Murder by Devil's Food

by Joanne Pence

  "But nothing to laugh about," Paavo said. "I've seen it in connection with"—demons and insane serial killers—"things that are dangerous."

  "I know. That's why I was so shocked at the location of the dance club. I recognized it."

  "You did?"

  "It's the Ballet Academy."

  Paavo stopped walking. "What's the name of Kylie's sister, or whoever it was on the poster? I can run a check and see if there's any info on her."

  "Yes. Her name is Joy Zwolinsky. She looks younger than Kylie—maybe only 17 or 18, and very 'emo,' with short bleached hair and a tattoo on her arm."

  His heart sank. "A tattoo? A heart shaped one?"

  "Maybe. It wasn't that clear in the photo." Angie looked at him with worry in her eyes. "If you're asking, that must mean Homicide has an interest in the girl."

  "Joy Woolsey," he said. "Zwolinsky, Woolsey. Could be. And everything about your description matches. She was another victim—the same killer as Lorraine Miller."

  "Oh, no!" Angie cried. "How horrible. And Kylie—I hate to think of how she's going to handle such terrible news. Are you sure?"

  "We know that two other victims, Anna Gomez and Lorraine Miller, went to that same club."

  "My God," Angie whispered.

  "I think you ought to stay away from Kylie for a while. We can't be sure the killer isn't watching her."

  Angie shook her head. "How can I? She'll need me more than ever. And I need to be a good friend!"

  "Where can I find Kylie?"

  "I don't have her address, only a phone number."

  "I'd rather talk to her face-to-face."

  Angie nodded. "The only place I know that she'll be is our house tomorrow morning."

  "Okay. In the meantime, stay away from the ballet studio, and the area around it. Something's going on there—not only was Lorraine Miller's body found in the old churchyard, but I was given that address in connection to the case."

  "What connection?" Angie asked.

  "The man who paid to rent the ballet studio basement used it as his address. All we know about him is he's tall and thin with bushy white hair and dresses all in black—often a black overcoat. So far, we haven't been able to ID or track him."

  "Tall … thin … bushy white hair?" Angie's voice grew higher with each word she spoke.

  "What is it?" Paavo asked.

  "That sounds like the man who was looking at me strangely. The one Kylie scared off."

  "The one who what?"

  She remembered that she had hidden the episode from him. "I didn't think much of it at the time. I mean, there are strange characters all over this city. But then Kylie showed up, scared him off, and that's how we met."

  He frowned. "Something more for me to discuss with Kylie. You've given me a lot of new info, and some things I'd like to look into right away. I'm afraid our nice dinner will have to wait. We can get deli sandwiches somewhere, then I'm going to follow you home to make sure you get there safely. We'll lock up the house, and you need to stay put until this is resolved. I'll have patrol drive by the house often. For some reason, it seems you're involved in all this, and I don't like it one bit."

  Angie's eyes were wide as he said all this, and for once, she didn't argue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next morning in Homicide, Paavo waited for a text message from Angie to tell him Kylie Zee had arrived to help bake cupcakes.

  As soon as he got the text, he asked Rebecca Mayfield to pick her up and bring her to Homicide. He had thought a long while about where to conduct this interview. He could have waited at home for her to arrive and hold it there, but that didn't seem right, and he had no idea what her reaction would be at learning of her sister's murder, or what he might learn about her.

  He also could have simply asked Angie to have her go to Homicide to talk to him, but again, he had no idea what to expect from the woman. He had to consider, despite Angie's liking her, that she might be involved in some way. He couldn't forget the time, shortly before their wedding, that Angie allowed herself to be taken in by a murderous pyromaniac.

  If Kylie was guilty of anything, such a heads up could have caused her to flee. Finally, he decided the best way for Kylie to feel the least threatened—and to get her out of his house—was to ask Rebecca to pick her up and bring her here. He also warned Rebecca to be careful. For all they knew, Kylie could be involved in a bad way.

