discovered that Jack had stocked up on my favorite IPA.

  We smoked Cuban cigars and toasted the end of Jack’s freedom while listening to Celtic harp music and an occasional outburst of hysterical laughter coming from inside the house. It sounded like the lingerie party was a success. I hoped Lily took pictures for me. I felt like I was missing an important moment in my best friend’s life.

  Around 9:00 a slightly tipsy Michael approached me and said, “What’s the story with the tall brunette?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He nodded in the direction of the house, and I spotted Lily walking toward the kitchen with a tray of empty glasses.

  “Oh, you mean Lily? She’s Elizabeth’s oldest friend. They went to school together in New Orleans, and even moved to California together when Elizabeth decided to go to Stanford. Why?”

  “She’s hot.”

  “Um, Michael, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but Lily used to be a man.”

  “What’s her IQ?”

  “It’s off the charts. Did you hear what I said? Lily’s a post-op transsexual. She used to be a guy.”

  “What’s your point? I like tall women, and smart is sexy.”

  “Do you like cats?”

  “I love cats.”

  Okay then. “Would you like an introduction?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I caught Lily returning to the living room with a full tray of fresh drinks and called her over. I took the tray from her, and said, “Lily this is Michael. Michael this is Lily. I’ll deliver these while you two get to know each other.”

  Michael was tall, but Lily was taller. Her shoulders were also broader than his. As I thought about the possibility of those two as a couple, I remembered that the five-year-old Michael had developed a crush on me after I beat the crap out of him on our first day of kindergarten. He’d proposed to me shortly thereafter. Maybe he still liked dominant women. The thought put a smile on my face. They could both do a lot worse.

  I delivered the drinks to the living room and spent a few minutes oohing and aahing over the presents Elizabeth had already opened. Since Lily was outside with Michael for the moment, I picked up her notepad when Elizabeth reached for another gift, adding the name of the gift giver for the record. The box contained a pair of red licorice edible crotchless panties. I didn’t know if Jack liked licorice, but Elizabeth thought they were hysterical.

  I needed to get back to being Jack’s best man at his party, so I handed the pad and pen over to Ilsa, and excused myself.

  Out on the patio I found Bill watching Michael and Lily who were seated at a small table on the other side of the pool, leaning their heads together, both grinning wildly.

  “You think that’s a good idea?” Bill asked me.

  “I think it’s a great idea. They’re both brilliant, funny, kind-hearted free thinkers. It’s a bit of a drive to the Santa Cruz Mountains though.”

  Jim called a little after 10:00 and said he was on his way. I met him in the foyer and gave him a hello hug.

  “I thought you were working tonight.”

  “I finished up early. Where’s Jack?”

  I escorted him out to the patio and he handed Jack a bottle of Method & Madness Single Malt Irish whiskey. Jack whistled and clapped Jim on the shoulder. They’d bonded a year and
a half ago when they were both helping me keep track of Nina’s potential victim pool.

  I introduced Jim to the bartender, Chad, who offered him a variety of drink options. Jim went with a double shot of Lagavulin 12-Year-Old Scotch, straight up, of course.

  I looked around me at my friends and realized, once again, that I was surrounded by redheads. Jim, Elizabeth, and Jack were more on the strawberry blonde side, but Michael’s locks were a deep, classic red. I remembered what Samuel Clemens, aka Mark Twain, said about redheads. “While the rest of the human race are descended from monkeys, redheads derive from cats.” Probably true.

  The party wrapped up around midnight. Even though the fête had been catered, Ilsa insisted on boxing up the leftovers and forcing every guest to take something home. Bill and I lucked out. We got the left over Swedish meatballs. Buddy would be in heaven.

  Elizabeth caught up with me at the door and handed me the pouch containing their wedding bands. The plan was that I would attach the pouch to Buddy’s collar before the ceremony tomorrow, and he would deliver the rings to the happy couple during their vows.

  She leaned in to hug me and said, “Thank you for the nightie. Jack’s going to love it.”

  I was sure he would.

  When we stepped outside I spotted Bill’s personal car parked next to my BMW. I should have known he wouldn’t allow a valet to drive it. It’s a 1966, fire engine red, classic Ford Mustang. That car is his baby.

  Even though it was a Friday night, most of our neighbors at the marina were home by 12:30 so we both ended up parking in the visitors’ lot. We walked arm in arm down to the dock and, as we passed Kirk’s boat, I wondered if Buddy was missing me. He’d spent a lot of time with Kirk and D’Artagnon when I’d been out of State working on a case, but other than hot days when I didn’t want to leave him in the car, he was always by my side.