“Andy.”
“Hey.” He turned blurry eyes toward me.
I leaned on the bar, hoping someone would give up a seat. Finally a young woman with choppy blonde hair slid off her stool and headed for the ladies room. She looked as if she was about to upchuck. I grabbed her stool, betting she’d never remember where she’d been sitting—assuming she didn’t pass out in the john. The band stopped playing, but no sooner had the decibels dropped than more loud music blasted from a jukebox.
“How long have you been here?”
“What day is it?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Not again. The cops had me downtown already.”
The bartender slapped a woven plastic basket in front of me filled with hunks of fish and potatoes aromatic with grease. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s too noisy,” I said.
Andy didn’t seem to object. I left some money on the counter and half supported Andy out the door, carrying my basket of food. The fog had rolled in and the street was slick with mist. I led Andy down the block and maneuvered him into my car. I really hoped he wouldn’t be sick.
“Have some.” I passed the basket toward him.
“Nah. Not hungry.”
I picked up a large piece of fried potato and munched on it. It was delicious.
“Whadya wanna talk about?” He leaned his head back on the headrest.
My ears were still ringing from the noise in the bar. “I want to know what was going on with Moira. What were you arguing about at the wedding?”
Andy crumpled forward and started to cry. “God. I accused her of cheating on me. She kept denying it, and now she’s gone.”
“You have any idea who it was?”
“I had my suspicions.” He spoke slowly, slurring his words. “There’s a bartender at the Macao—Asian guy. Moira did some catering a few times for private parties there.”
I remembered the silk-covered matchbook I’d found in Moira’s apartment. “What’s his name?”
“How the hell should I know?” Andy snorted. “Snotty guy. Thought he was too good for everybody ’cause he’s getting some advanced degree at Berkeley. What the hell does it matter now?”
Geneva had mentioned Moira’s friend at Macao. Maybe Andy was right. Maybe the bartender was more than just a friend.
“What do you know about Moira’s ex-boyfriend Steve?” I asked.
“Him? God, what a jerk!” Andy laughed mirthlessly. “He was still calling her months after they broke up. You’d think the guy could take a hint.”
“When exactly did they break up?”
Andy turned his head to look at me. He was having trouble focusing. “You sure have a lot of questions. I don’t know. I don’t know when exactly they broke up. Why are you asking?” He spoke slowly, forming his words with difficulty.
“I’m just trying to help Geneva. She wants to know what was going on with her sister.”
“Ya better watch out. You stick your nose into other people’s business, you never know what’s under some of those rocks.” I shivered, remembering Zora’s words: You don’t know this yet, but you’re in danger. Keep your nose out of other people’s business.
Andy’s head lolled back against the car seat. He seemed close to passing out. “I wondered if she wasn’t in some kind of trouble,” he murmured. “It woulda been just like her to do something dumb and think there’d be no consequences.”
I was still curious about Andy’s supposed real estate dealings that Dan had mentioned, but I didn’t want to tip my hand about the tax forms I’d found in Moira’s apartment, not yet at least. “What kind of trouble are you talking about?”
I waited, but Andy volunteered nothing more. I finished off the last piece of greasy potato, licked my fingers, and dug some tissues out of the glove compartment. I handed a few to Andy and he wiped his eyes and blew his nose.
“Sorry. I’m a mess.”
“I’m going to drive you home, since you’re in no shape to get behind a wheel. Where do you live?”
“In the Haight. On Cole.”
“Okay. Let’s go. Put your seat belt on.”
I pulled up in front of the large Victorian Andy pointed out. He climbed out of the car slowly and walked away without shutting the door. I reached over, pulled it shut, and watched him stagger up the stairs and hopefully into his apartment. I sighed. I hadn’t learned a thing. Nothing I didn’t already know, at least. My trip was a waste of time.
