by Kyra Davis
Leah turned to Anatoly. “I know where you’re heading with this and you can stop right now. Bob was not romancing some neglected Portuguese tattooed lady.”
“I never thought of that!” Charlie put his hand on his cheek. “What a little shit.”
“Major understatement,” I muttered.
“But the Souzas seemed like such nice people,” Charlie continued. “They were at the hotel for at least a week, and every time I brought something up to them they took some time to chitchat with me. One night they tipped me fifty bucks—that’s the other reason I remember them.”
“Maybe her wealth was part of the attraction,” I suggested. “That could be the common denominator that we’re overlooking while comparing the women in Bob’s harem.”
“My husband did not have a harem! And he certainly wasn’t some kind of male gold digger. After all, I didn’t come from a lot of wealth, despite the nonsense Cheryl has been spewing.”
I put my elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Maybe his taste for rich chicks is a recent phenomenon.”
“And how would you explain his interest in his secretary?” Leah spat.
“I don’t know…maybe Bob jumped into bed with Erika in order to distract himself from his more important relationships with you and Bianca…maybe he was having a hard time deciding if he should honor his marriage vows or pick Bianca as his new life partner and he was just using Erika as a…a…”
“A filibuster!” Marcus snapped his fingers in the air. “Something to do in order to put off a vote!”
I gave Marcus an appreciative slap on the arm. “That’s good. Do you mind if I use that in one of my books?”
“Hello?” Leah brushed off the comforting hand that Charlie had put on her shoulder and glared at Marcus and me. “Are you two listening to yourselves?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What she means,” Anatoly said, “is that your theory doesn’t make any sense. People don’t have affairs in order to distract themselves from their other affairs. And Erika isn’t the only hole in your gold-digger theory.”
“Oh, really,” I said defensively. “And what’s the other problem?”
“If Bob was dating women for their money, why did he spend all his money on those same women?”
“You got me there.” I looked over at Leah. “Did you guys take out a second mortgage on your house or something? I mean, how the hell was Bob able to buy Bianca a fifty-thousand-dollar bracelet?”
Leah gasped. “Fifty thousand dollars? Are you sure?”
“I’m sorry, Leah—I forgot to tell you. Bianca let us know.”
Leah put her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this. No wonder he balked when I said I wanted enhancements for my birthday. He had already spent all his money on Bianca.”
“Enhancements?” Charlie shook his head in confusion, and Marcus just clucked his tongue.
Anatoly finished off the rest of his drink and focused on Charlie. “Do you remember Maria’s husband’s name?”
“Yes, it was Mario, or maybe it was Pablo—I remember it sounded very Latin.”
“Great,” Anatoly muttered. “Do you think you could get me some more information about this Brazilian couple? Like a home address or a phone number?”
Charlie shook his head so hard I thought it might come off. “The Gatsby has very strict rules about protecting the privacy of its guests.”
“Just a hometown, then,” Anatoly coaxed. “No one will ever know.”
“No, no way.”
Charlie started to stand up, but Marcus gently pulled him back down. “You wouldn’t need to break into the computer system,” he said as he brushed a lock of hair away from Charlie’s face. “You could just ask around. You said these Brazilians liked to schmooze with the staff, so they might have mentioned a hometown to someone, and if they were handing out Ulysses S. Grants like they were George Washingtons, people will remember them.”
Charlie looked at Marcus uncertainly. “I guess I could ask around.” He smiled at Leah. “It’s the least I can do for my favorite diva.”
“I can’t tell you how much I would appreciate it.” Leah beamed at him over her drink. “You’re just—” Her voice trailed off as she searched for the vocabulary that would flesh out her diva image. “Fabulous,” she said shyly. “You’re absolutely fabulous!”
Anatoly and I dropped Leah off at my place a half hour before Mama was scheduled to bring Jack back. I suggested that the two of them spend some private mommy-child time together. I pretended that I was only thinking of the best interests of her and her son, but I’m pretty sure everyone saw through that facade. The truth was, I was desperate for some time away from my family. Anatoly and I walked down toward North Beach to hash things out.
