“Honestly.”
“Then how do you know he was dead when we-”
He looked me straight in the eye. “The fact that he’s got a bullet hole in his head makes me think he died rather quickly. And since we heard nothing…”
He let it go at that.
I tried to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He hung his head, in defeat or contemplation, I couldn’t say. But when he looked at me again, it was with determination. “Come here.”
Call me weak, but I went willingly back into his arms.
“I’m tired of finding dead bodies,” I whispered after a moment.
“It does get tiresome.”
I must’ve been going into shock because I giggled at that. Taking a deep breath, I vowed to keep it together. Enrico was dead, murdered, and I was standing three feet away from his body. “We’d better get out of here.”
“What a good idea.”
I realized I was still holding the Plutarch and slipped it into my purse. “I’m taking this with me.”
“Fine. Steal another book.” He grabbed my hand and I allowed him to pull me down the hall toward the front door. “We’ll call the police from the nearest restaurant.”
“The Left Hand.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“The Left Hand. It’s a vegetarian restaurant about two blocks away, on California Street.”
He stared at me. “Why am I not surprised you know every eating establishment in this city?”
I shrugged. “I like to eat.”
“I’ve noticed.”
I reached for the front door handle, but Derek pulled me away. “Wait.” He went into the front room and stared out through a crack in the curtains. From over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a funky old black sports car pulling up to park.
There was a small explosion as the car backfired and trembled to a halt. A woman climbed out from the driver’s seat and headed for the front door.
“It’s Minka,” I said, feeling a chill that had little to do with the dead body down the hall.
“This place is worse than Heathrow for crowds,” he muttered. “And let’s not touch anything else.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe the front doorknob and throw the bolt into place, then grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen. “We’ll go out through the back and around the side.”
“Back door’s got a dead bolt. I already checked.”
“Bloody hell.” We looked at each other. I would panic in just a minute.
“We could break the window,” I said.
“If we must. Let’s look for a key first.”
I gulped again. “Maybe they were in his pocket.”
His eyes narrowed as he thought about it. “Or maybe he empties his pockets when he arrives home.” He jogged into the living room and I followed. He scanned the room, finally spying a small bowl on the short bookshelf near the foyer. Sure enough, there was a bowl holding a set of keys and a pile of coins, a cell phone and a wadded tissue, as though he’d stood right there and emptied his pockets.
“Brilliant,” I said.
“We men are a predictable lot.”
He grabbed my hand again and we raced through the kitchen to the back door, just as the front doorbell rang. I could hear Minka shouting Enrico’s name from the front step. She sounded like a fishwife-not that I’d ever heard a true fishwife yelling. It didn’t matter. I had no doubt Minka’s annoying bellows would qualify.
Derek tried the first key and in seconds we were out of the house.
“Enrico, I’ve got my key,” Minka hollered. “I’m coming in.”
“She’s got a mouth,” Derek said. “The entire neighborhood’s going to be alerted.”
We tiptoed around the side of the house just as Minka went through the front door. I could still hear her shouting out his name a few more times.
“Don’t run,” Derek warned as we reached the front sidewalk. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone. Walk as though you belong here. Then drive to the restaurant and park at least a block away. I’ll follow you.”
I didn’t argue. I wanted to be miles away when Minka found Enrico’s body. I walked briskly to my car, started the engine and took off. A few blocks later, I turned right on California Street, found a space and parked.
I could barely catch my breath.
What had I been thinking, walking into Enrico’s house? I had been trespassing on private property. It didn’t matter that I’d had an appointment with Enrico. I didn’t belong there. And all along, he’d been dead in the back room.
I rubbed my arms to fight the chills. Someone had been angry enough to kill him in cold blood. With a gun. Just like Abraham. Why? What had Enrico done? And more importantly, who had he so totally enraged that they’d taken a gun and shot him in the head?
It had to be the same person who had killed Abraham. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
The killer hadn’t ransacked Enrico’s home, so maybe they hadn’t been looking for anything but him. That could mean the Winslows were involved. Once again, I pictured little Meredith in that pretty orange jumpsuit.
But maybe Derek’s arrival had scared the killer off and he planned to return to search the place. Which meant that the person searching the house while Derek and I were hiding in the pantry could be the killer.
What was the real connection between Abraham, Enrico and the murderer? Books, to be sure. But which books? One of the Winslows’ collection? Something from the Covington? Or something to do with the old grudge between the two men?
I had no doubt there was a connection between the two deaths. Find that connection and I would find the murderer.
I would find the murderer? I shuddered. No, thank you. I was going back to my loft and hiding under my bed.
Derek’s black Bentley pulled up half a block in front of me. As I watched him approach my car, his gait purposeful, his eyes studying me as a wild cat might scrutinize his quarry, three things occurred to me.
Number one, Derek Stone was really hot.
Number two, Minka didn’t kill Enrico.
Number three, I knew who the intruder was.
Chapter 14
I’d recognized the intruder’s voice when I heard him utter the oath outside the pantry door.
I stared at Derek as he came closer. I couldn’t tell him what I knew. Not yet. I needed to think, needed to figure out whether to confront the intruder privately, let him know I knew he’d been in Enrico’s home. I debated whether to tell him I knew what he’d been looking for.
Which reminded me, that check for five thousand dollars was burning a hole in my jacket pocket.
I shook my head as I climbed out of my car. Who in the world besides Ian McCullough would’ve said “Feather buckets” when he couldn’t open a recalcitrant door? I’d heard him say it a hundred times over the years. He’d once explained that when he was a boy, his very proper parents had forbidden him and his brothers to curse in the house, so “feather buckets” was the young boys’ coded way of saying “fuck it.”