Since Andy’s building was only a few blocks from the Alibi, I decided to cruise down Waller one more time. Hopefully I’d even spot Zims, the man in the wheelchair. A few people wandered along the street, but most of the shops, with the exception of the Alibi and the tattoo parlor, were closed. I made two more passes but didn’t spot anyone conducting illicit business, or any business for that matter, on the street.
I wasn’t sure how far my loyalty to Geneva would take me, but there was no doubt in my mind that David’s visit to Brooke’s that night, and his missing gun, had raised some flags with the police. What was lacking in David’s case was a motive—and if anyone had a motive for killing Moira, I wanted to know what it was. I decided I’d search for Moira’s possible drug dealer another day and headed home.
I left my car on the street and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. My fingers still reeked of potato grease and I hoped I hadn’t dribbled any over my jacket. I washed my hands at the kitchen sink and felt Wizard rub against my leg, patiently waiting for some attention. I dried my hands on a dish towel and picked him up before he had a chance to skitter away. He pushed his head against my forehead and I returned the pressure.
“Hey, Wiz. I’m not really ignoring you.” He yawned in response as if to say, Yeah, right! He squirmed away and I lowered him gently to the floor. He sat by his bowl, his back to me. I was getting really good at reading his body language. Translated, this meant, I’ll forgive you if I get a treat. Blackmailed by my cat. I fished out a pellet from his pouch of kitty treats and dropped it in his dish.
The light was flashing on the answering machine in the office. Two new messages. The first from Celia, the second from Gale. Celia wanted me to call her back. I groaned. I’d managed to procrastinate long enough. I would dig the boxes out tonight and get whatever I found over to her first thing in the morning. Otherwise I’d have no peace.
I returned Gale’s call.
“Thank God you’re there!”
“What now?”
“She’s signed over the house.”
“What?”
“Cheryl. She signed a quitclaim to the house. That jerk showed up on her doorstep and sweet-talked her into signing over the house to him.”
“Did he bring a notary?”
“Oh. No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, then, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t mean much if it’s not notarized.”
“You’re right. I’m so upset I can’t think straight. That son of a bitch turned up with wine and flowers and a line of crap about how they could work things out, and you know her, she talks big but she’s scared of her own shadow, and she agreed to sign the paperwork. And she didn’t even think to call me or at least call her lawyer, you know that nasty little short man I found for her. The ex-
Mafioso.”
“I don’t think you should keep calling him ‘ex-Mafioso.’”
“Why not? That’s what he looks like. He wears those terrible sharkskin suits. Nobody wears those outside of South Philly.”
“First of all”—I heaved a sigh—“if he’s a Mafioso, then I doubt he’d be able to become an ‘ex.’ And besides, you’ve got to stop making derogatory comments about my people.”
Gale laughed. “Honey, this guy ain’t your people. I’m calling Sam right now. He needs to know about this. The hearing is tomorrow morning.”
Sam Giovanni
was the attorney Gale had retained to help Cheryl through her divorce. If you happened to be one of his clients, he was actually a terrific guy. He was Satan if you were the opposing party. He was a short, swarthy man who’d been in trouble with the police when young and then had his juvenile record expunged so he could be admitted to the bar. His specialty was family law, and his second specialty was sleeping with all of his clients. He had money and lifts in his shoes and the world was his oyster. Gale was probably right. He was exactly what Cheryl needed right now.
“I’ll see you there tomorrow?” she added.
I sighed. “You think I should come?”
“Yes.” Gale hung up.
I heaved another sigh. There was no avoiding this. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I opened the closet door and stared at its contents. On one side were garment bags full of dresses, coats, and seldom-worn items. Most of these were samples from my grandmother’s shop before she retired. Boxes I’d never unpacked when I moved into my apartment were stacked on the other side. There were six. I hauled them out one by one and lined them up on the living room floor, then sliced through the tape on each with a pair of scissors. Chances were, anything of Michael’s would be in just one box, but I’d packed in such a hurry before the move, I couldn’t be absolutely certain. Now I just wanted to satisfy Celia and be able to tell her I had nothing in my possession that technically belonged to her.