“Do you think they have DNA evidence that could link Leah to Erika’s death?” A light breeze caused goose bumps to materialize up my arms. “Is that why Lorenzo asked for one of her hairs?”
“If they had that kind of evidence, Lorenzo would have shown up with a warrant.”
“Then why request a hair sample?”
“Either he’s hoping to get that kind of evidence soon or he just wanted to see how she would react to the request.” Anatoly stuffed his hands into his leather jacket.
“So maybe it was just a test.” We paused for a bicycle to go by before crossing the street. “If that’s the case, how do you think she scored?”
“Somewhere in the sixty-percent range.”
“That means she got a D.”
Anatoly shrugged. “Possibly a D+.”
I stopped walking and looked up at the wispy white clouds that covered the sky. “What do we do now?”
“I still think our best bet is to try to offer the police as many suspects as possible. We need proof that Taylor was sleeping with Bob, and that she had reason to hate him.”
“That’s the nice thing about Bob and his sister,” I said. “They’re both so easy to hate.”
Anatoly laughed. “I can see that.”
“Well, as far as the suspect thing goes, I do have some good news.” I started walking again and Anatoly quickly fell in step. “I tricked Porsha into admitting that Bianca didn’t have an alibi for the night we found Erika. That’s got to be helpful for us.”
Anatoly creased his forehead. “You tricked Porsha? That couldn’t have been easy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I glared at him. “You think Porsha’s some kind of sexy female Einstein and I’m the frizzy-haired village idiot?”
Anatoly smiled. “No, I don’t think Porsha’s Einstein.”
“Very cute. I’ll have you know that not only did I trick Porsha into giving me the information about Bianca, but she’s still none the wiser for it.” I glanced at the Muni bus that was letting some of its passengers out in front of us. “But if Bianca or Taylor killed Erika, why did they search her place? Were they looking for the disk?”
“That would be my guess, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what they think is on it,” Anatoly said. “We can’t make that our focus, though. Let’s just get the information that we need to prevent Leah from being arrested and leave the rest be.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, we should talk to Cheryl again.”
“You think the little tête-à-tête that Charlie walked in on is significant in some way?”
“Only one way to find out. Care to take a ride to Cow Hollow with me?”
“What the hell, I might as well put all my pent-up hostility to good use.” I smiled at Anatoly. “Let’s go nail her ass to the wall.”
CHAPTER 13
“I think I would like children better if they weren’t so incredibly immature.”
—Words To Die By
Unemployment didn’t seem to be agreeing with Cheryl. Her hair was stringy and greasy, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t even bother flirting with Anatoly as she wordlessly allowed us entrance into her apartment. Her place was suffering, too. It had gon
e from cluttered to downright messy. There were dirty dishes on the coffee table and nylons hanging from her chairs. Either Cheryl was severely depressed, or heroin chic had come back in a big way.
Anatoly and I waited for her to offer us a seat, and when she didn’t, he pushed aside some clothes and made himself comfortable. I remained standing, not wanting to inadvertently sit on a leftover piece of pizza.
“We heard about what happened with your job,” Anatoly said in a voice that oozed sympathy. “You must be incredibly upset.”
Cheryl sank into the armchair behind her. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Her eyes sparkled with tears.
Anatoly shook his head. “They didn’t actually fire you over those innocent remarks you made about Leah, did they?”
By the blank look on Cheryl’s face one would have thought she was having difficulty understanding the question.
“You think…” She faltered. Then she straightened her posture and used her sleeve to wipe away a tear. “That’s not the reason the Gatsby gave, but yeah. They said I was late three times or something like that, but really it was about Leah. My brother gets killed and then I get fired for insulting his murderer.” Her voice got stronger with each word. “It’s so not fair. She’s the one who killed him, not me. She did it.”
