Murder and Mayhem

by Hamilton, B L

  “The police seemed to think he put a hit on Sara–Jessica,” he corrected, “to stop her from testifying against him, again. Apparently she was the only witness. The murders were pretty brutal, I was told. The husband knew he would probably be out in less than ten years–with parole–for the drug charges. The Federal Police had only recovered a small percentage of the drug money, estimated to be in the hundreds of millions of dollars, he’d probably stashed somewhere off shore. So, when he was released from prison he could live anywhere he wanted. But if he was convicted of the murders, he would never see the light of day for maybe thirty years. So I guess that explains why she suddenly disappeared without leaving a trace.

  “They questioned me and checked out my alibi for the time they estimated the body had been put in the water. I was in the clear because I was in Canberra tied up with meetings until late every night.” A tic twitched at the corner of his mouth. He tried to keep the tears from his voice as they welled in the back of his throat. He swallowed and waited for his heart to stop pounding.

  “To this day her death has remained a mystery. They still don’t know if she was murdered or if it was an accident. Because of the state the body was in when it was discovered there were no obvious injuries.” A desolate expression crossed his face. “They were pretty sure she had been murdered, but had no proof.” Danny wiped his hand across his eyes.

  “As for the husband–he’ll probably be out in a year or two.”

  “And there’s nothing anyone can do?”

  Danny shook his head.

  “Not without proof.”

  “How did you manage to cope when all this happened? It must have been hard trying to come to grips with something like that.”

  “It was, believe me. I did the only thing I could. I placed that part of my life in a box and put it away, never wanting to revisit the horror of those memories again.”

  “I’m sorry I made you dredge them up again.”

  “Memories, like secrets, never disappear. They’re still there – if you look close enough.

  “That part of my life is over. It’s in the past. It’s time to move on and make a new start. Life goes on, regardless.”

  “Yes, it does,” she said, thinking about her parents. “But, how could you put something like that behind you and move on? It could not have been easy.”

  Danny shrugged. “I just put everything into my work and my bikes. They were my saviors. Freewheeling across the countryside with the wind in your face washes away all the pain and horror that life throws at you.

  “Some nights I couldn’t sleep and I’d sit at the computer and get in touch with bikers all over the U.S. That’s how I stay in touch with most of the Harley guys.” Danny held her close and whispered, “I love you, Nicola and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer to the ghostly image that sat on his bed late at night and whispered secrets learned from the dead.

  * * *

  United Airlines Flight 187 touched down in San Francisco at 11.55 on the morning of September thirtieth. According to locals it was another picture perfect day in paradise.

  They collected the BMW from the parking station on South Airport Boulevard with Danny behind the wheel, crossed the 380 flyover to 280 and headed north.

  When he cracked the window open a little the air smelt fresh and clean from early morning rain.

  “It’s so good to be home,” Nicola said as the warm breeze caught her hair and blew it across her face. She reached up and tucked it behind her ears.

  Danny could hear the faint tinkle of her earrings as they danced in the breeze. He looked over, and smiled. “It is good to be back in the city by the Bay. I’ve had a wonderful time in the east but San Francisco is the place I love best.”

  As they passed rows of houses on the side of the hill that looked like cardboard boxes in need of a paint job, Danny said, “Would you like to stop at Stonestown and have lunch at the Galleria or wait until we get to Mill Valley?” Even though it was only around one in the afternoon their bodies were still on eastern-time so their stomachs were telling them it was four o’clock–with breakfast a long forgotten memory.

  “Why don’t we have something to eat in Mill Valley before we head home? I need to stop at the market anyway.”

  “Okay, just tell me where you want to go.”

  Like all northbound traffic, they bypassed the toll booths and drove onto the Golden Gate Bridge. The air seemed to vibrate, virtually hum, as tourists crowded the narrow walkways enjoying the last of the unseasonably warm weather.

