by Molly Greene
A couple of fat manila folders were on the table. Mack pulled one toward him, removed a stack of eight-by-tens, and placed the photos in front of Bree. “This might be hard. Just try to focus on the room.”
“Thanks for coming down.” Garcia was leaning against the doorframe. “Bree, give us a shout if you see anything that strikes you as unusual.”
Bree nodded, then focused on the photographs. Gen leaned over to look at them, as well.
Someone in the hallway called Garcia’s name. “Be right back,” he said.
The first picture showed Ducane’s legs and feet, and her hands trembled as she stared at the scene. “I never want to be in the same room with a pair of Gucci loafers again.”
“Concentrate on the office,” Gen replied.
Bree took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “The carpet, the desk, the file cabinets. It all looks like I remember.”
She turned the photo over and studied the next; this one showed the desk top. “The phone is in the same place it was after Taylor called the police.” She turned that one over and continued through the stack.
Mack handed the contents of the other file to Gen. “These are pictures of Ducane’s boat the way we found it. You haven’t seen the cabin, so not much chance you’ll identify anything. But it’s worth a shot. Something might jump out at you. Take your time,” Mack said, then left the room.
Gen shuffled through the pictures, then reviewed each one again. “Means nothing to me. I wouldn’t expect it to, though. How are you doing?”
Bree was still looking at the crime scene photos, mainly a shot of the wall beyond where Andrew Ducane’s head would have been. She pointed. “See this empty space on the carpet here, between these two big file cabinets?”
Gen nodded. Framed college diplomas were hung above the wooden units. Several leather-bound books stood upright in a row atop the left cabinet, and a coaster sat at the outer edge.
“I’m not sure why,” she said, “but I keep coming back to this.”
Gen moved closer and studied the scene over her shoulder. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking there might have been a glass on its side on the floor right here.” Bree tapped the space between the cabinets.
Gen went to the door. “Mack, can you come here for a minute? Bree remembered something.”
Chapter Thirty
Gen took off to run an errand, and Garcia offered to take Bree home. They were alone.
“So what do you think?” Bree pointed to the photograph of Ducane’s office. “About the missing glass.”
“If it is missing.” He regarded her quietly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve been through the mill. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re reaching, trying too hard to help.”
“But–” Bree stopped. “You could be right. So how can we find out if it’s just my imagination?”
“We’ll ask Vonnegon if he remembers it. We’ll test the carpet, see if we can find any residue. We’ll follow up and see where the lead takes us.”
“Okay.” Bree sighed. “Hey, speaking of leads, Gen took a drive down to the theatre district yesterday. Met with an actress named Sonia Thompson, Russell Yates’ ex.”
“Mack told me about the key. Sounds like the girl didn’t know much else.”
“Only that he was tight-lipped about his feelings.”
“Not a shocking revelation. Most of us are.”
Bree swung around to face him fully. “Why does it have to be that way?”
“It doesn’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do know what you mean, and I’m telling you it’s not always that way.” Garcia’s voice was a little louder than necessary.
Bree looked around to see if anyone noticed. Not an eavesdropper in sight. Mack was at his desk with the telephone glued to his ear.
“Sorry,” Garcia said. “Listen, we need to talk. I appreciate the help with the photographs, but I’m asking you again to back off. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
“I still want to write the story.”
“Write up what you have and finish it when we break the case.”
“I could do that.”
“That was a weak yes, but I’ll take it. And Vonnegon?”
“What about him?”
“Will you stay away from him?”
Bree’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You said he’s not a suspect.”
“We’re focusing on Yates because everything points to him.”
“Then it’s personal.”
“You mean between Yates and Vonnegon?”
“No, your instructions for me to stay away from Taylor.”
Garcia stood and picked up his keys. “Shall I take you home?”
Bree pushed out of the chair and waved to Mack. Garcia was holding the door by the time she reached it. They walked side by side to the car, but no one spoke until they were well on their way.
“You can’t just order me to avoid Taylor Vonnegon without a reason. It’s the perfect example of the tight-lipped guy thing. Or was it cop talk? You were the one who said it didn’t have to be that way. So prove it, Garcia.”
“All right,” he said. “Until we know exactly what happened, I don’t trust anyone. I don’t want to use you as bait, and I don’t want you in danger again. Nothing good can come of your being involved. So if you want to date Taylor Vonnegon, wait until the case is closed.”
He glanced at her, then back to the road. “As for us, we’ll talk about that when– ”
“When what?” Bree looked at him squarely.
“When this is over, we’ll talk about you and me.”
Bree shot Garcia a grin and he returned it.
“I’ll look forward to that,” she said. “And I don’t want to date Taylor Vonnegon.”
He parked out front and held her elbow as she climbed from the car. They were quiet in the elevator, but Bree was smiling as they ascended. They were on their way down the hall when Gen threw the door open and urged them both inside.
“What are you so excited about?” Bree asked.
