Murder Over Cocktails: The 2nd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries)

by Nancy Skopin

  “Everything about you practically screams it. I imagine it’s easy for you to determine someone’s intentions just by looking at them, perhaps making eye contact or shaking hands, am I right?”

  I nodded dumbly.

  “Well, that’s something we can explore when you come back.” She smiled that sweet encouraging smile at me again. “Good luck on Tuesday.”

  She handed me a printed page of things to try if the insomnia persisted.

  I said, “Thank you,” and tucked the list into my bag. I couldn’t remember telling Loretta that my preliminary hearing was on Tuesday, and wondered if Bill had mentioned it, or if she had somehow divined the information.

  At the door she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. I felt accepted, almost absolved. I walked outside thinking maybe everything would work out after all.

  I climbed into the BMW, lowered the windows, lit a cigarette, and took out the list Loretta had given me.

  Get plenty of fresh air and exercise

  Don’t drink any coffee after noon, and no beverages at all after 5:00 p.m.

  Eat only carbohydrates for dinner

  Go to bed at the same time every night

  Never look at the clock when you’re trying to sleep

  If you can’t go to sleep, or wake up in the night, get out of bed and go into a different room

  Slow, deep breathing

  Read a romance novel, or any book you know will have a happy ending

  Watch a movie you’ve seen before that makes you feel safe and secure

  Make a list of everything that’s bothering you and decide to deal with it tomorrow

  I shoved the list back into my purse and started the car.

  When I arrived home I locked myself inside the boat, stripped down to my underwear, and climbed into bed. I was unconscious a few seconds after my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 31

  Bill called and woke me a little after 7:00 p.m. He said he had some information I might find interesting, but he didn’t want to discuss it over the phone. I told him I would love to see him. I just blurted it out without thinking. Near death experiences do that to you.

  I took a quick shower and called Rainbow Pizza. I wanted comfort food. I ordered an extra large, half Hawaiian and half sausage and mushroom. At 7:45 my phone rang again. It was the pizza delivery guy and he was waiting at the gate. I jogged up to meet him and gave him an extra ten for the speedy delivery.

  I was halfway down the companionway when I heard the gate open behind me. I turned sharply, ready to defend myself with the pizza box if necessary, but it was only Bill.

  “Relax,” he said, draping an arm around my shoulders as we walked down to the dock.

  The physical contact made me feel better. I hadn’t even realized I was worried about him acting normally with me now that I was a homicide suspect.

  When we were on board I set the pizza box on the galley counter and turned to him expectantly.

  “So?”

  “Can we eat while we talk? I’m starved and I have a lot to tell you.”

  “No,” I said, placing a hand on top of the pizza box. “Talk first.”

  “Fine.”

  He sank down onto the galley settee and took out the small notebook he always carries.

  “Margaret Sectio’s given name was Margaret Kathleen Sullivan. Born to James and Kathleen Sullivan, both deceased. They left everything to her, including the property in Woodside. Margaret had one sibling, Patrick James Sullivan, who is her sole heir. Besides the property, she had a substantial stock portfolio and over five million in a money market account, apparently left to her by the parents. Her life insurance policy will pay her brother another million. No one has been able to locate him yet. Margaret had a safe deposit box under Sullivan. As soon as the Sheriff’s department gets to the bank on Monday morning we’ll find out what’s inside.” He closed the notebook.

  “Is there a way to find out if any of the officers or detectives at the scene last night knew Maggie… you know… personally?”

  “I’ll ask around. Pizza?”

  “You’ve earned it.”

  I gave him a quick kiss before getting out the plates.

  “You want a beer?” I asked, as I set the table.

  He opened the fridge and took out two bottles of Guinness. While we ate most of the pizza, and polished off the six-pack, I tried to wrap my mind around the new information Bill had given me. Why would Maggie’s parents have left everything to her and nothing to her brother? Maybe our search of the estate tomorrow would give us a clue to his whereabouts.

  After dinner we curled up on the settee in the main salon and I turned on the TV. Channel 4 News was on and I was stunned to see a reproduction of my driver’s license photo staring back at me. The story had been leaked to the press. I momentarily lost the ability to breathe. I didn’t even want to think about what this could do to my credibility with my clients, not to mention any future business. While the viewing public was informed that I was a PI, at least the anchor didn’t mention my area of specialization.

  I called my mom first and explained what was going on. She wanted to discuss my chosen profession, again, but I explained that I had a lot of other calls to make and promised we’d have lunch soon.

  I spent the next forty-five minutes trying to reach my regular clients, assuring the ones I connected with that it was all a misunderstanding, that it had been self-defense, and the dead woman’s weapon had simply been misplaced. I thought that sounded plausible. The police misplace evidence all the time, right? Those I spoke with agreed it would be a good idea for me to take a few days (or a few weeks) off to let the publicity die down before resuming my regular survey schedule.

  Bill sat patiently while I made my calls. Having him there with me, after all that had happened, reassured me to some extent. I can be pretty hardheaded at times, and I know I’m not easy to live with, but Bill seemed to be up to the challenge.