  Danny turned on the radio and the distinctive voice of Van ‘The Man’ Morrison singing Bright Side Of The Road, filled the car. Nicola turned up the volume and they joined ‘The Man’ in a loud off-key trio.

  When the song ended, Nicola lowered the volume. “Van Morrison used to live at Four Corners at the top of the ridge and still has a lot of friends in the area. Sam, my neighbor, used to be in a band and knew all the local musicians. He told me Van Morrison showed up at Rancho Nicasio recently and did a live recording.”

  “Rancho Nicasio? Where is that?”

  “West Marin. It’s in the hills north of Fairfax off Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, not far from Point Reyes.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s a small rural community originally part of a Mexican land grant that stretched from San Geronimo to Tomales Bay on the coast. Rancho Nicasio is well known for its concerts. People come from all over, especially during the summer months.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “No. It’s not the kind of place I’d go on my own. Not that it’s rough or anything like that it’s mainly couples or groups, or families. They have barbecue on the lawn where people are encouraged to bring folding chairs and picnic baskets. They don’t go there to drink. Not that there isn’t any alcohol. They have a fully equipped bar. People mainly go for the entertainment.”

  “If they don’t go there to drink and are encouraged to bring their own food how does the place make any money?”

  “They charge an admission fee,” Nicola said.

  Danny nodded.

  “I wish I had been there to hear Van Morrison sing. I bet he put on quite a show,” Nicola said.

  “Can you imagine what it must have been like living in San Francisco during the summer of love? Janis Joplin, Van Morrison, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, The Grateful Dead, Muddy Waters, Jefferson Airplane, The Mamas and the Papas and Led Zeppelin. All the great musicians were here. The sixties were not just a period in time, but a state of mind. Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll! What times they must have been!”

  “I wasn’t even born then,” Nicola reminded him.

  “Well, I was just a babe in arms at the time, but who could forget them. They were all larger than life. It’s sad so many of those great musicians have gone. And those heady days when the world seemed to be filled with music and love will never come again.”

  At the Mill Valley exit, Danny turned onto Shoreline Highway and drove past the Manzanita parking lot. In the distance, Mount Tamalpais stood sentinel over the valley, its peak shrouded in clouds.

  “Does the mountain ever get snow on it?” Danny asked as he slowed at the Miller Avenue intersection and turned right.

  “Not often, just a light dusting a couple of times a decade. If it’s snow you want you have to go to Lake Tahoe on the Nevada border or Yosemite National Park in the Sierra Nevada’s. Mammoth Lake is another popular ski resort.”

  When they stopped at the set of traffic lights outside Tamalpais High School, Danny noticed a smartly dressed young woman hurrying up the stairs. A large tote hanging off one shoulder bobbed up and down with the rhythm of her measured step. Suddenly the bag slipped from her shoulder and tumbled down the stairs, scattering the contents. When the young woman crouched down in her tight-fitting red skirt and high heels to gather up papers strewn across the sidewalk, the car behind the black BMW tooted its horn. The w
oman looked up and smiled at the driver and gave a half wave. The driver tooted again–this time more persistent.

  When Nicola looked over at Danny, she realized he was watching the woman. “Danny, the traffic lights have changed.”

  “Sorry.” He gave an apologetic wave to the impatient driver, and as he drove off he glanced in the rear-view mirror at the woman in red still crouched on the sidewalk gathering up her belongings.

  Once released–you can’t put the genie back in the bottle.

  * * *

  “Why don’t we eat somewhere special tonight?” Danny said as they passed Taco Bell and KFC.

  “I thought we’d have a quiet dinner at home by ourselves.”

  “I don’t want you slaving over a hot stove. It’s our last night together and I want it to be something special.”

  “All right, if that’s what you want.”

  Nicola pointed to a restaurant on the opposite side of the road and said, “We can stop there for lunch if you’d like.”

  Danny slowed and waited for a silver Mercedes convertible, driven by an attractive young blond start to back out of a spot. When she stopped midway to call out and wave to a passing acquaintance, the diamonds on her fingers and wrist caught the bright sunlight and almost blinded passers-by.