Anatoly and I locked eyes. Something was off.
“Cheryl,” Anatoly pressed gently. “Why didn’t Bob listen to you when you told him how wrong Leah was for him? You’re his sister. Surely he must have respected your opinion.”
“Bob was never a good listener. Leah and Bob together were like—well, it was like that show The Nanny—you know, the one where Fran Drescher gets together with her boss?” Cheryl scornfully blew out a puff of air. “It never should have happened.”
I wrinkled my nose. “They never should have gotten together?”
“No, I mean the whole show shouldn’t have happened! It was a stupid premise and that’s exactly what was wrong with Leah and Bob’s marriage—the whole premise of their relationship was stupid.”
“And what would that premise be?” Anatoly asked.
“Simple. Bob wanted someone who would play the role of a good corporate wife, and of all the women who auditioned for the part—and there weren’t many—Leah did the best.” Cheryl leaned farther back into the cushions. “What Bob never understood is that you don’t marry a woman just so she can play second fiddle to your career. When you pick a spouse, you should think about who they know and where they come from. Anyone can be a housewife, but only a select few can get you into the right VIP rooms.”
I stared at Cheryl, nearly speechless. “You are one of the most bizarre and twisted individuals I have ever met, and when you consider my list of acquaintances that’s saying a lot.”
“Don’t talk to me about being twisted,” she snapped. “I know you lied to me about that interview on Channel Four.”
“Oh, you figured that out, did you?”
Anatoly shot me another warning look. “Cheryl, did Bob ever introduce you to Taylor Blake?”
Some of the color drained from Cheryl’s face. “I may have met her once or twice.”
Anatoly leaned forward. “What about Maria E. Souza? Does that name ring a bell?”
“Maria E. Souza.” Now Cheryl looked like she was going to run screaming from the room. “That does sound familiar—she was a friend of Bob’s too, wasn’t she?”
“You know the answer to that.” Anatoly’s tone, while still gentle, had become firm and confident. “We spoke to Taylor. She confessed to everything.”
There was a scratching noise as Cheryl’s nails scraped against the upholstery of her chair. “I didn’t know Taylor had anything to confess to.”
“You don’t have to lie anymore, Cheryl,” Anatoly said soothingly. “Everyone knows about the affair. Taylor even admitted to her rendezvous with Bob at the Gatsby.”
Cheryl’s mouth dropped open, giving her the look of an overwrought guppy. “Taylor admitted to having an affair with Bob? I can’t believe that.”
“It was going to come out sooner or later,” Anatoly said, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “I understand why you would want to help Bob—he was your brother. But helping him required some bending of the rules, didn’t it? For the women like Maria, there were husbands to consider. Did you let Bob know when Mr. Souza wasn’t around? Did you act as a lookout person so that Bob and his mistresses didn’t suffer any surprise interruptions?”
Cheryl’s eyebrows drew together. “Wait a minute—”
“And then his relationship with Taylor presented its own unique problems. They wouldn’t want to reserve a room under either of their names. Perhaps they wouldn’t have wanted to reserve a room at all considering that neither of them planned to spend the night. Is that the real reason they fired you, Cheryl? Were you granting your brother unpaid access to the rooms?”
Cheryl stared at Anatoly, disbelief coloring her features. “Is that what you think?” She shot to her feet, her voice taking on a strangled quality. “That I was trying to turn Hotel Gatsby into my brother’s personal whorehouse? Is that really what you both think?”
She turned her back on Anatoly and faced me. I looked at Anatoly, who was nodding his head furiously.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “That is what I think.” Actually the thought had never occurred to me. Why would Cheryl do something so stupid for a brother she didn’t even care about?
“No one’s judging you.” Anatoly stood up and held his hands up for peace. “He was your brother and he was trapped in an unhappy marriage. Of course you would want to help him in any way you could.”