“Sonia Thompson called a few minutes ago. She remembered something. Russell Yates’ mother is in an assisted living home under her maiden name. Says Russell never mentioned it but a letter came after he moved out, and Sonia accidentally opened it. The place is called Eden Valley Residential Care. It sounds like something the cops might be interested in.”
“That’s right, the cops.” Garcia was already jotting down the name of the facility. When he finished, he glared at Bree. “Let the detectives detect. Not you, Bree, us.” He stabbed a finger toward his chest. “Me and Mack. I might be willing to let Genny help in a professional capacity, but Bree’s out of it. Are we all clear on that?”
Chapter Thirty-One
“We went over to Elergene and talked to Vonnegon. If there was a glass, he didn’t notice,” Mack said. “But he admitted he could have missed it.”
Gen shifted the phone to her other ear. “Are you going to check the carpet for residue?”
“We made that request. Vonnegon said he would have welcomed it, but there wasn’t anything left to check.”
“Did they have the carpets cleaned?”
“Not cleaned, removed. When we released the scene, their operations manager emptied the room and pulled the carpet and padding. Gone. All the way down to the subfloor.”
“Seems a little extreme.”
“Vonnegon said he was forced to from a sensitive-employer aspect. Said in light of the death, they thought it best to strip it bare. He said the office will remain unoccupied, but just the idea of what happened there was enough to upset the staff who passed in the hall. So they yanked it.”
“Bad luck.”
“We weren’t sure there was anything to find in the first place. But we did turn up something else, so the trip wasn’t a total loss.”
“What’s that?”
“We went through Yates’ office. According to Vonnegon,
he spent time there once in a while. So we spent some time in there, too. And we found the book.”
“Which book?”
“The one about lethal plants. The invoice you found in the trash in Tiburon.”
Gen sat up straight. “Get out.”
“Not only that. We found lab equipment, beakers and such, in his desk drawers. That’s the second stash we’ve found that suggests he’s doing a little chem work on his own.”
“Stuff from Elergene’s supplies?”
“Vonnegon says it looks like theirs. And you’ll love this. He invited us to tour the company’s grow facility so we could see it all first hand. Place was like a hospital, you could eat off the floor. We met the people in charge and the staff who run the place. A lot of folks would need to be getting hush money if they were growing something they shouldn’t.”
“Oh man. I’m jealous. I would have loved to see that.”
“Yeah, it was something.”
* * *
Bree was napping when the land line phone rang. Gen let the answering machine take the call, but moved closer when a man’s voice began to speak. It was Vonnegon, and he was in the mood to talk.
“Bree, I wanted to tell you again how deeply sorry I am for the misunderstanding that took you up to Sausalito,” he said. “The detectives told me the circumstances, of course. I want you to know I had nothing to do with what happened. I’m mortified I was even remotely involved. I’d like the opportunity to explain in person. I’m fond of you, Cambria Butler. I’m asking you not to let this, this deeply unfortunate episode, come between us.”
Gen drummed her fingers on the desktop, deep in thought. When she turned around, Bree was standing in the middle of the living room.
“Did you hear that?”
“Uh huh.” Bree sat down in a chair and dropped her head against the back.
“He sounds somewhat invested in your relationship.” Gen walked over and took a seat on the couch. “It’s hard to believe he’d want to be around you if he had anything to do with it. If it were me, I’d be afraid I’d expose myself.” She grinned. “And not in a naked way.”
“I guess I don’t think he was involved either, Genny. But I wish I’d never gone to Elergene Enterprises, or found Andrew Ducane, or met Taylor Vonnegon.”
“You don’t have to finish the story, you know. You could forget the whole thing. I am sure it would make everyone involved very happy, especially Vonnegon and Garcia.”
“I’ll finish. I won’t throw away the work we’ve done.”
“So does that mean you’re going to call Taylor?”
“I’m going to call and tell him I appreciate his apology. I’ll tell him I admire the fact he’s sent me every rose in the Bay Area, but that I don’t want to see him again. Not on a personal level. I want to do what Eric asked me to do, which is back off.”
“Don’t be sorry about everything. You wouldn’t have met Garcia if this hadn’t happened.”
Bree’s eyes slid away. “If I did back out, where would that leave you?”
“Same place I have been. In the middle of it. I can’t resist a mystery.”
“If you’re hanging with Mack and Garcia, you can pass me information. You just be careful. I still have nightmares about spending the night in the bay.”
“Hey, no worries. Next time they’ll use their guns sooner.”
“God, what a horrible thought. Genny?”
“Bree.”
“Will you go back to the shelter with me this week? I need to thank some people.”
“You can’t be sure they’ll be there.”
“I have an idea for another article. An essay about the city’s homeless. Do you think something like that would help?”
“I think any attention directed to the situation will help.”
“I need to pay them back somehow. Handing out an old pair of gloves and then saying ‘see ya later’ seems like the easy way out.”
“I’ll help however I can.”
There was a knock on the front door. The sound was quickly followed by Oliver, who walked into the room and stopped with his hands on his hips. “What’s with the sour faces?”
“Bree is having bad dreams about her extended swim,” Gen said.