  “Come on sweet thing, move yourself,” Danny muttered.

  As though she had heard him, the young woman turned and gave him an apologetic smile, slipped a pair of designer sunglasses on her pert nose and drove off in a shimmering wave.

  Nicola laughed. “Living in Mill Valley you get used to that sort of thing. They’re all affable folks around here, usually in no particular hurry.”

  Danny grinned. “So I’ve noticed,” he said as he reversed effortlessly into the newly vacated spot…

  *****

  “How are you at reverse parking?” Rosie asked.

  “I don’t do reverse parking,” I said absentmindedly as I went through the last chapter making corrections. When I looked up Rosie was sitting quietly waiting for an explanation. “Hon, there are certain things that are beyond the limits of my capacity.”

  “Can you give me a for instance?”

  “Cooking–not likely; cleaning–only under dire circumstances; washing and ironing–only if it’s something I wouldn’t trust Ross with. Now, pillage and plunder I do on a regular basis, but, reverse parking–not even in my worst nightmare. I’m left handed,” I said waving my left hand in the air, as a reminder.

  “Sorry, Bubbie, I forgot. I must have had a blond moment.” Rosie removed her woolen cap and checked for signs of recent growth.

  “Well,” I asked hoping for good news.

  She shook her head. “Nope–nothing–nada. It must have been one of those weird phantom nerve-end thingies amputees often experience.”

  “Your mind obviously still thinks blond,” I said encouragingly. Rosie nodded. “You see me tapping away at the keyboard so you don’t even think about me being left-handed.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So tell me, how are you at reverse parking?”

  “Not even in my vocabulary,” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “And, I’m not even left handed. Go figure!”

  “It’s probably another one of those gene things.” We nodded our heads sagely.

  “You know what else, Hon?”

  “What Bubbie?”

  “I think we may have solved one of the most perplexing problems to plague the planet–why most women can’t reverse park.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “If we keep this up they’ll have us sitting on the U.N. in no time.”

  Rosie grinned. “And, before we know it those boffins from the Scientific Community will be seeking us out.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. Her face looked tired and drawn.

  “I think that’s enough excitement for one night. We can leave the rest of mankind’s problems for another day,” I said and shut-down my laptop.

  Rosie stifled a yawn and nodded.

  “Can I get you anything before I tuck you in?”

  “No thanks, Bubbie,” she said and snuggled down in the bed.

  I pulled the cover around her and kissed the top of her head.

  “Goodnight, Hon.”

  “Goodnight, Bubbie.”

  “Sweet dreams, my darling.”

  “And…don’t let the bed bugs bite,” she whispered like we used to when we were children sharing the same bedroom.

  *****

  Danny hit the remote and dropped some coins in the meter then he took hold of Nicola’s hand and crossed to the restaurant.

  A little further down the road, a car pulled into the curb and cut the engine. The warm afternoon sun shone in through the windshield and reflected off the mirrored wrap-around sunglass lenses he wore. He adjusted his cap and flipped down the sun visor to block out the bright rays of the sun. He shook a shiny red apple out of a brown paper bag and, as he peeled the skin with a paring knife, he watched the red and white curl snake across his hand like a strip of planed wood…

  *****

  I half expected to hear my sister’s voice calling from across the hall, or race into the room demanding to know who this man was. But, I’d tucked her in bed some time ago and felt sure she couldn’t read my mind while she slept. But–I could be mistaken. Somehow, across thousands of miles we’ve always come together with the same hair style. So, losing her hair from chemotherapy drugs could explain my own thinning crown that I’d put down to age. Not that I’m old, mind you. Or the countless times we’d be thinking about each other when suddenly the phone would ring and one of us would be on the other end. I often have the same connection with Little Sweetie. What is it that they say–there are more things on heaven and earth… But if that were the case how come I didn’t pick up on her cancer.