  Now, he watched Rebecca escort Kylie Zee to his desk. He stood and studied the woman. At Rebecca's nod, he understood that Kylie had traveled with her without incident. He stood and held out his hand. "Kylie Zee? Paavo Smith."

  "I've heard so much about you, Paavo, I mean, Inspector," Kylie said, shaking his hand. "Thank you, Inspector Mayfield," she said as Rebecca left the two alone.

  Paavo picked up a folder. "Let's go to the interview room." He showed her to a stark, gray room with a bare table and a chair on each side. Kylie sat on one side, Paavo on the other.

  "Angie's eyes were sad when she spoke to me and explained who Rebecca is." Kylie's voice was soft. "She said you have some information about my sister. I'm ready for your bad news."

  Paavo nodded and removed a photo from the folder, keeping it face down. "A young woman's body was found in Tiburon a month ago. She matches the description of your sister. At the time, they were given a false name, Joy Woolsey, and as a result could not connect her to anyone who knew how to contact next of kin."

  "Woolsey … interesting," Kylie murmured. Her shoulders stiffened, her breathing became deep and shuddering as she waited for Paavo to flip over the photograph.

  "Is this your sister?" Paavo asked. With that, he showed her the photo of Joy Woolsey's face from the morgue.

  Almost immediately, Kylie bowed her head. "It's what I've been expecting. That's Joy. Joy Zwolinsky."

  "I'm sorry," Paavo said. "Do you need some time?"

  She shook her head, pressing her lips together to stop their quivering. "Where"—her voice became choked up and she started again—"where is her body?"

  "She's in Marin County. I'll contact the authorities there. They may ask you to go to formally identify her. I don't know. They'll be in contact with you."

  "I see," she whispered. "And then, I'll be able to have her buried?"

  "I'm sure," Paavo said.

  She nodded, looking spent.

  Paavo waited a moment, then softly said, "Tell me about her."

  Slowly, Kylie gave a brief background of her sister—how both of them left home at an early age because they didn't get along at all with their stepmother, and how their father didn't seem to care.

  "Why were you searching for her in San Francisco?" Paavo asked.

  "That was where she told me she'd gone when she got tired of Los Angeles. She loved this city, loved the music scene here. When she could afford a phone, or could borrow one, she'd text me. She'd gotten into the whole punk-rock, heavy-metal thing, lived on the streets, from what I was told. Then, her texts all stopped. After a while, I became worried, and finally headed this way to try to find her."

  "Did she ever get involved with gamers?"

  "I don't know."

  "What about a game called Vampyrika?"

  "The vampire one. Yeah, she did like everything about vampires. She said she met a bunch of people who were really into all that Goth shit. She hung with them."

  "Did she have a job?"

  "Not that I know of. I think she was able to get some kind of aid, but I'm not sure."

  "Do you know where she met the vampire group?"

  "I asked around, a whole lot, and finally was given the name of a guy who took pictures of different underage clubs in the city—the kind kids went to who couldn't drink, but where they did do other drugs. Anyway, he wrote some kind of underground blog for people who wanted to know where the dances were being held. They often moved from one place to another. He let me see some of his photos. I think he felt sorry for me. I saw Joy going into a place called Danse Macabre. Its dances were
held at least twice a month, always the same place, off Mission Street, and across from an abandoned church."

  Paavo nodded. "So you went there?"

  "Sure. I didn't see Joy, however. And no one admitted to even knowing her. I kept going back, hoping as people got to know me, they'd open up. To tell the truth, I had the feeling some were lying about her, that they did recognize her but just wouldn't say."

  "Did anyone ever say anything?"

  "No, but then one of the girls I met there, Anna Gomez, was killed. That made me suspicious because she was one of the ones who was nicest to me. She came closest to admitting she'd met Joy, but kept saying she didn't know where she was now—as if she might have known where she was before."

  "Anna was the person, I believe, who filed the missing person's report in Tiburon. I guess Joy had moved up that way."