  Chapter 32

  On Sunday morning I let Bill sleep in while I went to the gym. I did my usual workout, but I was looking over my shoulder the whole time. I remembered what Jack had said about watching my back, and felt the paranoia taking hold.

  Bill was gone when I got back to the boat, but he had left me a note saying he would call me later. I had a protein shake and a handful of vitamins, showered, put on clean shorts and a tee shirt, and walked up to the office. It was time to clean up the mess.

  I braced myself before opening the doors, but I still felt devastated when I saw all those case files and reports scattered on the floor. I stepped inside and locked the double doors behind me.

  There was one message on my answering machine. Otto Kleinhurst, the owner of Otto’s Eatery and one of my regular clients, was canning my ass because, as he put it, “I can’t use a spotter my employees will recognize from the TV news.” Otto had three restaurants in the Bay Area that I surveyed weekly. I wondered if I could sue anyone for damages.

  I started a pot of coffee and sat down on the floor amidst the chaos. While the coffee was dripping I lined up the empty file folders in alphabetical order, then I began gathering up the surveillance reports, expense reports, and miscellaneous paperwork. I stacked everything up in one huge pile and started at the top, placing each item in front of the folder in which it belonged.

  After about twenty minutes I stopped for coffee. I sat at my desk considering my situation, drinking Mocha Java and smoking. Things could be worse. I had a home I loved, great neighbors, and a business I enjoyed, most of the time. I had Bill and Elizabeth, my childhood friend Michael Burke, my new friend Jim Sutherland, and I had my health. This was just a temporary setback. I finished my coffee and sat back down on the floor.

  At 9:45 I remembered that
Jack was meeting us at 10:00. I stuffed all the smaller piles I’d been making into their respective folders and placed a glass paperweight on top of my yet-to-be-sorted floor pile. I turned off the coffee maker and rinsed my cup, then locked the office and hurried down to Elizabeth’s boat.

  Jack was already there when I arrived. Most men look ridiculous in shorts, but Jack was an exception. His contoured quadriceps and calves demanded attention and the black tee shirt he wore revealed an equally well-defined upper body. Elizabeth’s cat, K.C., was sitting on Jack’s feet, nuzzling his knees and purring loudly. Elizabeth was all smiles in an off-white mini dress. They looked like a couple. Actually they looked like they could be brother and sister, but that was too creepy to contemplate.

  Jack was still driving the new BMW, so we took that to Woodside. As we drove I filled them both in on what Bill had told me about Maggie’s family and how much money her brother now stood to inherit.

  Elizabeth whistled softly. “That’s a nice chunk of change,” she said.

  Jack didn’t comment.

  We parked halfway down the dirt road to Maggie’s house and Jack and I got out. Elizabeth waited in the car to act as lookout. She would honk if the police arrived, and then distract them by asking for directions to an address a couple of miles down the road that I’d noted along the way.

  Jack wore a black leather fanny pack strapped around his waist. As we approached the cottage he took out two pairs of latex gloves and handed one to me. I told him I’d unlocked the knob the previous day, but hadn’t even tried to work the bolt. He removed a small computerized lock pick from his pack, inserted a wire into the deadbolt key slot, and pressed a button. I heard a soft whirring sound and then a loud metallic clack. He turned the knob and opened the door.

  “How much did that thing cost you?” I asked.

  “Sixty dollars. I bought it on-line.”

  I made a mental note to pick one up, as we stepped inside and closed the door behind us. I went into a room that looked like an office or maybe a library, and Jack started in the living room.

  The office held a beautiful antique roll-top desk, but it was empty apart from a blank pad of notepaper and two ballpoint pens. The bookshelves contained mostly hardbound classics. Moby Dick, Pride and Prejudice, War and Peace, and a few texts on chess.

  I was turning to leave the room when I spotted a paperback Latin/English dictionary. I took it off the shelf and examined the spine of the book. There was a single crease, as though it had been used only once. I held it loosely in my hand, allowing it to fall open. It opened to the S’s. I scanned the page and my eyes were drawn to an underlined passage that read, ‘Sectio—(verb) the action of cutting or severing as in surgery; castration; dissection; division; separation.’ I felt the same chill I’d experienced when I looked the word up in my Windows thesaurus. I placed the book back on the shelf and went looking for Jack. He was in the kitchen going through drawers.

  “I’ll check the bedroom,” I said.

  “Okay. But it doesn’t look like anyone is living here.”

  The bedroom was in the back of the house. I opened bedside drawers, checked under the bed, and went through the dresser. Everything was clean and empty. In the corner, facing the window that looked out onto the driveway, was a StairMaster. I stood looking at the view from that window and then walked to the other side of the room and looked out the window that faced up the hill. From this window I could see birch and willow trees climbing the lush, green hillside. I walked back to the StairMaster again. I could see the dirt driveway where it exited off of Woodside Road. I thought about why someone might prefer that view to the more scenic one of the trees and hillside. Only one reason I could think of. They wanted to know who was coming and going, and did not wish to be taken by surprise.