  The house was quiet so I continued tapping away at the keyboard while I waited for Ross to come home knowing he’d distract me when he did.

  *****

  The evening sky was filled with orange and yellow clouds as Danny drove the black BMW into the Manzanita parking lot and pulled up beside a candy-apple red Maserati convertible, parked next to a black Ferrari. As he closed the door to the BMW, he looked around and noticed other expensive cars dotted throughout the lot.

  “Am I going to have to hock a couple of Harleys to pay the bill tonight?”

  Nicola laughed. “Maybe a couple of those spare parts you’ve been lugging around. But look on the up side, at least it’ll cut down on excess baggage fees at the airport tomorrow.”

  They crossed the busy road, cautiously dodging the constant stream of traffic headed for the One-Oh-One southbound on-ramp and joined the queue outside the Buckeye Roadhouse, a popular place with locals.

  Luckily Nicola had had the foresight to phone ahead and make a reservation so it wasn’t long before the hostess led them to a table beside a large window. Once seated, she presented them with impressive looking menus and hurried back to the podium where anxious diners waited.

  Danny looked around the dark wood-paneled building where a bank of large windows looked onto the busy roadway and beyond to the freeway, where flickering car lights glittered like jewels as they crossed the flyover above the Bothin Marshes where Nicola had seen the Tiger shark some months ago. An enormous fish was mounted above a large stone fireplace where a fire blazed in the hearth, filling the room with warmth and gave the restaurant a cozy, intimate feeling.

  Danny noticed the crowd of people sitting at the bar and lined up out front in the hope of a last minute cancellation… or early leavers. He didn’t like their chances. This was not a place where you ate and moved on. It was a place where you spent a pleasant evening over a relaxed meal and shared a bottle or two of good wine with family and friends.

  The menu displayed an extensive array of tempting food and they took their time choosing. The patient waiter returned several times before they made their selection. Nicola decided on the Mongoli
an Pork Chop with apple and apricot chutney, roasted squash and polenta croutons. Danny couldn’t resist the thick New York Cut Steak, medium-rare, atop blue cheese potato rosti.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” the waiter, a tall imposing middle-aged man with curly gray hair the color of steel wool, asked. He was dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up, black waistcoat and neatly pressed black trousers. Danny noticed the man’s black shoes were polished to perfection and figured he may have been in the service at some time.

  “Nic, why don’t you choose something you like,” Danny suggested with his limited knowledge of the local wines.

  While Nicola discussed wine with the waiter, Danny took the opportunity to look around.

  When the waiter headed for the bar with their order, Danny nodded to a large buck’s head mounted on the wall at the top of the stairs where the mezzanine floor was filled to capacity with diners. “Is the restaurant named after that deer?”

  Nicola laughed. “No. Buckeye is a tree, not a deer. It’s the national emblem of Ohio. Maybe the owner came from Ohio. They own eleven restaurants in and around the San Francisco area, and, I think, one in Aspen. They’ve also got one on East Blithedale, called Bungalow 44. I’ve been there a couple of times but I prefer this one.”

  Their meal arrived and while they ate they chatted about everyday things while at the same time taking care to avoid the subject most on their minds–Danny’s departure.

  Suddenly there was loud crash as thunder exploded out of the sky. The restaurant fell silent while lightning splintered the night with jagged flashes of white light. The lights in the restaurant flickered and went out and a hushed silence fell over the room. While the battle of the skies raged overhead, the only sounds to be heard were the crackling of the fire in the grate and the traffic on the wet road illuminated by lightning as it forked its way across the blackened sky. Candlelight reflected on anxious faces, the air thick with anticipation. Then, suddenly, the lights flickered once, then again–and came on. People looked around not sure what to do. Should they go? Should they stay? And then everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh and took up conversations where they had left off. The atmosphere became vibrant once more as people continued their meals. The fire flickered and danced in the grate, while outside, the storm raged through the chaos of the night.