The first box was full of old kitchen utensils and mismatched dishes. I remembered going shopping to replace a lot of this stuff after my move. I rummaged through and discovered a couple of items that could be useful now—a lemon squeezer and a small colander. I pulled them out and re-taped the box. This was a charity donation. Three of the boxes held high school and college memorabilia and old books. I separated the books I no longer wanted and added them to the giveaway pile. The rest I shoved into a half-empty bookshelf in the living room.
I found Michael’s things in the fifth box. There were a pair of hiking boots, gloves, and an olive green all-weather jacket with a hood and big pockets. I had such a clear memory of Michael wearing that jacket. A wave of longing swept over me. I buried my face inside the jacket and inhaled. I ached for him. Whether it was a lingering scent or my imagination, he was physically with me for a fleeting moment.
Reluctantly, I placed his boots, gloves, and jacket in a large shopping bag. I rummaged through the rest of the items. There were three books related to his studies. I added these to the shopping bag. Underneath the books, I found two fat notebooks from the work he’d been doing in Guatemala. He’d shipped them to me just prior to his return. A note clipped inside said, Julia—hang on to these for me. They’re important. I’ll fill you in when I’m home. See you soon. Love, Michael.
I ran my fingers over his handwriting. It was debatable whether Celia had a right to these or not. Technically, Michael’s possessions belonged to his next of kin, but these had been sent to me for safekeeping. One part of me was aware of Celia’s obsessive behavior and wanted to rebel, and the other part of me clung to Michael’s memory as fiercely as she did. These were mine. I was keeping them. There was absolutely no reason for Celia to ever know about his notes. And as for the rest—cards we’d given to each other, a shoebox full of photos—those were mine as well.
Most days, I never gave these things a second thought. But sometimes when I needed to pick at old wounds, I read his letters. Tonight I couldn’t bring myself to do that. We’d thought we were invincible, looking forward to our life together, never anticipating that there’d be no future for us. Ever since, I’d built a protective wall around myself, and I wasn’t sure how to tear it down. When Brooke had asked if there was anyone in my life, if I’d been honest I would have said I wasn’t sure I even wanted someone. It wasn’t a risk I could take again. Maybe never.
I replaced the photos, cards, and notebooks in the box. Celia could have the rest.
I rose from the floor and retaped the remaining boxes, stacking them once again in the closet. The day would come when I’d go through all of this more thoroughly. Another day. In the meantime, I could drop the giveaway stuff at a charity shop and deliver the shopping bag to Celia at Cold Comfort Farm, as I’d dubbed her house. I was sure I wouldn’t be thanked or invited in for a visit. Fine with me.
I turned off the lamps and put some water on for tea. Wizard had disappeared through the kitty hatch before I could lock him in. When the tea was ready, I shed my clothes and slipped on a nightie. I climbed into bed and grabbed my book on chart comparisons, snuggling under the comforter. Wizard meowed from the hallway. He ran into the bedroom and hopped up on the little slipper chair. He made two counter-clockwise turns and finally curled into a fetal position. I climbed out of bed, closed the kitty hatch, unplugged the bedroom phone, and did my best to concentrate on my book. I shivered, remembering that this was the same one that had lulled me to sleep the night of the shooting, but the foghorns reminded me I was safe in my own bed tonight.
twenty
San Francisco Superior Court is housed in the Civic Center complex. Its main building is an ornate French Renaissance edifice, topped with a golden dome, that also encloses City Hall and the main library. After the last big quake, that dome required an expensive application of gold leaf. Today it glowed in the morning light.
I made sure I was there by eight o’clock. I didn’t want to be late for Cheryl’s final divorce hearing. I passed through the security check and took the wide marble stairs to the second floor. Courtroom 405 was at the end of the hallway. Hard wooden benches occupied the spaces between recessed doors leading to each courtroom. I spotted Cheryl and Gale seated alongside many other supplicants. Sam Giovanni was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s your lawyer?” I asked as I approached.