  There were no clothes in the bedroom closet and the bathroom cabinets were empty, except for the one under the sink, where I found a bottle of bleach with the cap left off. The pungent odor assaulted my nostrils and made my eyes burn. There was no soap or shampoo in the tub. Clean towels had been hung out, perfectly folded into thirds and draped over the rack.

  Jack leaned in the doorway and said he’d found nothing in the kitchen. We agreed to move on to Maggie’s safe. We locked up the cottage and walked down the hill, waving at Elizabeth as we passed the car.

  We entered the main house through the sliding glass door, which Jack jimmied open in less time than it took me to scan the area, again, for surveillance cameras. I didn’t see any cameras, but the good ones are hard to spot. We walked up the stairs together.

  Jack went directly to the mirror over the fireplace and pulled it away from the wall. He glanced at the combination lock, then fished a stethoscope out of his fanny pack and put it on. He listened to the tumblers as he spun the dial on the safe, and had it open in a few seconds. Impressive. The safe was completely empty.

  We exited the way we’d come in and Jack locked the door behind us. Back in the car I filled Elizabeth in on the disappointments of our search while Jack drove us to the marina. He dropped us off at the gate, saying he was late for an appointment. As he pulled away from the curb something that had been nagging at my subconscious hit the surface.

  “Hey, Jack,” I shouted. He stopped the car and lowered the driver’s side window. “Why did you tell Elizabeth that I should watch my back?”

  “Just a gut feeling,” he said. “Elizabeth told me what the police did to your office. I’d be glad to help you get things sorted out later this afternoon.”

  The generosity of his offer took me by surprise. “I can handle it,” I said. “Thanks though.”

  There are some things I need to do myself. Also, I wasn’t sure how I felt about someone else having access to my case files. There was the confidentiality issue to be considered. Besides, if I accepted help I’d have to stop feeling sorry for myself. Sometimes I like to wallow.

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  He waved and drove away before I could probe any deeper into this feeling of his. I had the same feeling, and I didn’t like it. The only danger I was in, that I knew of, was from the District Attorney.

  Elizabeth and I walked down to her trawler and she poured two glasses of Shiraz. She was quiet, which meant her wheels were turning. I took my glass and moved over to the open door so I could smoke. She set her glass on the galley counter and took a legal size notepad from the shelf above the settee.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s make a list of things we don’t know. One, where the hell is Maggie’s brother?” She wrote that down as she spoke. “Two, who else was at the house in Atherton Friday night, and why on earth would they take that knife?” She looked up at me.

  I shrugged. “I have no idea who might have been there that night. Who could have known where we were going? Maggie wouldn’t have told anyone, would she? So whoever it was would have had to follow us. I was watching my rear-view mirror for Bill, and I didn’t see any familiar cars.”

  Jack might have a car that wasn’t familiar to me. I was sure he was driving the new BMW so I couldn’t trace his plates. I wondered if I should say anything to Elizabeth about that.

  “Tell me again what you found in the cottage.” She interrupted my train of thought.

  “Hmm? Oh, you mean the Latin/English dictionary? And there were two books about chess, a StairMaster in the bedroom…”

  “What was in the bathroom?”

  “Nothing. Just an open bottle of bleach and some clean towels.”

  “Why bleach?”

  “I assume for cleaning and disinfecting surfaces,” I said.

  “Did you find any cleaning supplies in the kitchen?” she asked.

  “Jack did the kitchen.”

  “So you don’t know.”

  “No. Why does it matter?”

  “If you were goin
g to clean a bathroom, what would you use?” she asked.

  “Windex for the glass. Comet for the sink and the tub.”

  “Was there a toilet brush?”

  “I didn’t see one. Why?”

  “It depends on what’s under the kitchen sink,” she said.

  “I need an ashtray. Why does it depend on what’s under the kitchen sink?”

  “Because if there are no cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink maybe there’s another reason for the bleach in the bathroom,” she said. “Is there any way we can get back in?”

  She got up and took a coffee mug from the rack by the sink, handed it to me, and sat back down. I flicked an ash into the cup.

  “I don’t have the equipment,” I said. “What other reason could there be for the bleach in the bathroom?”

  “Bleach attacks the olfactory nerves,” she said, “leaving you temporarily unable to perceive other scents.”

  “You mean like perfume or scented soap?”

  “Soap, shower gel, shampoo, cologne, aftershave…”

  “But why?”

  “That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Or in this case, the six million dollar question, plus various stocks and bonds. Who could afford to walk away from that kind of inheritance anyway? Does the brother have to be present to collect?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe not. Start a new list, please. Questions for Bill. How long did Maggie’s parents own the estate? Are there any records of where Maggie and Patrick went to school? Can Patrick collect his inheritance from out of State, or from another country?”

  “Slow down,” Elizabeth said, turning to a blank page. She scribbled down the first two questions, and then looked up at me, her eyes wide. “Is there any chance it wasn’t your shot that killed Maggie?”