  Kylie nodded. "Some of the clubgoers indicated that sometimes creepy people hang around the club, specifically an older man that they claimed lived in the abandoned church across the street. They said some of the girls even moved out of the area because he freaked them out so badly. They didn't say they were talking about my sister, but why else would they say things like that? Anyway, I saw who they were talking about, and I started watching him whenever I could."

  "Do you know his name?"

  "They all called him the Baron."

  "Describe him."

  "Probably in his fifties, thick white hair, tall, skinny. He always wore a long black overcoat."

  "Did you learn if he lives in that church?"

  "I know the old guy would go into the churchyard," Kylie said. "But I never saw him go into the church itself."

  "I looked around that church," Paavo said. "The doors were padlocked, and didn't look as if they'd even been opened in years."

  "I saw the same thing. Still, there's something strange about the Baron. Very strange. I don't know what to think."

  "Angie told me he was moving toward her when you jumped in front of him and stopped him. Why?"

  Kylie gave a wry smile. "She looked so out of her element, dressed so nice, going to that dump of a city park where the only ones in it were druggies trying to score. She had her hands filled with boxes of cupcakes for a Pop Warner football team of all things. I didn't know what the Baron was up to, but whatever it was, it meant trouble for her. I'd been watching him on and off when I could find him, which wasn't often. I'd heard from one of the guys at the club that he was seen arguing with the owner of the building where the dances were held, and the next thing we knew, she was murdered the same way as Anna Gomez. I just had a bad feeling about him, and I wasn't about to sit back and do nothing as he went after the Cupcake Queen."

  Paavo nodded. "Thanks."

  "No problem."

  "One last thing," Paavo said. "What about Edward Bowie—the person Angie calls Danger. You seem to have some type of history with him."

  "The only history is that he also went to the Danse Macabre and one other place. There was something off about him."

  "Off?" Paavo's hackles went on high alert.

  "He seemed too curious about me," she said. "I was asking lots of questions, of course, and most people hardly bothered to answer, let alone ask me why I wanted to know. He was the opposite. It felt weird, as if he was concerned about me. I kind of liked hanging around him until he told me I was asking too damned many questions and I needed to just go back to wherever I came from because I was getting in too deep."

  "What did he mean?"

  "I don't know. Next thing I knew, he was talking to Angie and working with us."

  "I think I need to question him," Paavo said.

  "Yes," Kylie said. "I think you do."

  He stood. "Thank you. If you think of anything else, please call me immediately." He gave her his card, and then two twenty dollar bills from his wallet. He knew from Angie how broke she was, and from sad experience, how expensive taxis are in San Francisco. "Taxi money, it's a long way back to your car."

  She looked surprised. "Really?"

  "From Homicide," he said. It wasn't exactly a lie since the money went from the bureau through his paycheck to him … and now from him to her. "And Kylie, I'm very sorry about your sister," he said.

  She nodded, and then left.

  As soon as she was out the door, he picked up the phone to call Angie. If he didn't tell her, and soon, what he'd learned from Kylie, she'd show up in Homicide. Patience wasn't her long suit.

  o0o

  "Thank you for coming," Angie said as she opened the door for Connie. "It's been far too long."

  "Only a little over a week," Connie said stiffly as she walked into the living room.

  "It seems longer."

  "Maybe."

  "Would you like some white wine?" Angie asked.

  Connie thought a moment. "I guess so."

  The two walked toward the kitchen. Connie sat at the dining room table while Angie poured them both some wine and then joined her.

  "Connie, I'm sorry for all that has gone on," Angie said. "I think we can both agree the tea room didn't work out. I'm hoping we can go back to the way things were, and forget the rest of it. Words were said in anger—words that I, at least, didn't mean. I value our friendship more than anything. I miss you."

  Connie's face fell. "I want to stay mad at you, I really do. In a way, having nothing to do with you makes life easier—no wild plans or outrageous schemes. I just go along my quiet way, running my shop, seeing nearby shop owners and neighbors, watching TV, cleaning up the apartment, trying to find a good man..." She glanced up bleakly at Angie. "It's really boring."