Cheryl whirled back around to confront him. “I would never have allowed him to take advantage of me or the Gatsby in that way! Maybe I would have done it for someone like, I don’t know…Matt Damon, but I would never bend the rules like that for someone as unimportant as my brother! What kind of person do you think I am?”
“How many times do I have to say it?” I said. “You’re bizarre and twisted.”
“Get out of my apartment.”
“Cheryl, I don’t want to accuse you unjustly,” Anatoly said, “but that’s what Taylor told us. Why would she lie?”
“I said out!”
“Okay, we’ll leave.” I stood up and smiled sweetly at Cheryl. “But you realize that the next person who’s going to be kicked out of here is you. It’s not like you’re going to be able to afford the rent on a place like this anymore.”
Cheryl took a step back. “What are you implying?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Judging from the location and size of this apartment, I think it’s safe to presume that an unemployment check isn’t going to cover a lot more than your utilities.”
Cheryl squeezed her eyes closed. “I want you out of here,” she said quietly.
Anatoly nodded and gestured for me to follow him. The minute we stepped out into the hall, Cheryl slammed the door behind us. We listened to the clicks of the dead bolt and the chain lock being secured.
“Okay, so what the hell was that about?” I asked Anatoly as we walked down the stairs.
“I knew she would take offense at my accusation.” On the main floor he pushed the heavy glass door of the lobby open and we stepped outside. “I was hoping that she might let something slip while defending her innocence.”
“So you don’t really think she was renting out the rooms at the Gatsby by the hour.”
Anatoly chuckled. “I think it’s improbable. It’s more likely that she was allowing Taylor or Bob to check in under a pseudonym in exchange for a bribe of some kind.”
“Well, she definitely knows more than she’s letting on. Did you see her face when you mentioned Maria’s and Taylor’s names? Can you say blanched? She didn’t want to go there at all.” I shook my head. “I’m going back to my first theory. Cheryl’s the guilty one.”
“I’m beginning to think you might be right,” Anatoly said. “But I still can’t figure out what her motive would be
.” He scratched the light stubble on his chin. “Even if she was breaking the company rules for her brother, that, in and of itself, isn’t a good reason to kill him.”
I made a little dismissive sound as I zipped up my jacket. “Maybe she purchased one of Charlton Heston’s old guns on eBay and she wanted to try it out,” I said sarcastically.
“Somehow I doubt it,” Anatoly said. “Besides, it’s Bob’s weapon that’s gone missing.” We paused in front of Anatoly’s Harley and he handed me one of the helmets. “Do you think Bob would have told her where he kept his gun?”
“It’s always possible.” I put the helmet on and waited until Anatoly started up the bike before climbing on behind him. “Hey, maybe she has a thing for the host of America’s Most Wanted and she thought killing her brother would get his attention.”
Anatoly revved the engine and started down the street without answering.
“Anatoly?” I yelled. “Can you hear me?”
“I’m trying not to,” he yelled back.
I rolled my eyes and wrapped my arms around him partly to help secure my position but mostly because I liked the way his abdominal muscles felt when I pressed my hands against them. I had no idea why Cheryl would want to see her brother dead, but if Little Miss Hollywood was responsible for setting my sister up for his murder, I’d make sure that the only stars she saw were the kind that appear after you’ve been knocked unconscious.
I was pretty good at keeping the image of Erika’s lifeless body out of my conscious mind during the day, but lying in my bed that night I found that the visual came to me every time I closed my eyes. If that wasn’t enough, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the bizarre information regarding her cause of death. It wasn’t until sometime after two o’clock in the morning that I fell asleep. As it turns out I didn’t have to worry about dreaming, because beginning at 2:25 a.m. Jack started waking up every ten minutes. And just when I started to get used to the sounds of his screams, Leah would get frustrated with him and start screaming, too. At three I finally gave up and started working on my next manuscript. I had an idea for a storyline in which a mother forced her mentally unstable sister-in-law to babysit her son, thus driving her to take her own life.