Gale looked up. “He’ll be here. Don’t worry. Glad you could make it.” Then, with a stage whisper, she leaned toward me. “She needs some hand-holding. She’s a mess.”
“No I’m not,” Cheryl piped up. “I’ll be fine.” Her lips were white and she clutched her purse and a large envelope with both hands.
I felt a presence behind me and turned. “Ladies, ladies, how lovely you all look.” Sam Giovanni was almost five four, with dark curly hair. He was dressed in an expensively tailored suit. Without the Cuban heels, he was probably five two. He swayed continuously from one foot to the other while he spoke.
“Listen, honey,” he said to Cheryl, “don’t worry about a thing. You’re in Sam’s hands now.”
Cheryl nodded mutely and tried to speak, but no words came.
“By the time we’re done, this guy won’t be able to find his balls. Hah!” Sam chuckled.
Cheryl’s face turned a ghastly green. “I think I have to go to the restroom.” She rose from the bench and raced down the hall, running with tiny steps on her high heels.
“Oh God,” Gale groaned. “Go with her. Make sure she comes back.”
Sam had placed himself by the door to the courtroom. Standing on his toes, he peered through the small round window, tapping on the glass to get the bailiff’s attention.
I whispered to Gale, “Are you sure about this guy?”
“Don’t worry.” Gale waved her hand vaguely in the air. “He just drinks a lot of cappuccino.”
I followed Cheryl to the ladies’ room. Sounds of retching came from one of the stalls. I took a safe position by the sinks. I have a very sympathetic stomach and didn’t want to end up hurling and gagging right along with her.
“Cheryl, are you okay?”
More gagging sounds. “I’m … okay. Ugh … I’m okay.”
Eventually I heard the toilet flush and Cheryl came out of the stall with mascara running down her cheeks.
“God, Julia, I’m not sure I can go through with this.”
“Of course you can. It’ll be over very quickly and we’re here with you. Don’t worry. Gale knows what she’s doing
.” I didn’t mention I wasn’t so sure about the lawyer, but I bit my tongue.
“What’s wrong with me? What was I thinking last night? Frank showed up with wine and flowers, and I just signed the quitclaim.” She moaned. “Julia, am I an idiot or what?”
“Let it go. You’re not the first woman to make a mistake. Let’s get back. They’ll be opening the doors any minute.”
“I caaaan’t,” Cheryl bawled.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and spoke sternly. “Yes, you can, and you will. Now come on, let’s wash your face and we’ll put some more makeup on.”
“Okay,” she responded meekly.
We emerged from the ladies’ room, Cheryl looking quite a bit better than she did when she ran in.
Gale was at the end of the hall, waving to us. “Hurry up, you two.”
It was eight thirty exactly and the bailiff had promptly opened the doors to the courtroom. Everyone filed in to take seats. I looked at the list posted outside the door and realized Cheryl’s case was the fourth one up. This might take a while.
A wooden railing separated us from the front of the room. Inside the railing were two long tables at either side of the center aisle, with the clerk’s enclosure near the side wall. The judge’s raised bench was empty. The bailiff stood in the center aisle watching everyone carefully as we filed in. The clerk glanced up from her desk, stood, and gathering files together, placed a stack at the side of the judge’s bench.
As we took our seats in the row behind the banister, I turned and saw Frank push through the padded double doors into the courtroom. Although I’d never met the man, he conformed to my mental image. Somewhere in his mid-forties, partially bald and extremely portly, he wore an ill-fitting sports jacket and slacks. His face was red and flushed. He was accompanied by a twenty-something woman wearing a miniskirt, cowboy boots, and a low-cut tank top that displayed her mammary charms. The tank top didn’t quite cover her definitely extended and likely pregnant belly.
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