  Angie smiled. "I'm glad to hear it! I wish I knew what happened. Was it my cupcake business that caused all this, or did you really hate the tea shop, or"—she hesitated a moment—"or what?"

  "Well, you know how one track your mind is when you start something."

  "Me?"

  "Shoot, a team of rampaging bull elephants couldn't divert your attention. Also, I'll admit, that in the tea room I became angry when you sold your custom cupcakes and didn't help with the coffee and tea side of things. But, if I were being completely honest, if I hadn't been so upset about other things, I wouldn't have been so touchy."

  "Other things?" Angie prompted, hopeful they were getting somewhere.

  Connie nodded. "I kept thinking that now that you're married, you wouldn't have time to be my friend anymore."

  "Oh, Connie," Angie whispered. "I'll always have time for you, just as I hope you will for me."

  Connie folded her hands and rested them on the table. "I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking about my divorce, and the guys I've tried to get together with over the years, and how nothing ever seems to work out, and how you and Paavo are so perfect together, and how you wouldn't need me anymore. And then Stan said—"

  "Stan?" Angie blurted.

  Connie nodded. "He came by the shop one day and told me you were doing so well you had to hire two people to help you. He added that I was right to stop letting you take advantage of my good nature—and not paying me, when obviously you could have. That you only pretended to have time for me because I was helping you start a successful business."

  Angie shook her head, disgusted. "I basically like Stan, but at times he's such a gossipy weasel I can barely stand it."

  Connie sniffled.

  "Listen to me, Connie," Angie put her hand on Connie's arm. "I would never give up our friendship. I had trouble sleeping, thinking about our rift. And, even worse, I've been asking my sisters and my mother how to be a good friend—not that I've gotten very good advice. You're very important to me, and nothing can get in the way of that."

  Connie smiled. "I'm so glad." She chuckled. "It got pretty ugly, didn't it? You can be mouthy when angry."

  "You hold your own okay," Angie admitted, glad to see Connie could laugh about it.

  The two caught each other's eyes, and simultaneously both stood and gave each other a hug, both saying how sorry they were for the unh
appiness caused.

  When they sat back down, and Angie topped their wine glasses, she said, "Now, let me tell you about what else has been going on."

  She proceeded to fill Connie in on the deaths Paavo was investigating and how the sister of her pastry chef was one of the victims. "And, the man both Kylie and Paavo have been concerned about may have approached me more than once. The first time, he even threw a cupcake at me. He asked weird questions, and wore a fake mustache, thick glasses, and a baseball cap even though it was late at night."

  "What? How scary!"

  "No kidding! Paavo's so worried, he's gotten me to promise to stay home while they track the man down."

  "I don't blame him!" Connie said.

  "I know. What's particularly frightening is that the next time I saw him—and I'm all but certain they were both the same man—he didn't bother to wear a disguise. He matched the description Paavo gave with his bushy white hair and long black overcoat. That time, Kylie scared him off."

  "Wait a minute," Connie said. "Can you tell me more about his looks?"

  Angie told her all she remembered about the man's looks.

  "Oh, Lord!" Connie cried. "I think I saw him, too. I didn't even remember until now. It … it meant nothing, particularly after …"

  "After what?" Angie asked.

  "It was the night we found Lorraine Miller's body," Connie began. "Remember how I was late, and had to park around the corner from the old church? I was hurrying to try to find you and I passed someone who looked just like you described. I remember thinking at the time that it was strange anyone would be walking along the street in that area, but after we found the body, it completely slipped my mind."

  "More proof," Angie said. "Let's call Paavo. He might want you to go down to Homicide to make a statement."

  She was about to pick up her phone when the doorbell rang. "Ah, that must be Kylie. She went to talk to Paavo this morning. I'll go let her in."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As Kylie got out of the taxi, she noticed a strange car parked in front of Angie's house. The last thing she wanted was to meet anyone, so she almost went straight to her old Chevy and drove back to her apartment.