“Oh honey, it will pass.” Oliver moved to Bree and patted her shoulder. “That’s just your mind flushing the toilet.”
Gen snickered. “You’re hysterical.” She leaned over to gather dishes from the table. As she stood, a picture that was stuck to the bottom of a plate came free and floated to the floor.
Oliver squatted to retrieve it. “Who’s this?”
“Russell Yates,” Gen replied. “Vonnegon’s half-brother. It was taken last year when he was performing in a play.”
The photograph was well-lit. The actor’s face was animated. Oliver studied it for several beats before handing it back. “Oh, what a lucky man. I’d kill to be on the stage. Well, not kill maybe, but–”
He grabbed it back and studied the likeness again. “Am I crazy, or does this person remind you of the drag queen burglar? Seems like eons ago that we watched the tape, but still. I have an eye for figures.”
“Let me see.” Bree came out of her chair, took the snapshot, and examined it closely. “Now wouldn’t that just be something.”
* * *
Mack stood and jangled his keys. “Time to go.”
“Okay,” Gen replied. “See you later, Garcia.”
They walked to the parking lot, and Mack led the way to his pickup and unlocked it with the remote.
“Nice ride. Is this regulation issue?”
“I consider myself undercover.” Mack pumped his eyebrows up and down and swung into the cab, then drove out of the lot and headed down Castro Street toward Noe Valley.
“It was good of Garcia to let me stay with the case.”
“Officially, this is just a simple ride-along. Nothing more. I’m doing my civic duty. But between me and you, sometimes a friendly feminine face draws people out more than my country charm. You’re going to be my ace in the hole with the lady who manages this place.”
“Speaking of ladies, any luck tracking down Catherine Robeson?”
“Not a single bite. No family to speak of. Her friends are leery. They skitter away like cockroaches when they see us coming. I can’t place her with Ducane, though. I mean, the kid comes off like a choir boy.”
“But we know better, don’t we? He must have been a good actor, too.”
Mack nodded. “He must have been.”
The neighborhood was resplendent with the famous Victorian row houses that epitomize San Francisco. Mack found on-street parking across from an exquisitely restored tri-level, and they climbed out of the truck.
“What do we know about the second Mrs. Vonnegon? I mean other than the fact that she lives in this private care home, which I’m guessing is expensive.”
“She had a stroke,” Mack replied. “Sounds like most of her days are bad, so let’s hope today is a good one. The lady I spoke with did not want to let me see her, said Nadine doesn’t like strangers and she doubted she could help.”
“So does this caretaker lady know Russell?”
“Let’s find out.”
A wide staircase led to a door bearing a sign printed with the establishment’s name. Gen admired the understated sophistication of the calligraphy.
Classy.
Mack rang the bell. As they waited, she leaned back to get a view of the first floor windows. Delicate ironwork screens gave the impression of privacy, but Gen would bet a hundred bucks they were designed to keep the residents in. That sort of peace of mind must cost people who housed relatives here.
A flick of the lace curtains told her someone was equally curious about them.
The door creaked inward to reveal a gray-haired woman wearing a full-skirted, dark green shirtwaist dress that Beaver Cleaver’s mother would have envied. Her watery blue eyes didn’t fool Gen into thinking she was weak-willed. On the contrary, the old
gal’s ramrod posture was beyond impressive. Her gaze looked sharp enough to pierce steel.
“Do you have an appointment?”
It was a question that would be answered, and Gen could tell that only a yes would be acceptable.
“We do, ma’am.” Mack’s voice was all harmless Tennessee, without a whisper of authority. “I spoke with the manager yesterday afternoon. She gave us permission to come by and visit with Nadine Yates Vonnegon. Was that you?”
“Nadine isn’t well today.”
“With your leave, ma’am, we’ll just pop in and say hello. I’m Detective Mackenzie Hackett, and this is Genevieve Delacourt.”
“Questions will distress her.”
“We’ll keep them to a minimum, ma’am.” Mack stepped forward and the woman withdrew back into the hall. The door opened in tandem with her retreat, and they were in the foyer before she could change her mind.
“We document all visitors here at Eden Valley. I’d like to see your badges.” She drew a pad and pen from a deep pocket hidden in the seam of her skirt.
“Of course.” Mack flipped his wallet open. “Miss Delacourt is a licensed private investigator. The state doesn’t issue badges to licensees.”
While they were busy, Gen checked out the room. The furniture was Kriess, and every surface looked spotless. Gen could smell the exclusivity, even in this little glimpse.
When it was her turn, Madame Caretaker looked pointedly at Gen. “Spell your full name. Slowly.”
Gen complied, keeping her voice respectful. She didn’t want to do anything that might make this thing go south. When the woman shoved paper and pen back into her voluminous skirt, Gen took a stab at relationship-building.
“The house is wonderful. It must be comforting for people to know their loved ones are so well taken care of, and in such a lovely home.”
The woman narrowed her eyes as if Gen was an encyclopedia saleswoman and this was the Library of Congress. She was having none of it. She snapped her fingers to indicate the pair should follow, then turned on her heel without a word and started up the stairs.