I couldn’t believe he still used that stupid phrase. Of course, he probably hadn’t expected an old friend to be hiding just behind the very thin door of that pantry when he uttered those words.
I had no doubt Ian had been looking for the five-thousand-dollar check I’d found and now I was absolutely certain Enrico had been blackmailing him. But why? What had Ian done to make himself vulnerable to someone like Enrico Baldacchio?
I really couldn’t see Ian being a killer. From what I’d heard from inside the pantry closet, Ian had literally stumbled onto Enrico’s body, then torn out of the house as if he’d seen a ghost.
The bad news was, Minka couldn’t have killed Enrico, either. Unless she was an extremely good actress, I seriously doubted her ability to shoot the man in cold blood, drive away, then return a while later, shouting his name like the aforementioned fishwife. Even I was forced to admit she
wasn’t that stupid.
So who killed Enrico Baldacchio?
I was suddenly paranoid about walking around this part of town, so I found an old Giants cap in my glove box, wrapped my hair up and shoved it under the cap. I climbed out of the car and met Derek on the busy sidewalk. This section of California Street in the Richmond District catered to the wealthy residents of Sea Cliff. There were boutiques, a cheese shop, a butcher, two bakeries and several chic restaurants.
Derek looked at my cap and nodded in approval, but call me surprised when he put his arm around my shoulder and hauled me in close.
“We’ll call the police from that petrol station,” he said, discreetly pointing out the ARCO station across the street as we walked.
“They’ll probably have a pay phone inside the restaurant,” I said.
“Not a good idea,” he said, nuzzling my neck.
“Oh, right.” I could barely think. “Uh, because they’ll trace the call.”
“They don’t have to trace anything. The location pops up on the screen as soon as the dispatcher picks up the call.”
“Ah. Good to know.” Why didn’t I know that? Maybe because I’d just embarked on this new life of crime and still didn’t know all the ropes.
Derek whispered, “We’ll order something first, then call.”
It seemed wrong to put off the call. Maybe not wrong, exactly, but calculated certainly. Enrico was dead and probably wouldn’t care, but it made me feel callous somehow to allow his body to lie there on the carpet, alone, ignored, while I ordered lunch.
Then again, I didn’t want to be connected to his death any more than I already was. Derek was helping me set up a firewall, so to speak. I should be grateful.
My eyes widened as his jaw brushed my chin. I inhaled deeply and caught the scent of his skin. I wasn’t complaining, but what was going on here? Had all the danger and excitement gotten to him?
I guess it had gotten to me, too, because I stared up at him and my mouth went dry. My appetite for food was history and trust me, that never happens.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked. “I’m not going to faint, you know.”
“I didn’t think you were,” he said quietly in my ear.
I trembled from the breathy contact. “Then what’s going on here?”
He bent his head to gaze at me. “We’re pretending to be completely enamored, of course. If the police think to interview anyone around here, they’ll vaguely recall seeing a couple in love walking down the street. They won’t be able to describe a gorgeous blonde and the handsome buck by her side.”
I took a few seconds to appreciate the gorgeous blonde comment. Then I slugged him. “You’re truly a jerk.”
He laughed and hugged me tighter. “I love it when you call me names.”
I smiled and touched his cheek. “In that case, you’re a complete ass.”
“Mmm. Music to my ears.”
I grabbed his lapel and whispered, “For a cop, you know a lot about larcenous behavior.”
“It’s part of the training.”
“I think you live closer to the edge than you let on.”
He gave me an innocent smile before pulling the restaurant door open and pushing me inside.
“I need a drink,” I said, breaking away from him.
“Fat chance of finding alcohol in a vegetarian restaurant,” he complained.
“Hey, vegetarians drink wine,” I insisted, taking off my jacket as we passed through the foyer. “It’s like the staff of life or something.”
“Isn’t that bread?”
“Whatever.”
Despite the sunny day outside, the restaurant was as dark as a cave, its walls and ceiling lined in thick redwood panels. The darkness suited my mood.
“Ah, delightful,” he said, and led me to the fully stocked bar that ran the length of the room on the far side. We grabbed two stools and sat, the only two customers in the bar.
I studied the wine list and finally decided on a glass of the 2004 Concannon Petite Syrah. Derek ordered a very dry Belvedere martini with a lemon twist, shaken, not stirred. Why was I not surprised?
We didn’t speak until our drinks were served. As soon as the bartender walked away, I turned to Derek. “Maybe Minka already called the police. Don’t you think we should lie low for a while?”
“Lie low?” he said with a smirk. “Now who’s living on the edge?”
“It was just a thought.”
Derek took one sip of his martini, then said, “From everything I’ve heard about this Minka, we oughtn’t depend on her to do the right thing.”
“Good point.”
He pushed his barstool away and stood. “I’ll go make the call.”
I grabbed his arm. “No, I’ll make the call.”
“It’s no problem.” He tapped his head. “I know the number. Nine-one-one. See?”
“Very funny,” I said. “Don’t you think it should be an anonymous phone call?”
“It will be.”
“Not if you make it,” I said. “When Inspector Jaglow plays the dispatcher’s tape back and hears a distinguished British accent, he’ll know it’s you.”
Derek smiled crookedly and patted his chest. “I’m touched you think I’m distinguished.”
“I didn’t say you were… Oh, never mind.”
“I won’t be long.” He started to walk away.
“You stay right here.” I jumped off my stool. “All you need to do is open your mouth and they’ll know it’s you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of disguising my voice,” he said imperiously.
“Right, Double-O.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Shaken, not stirred. Give me a break.”
He pulled me back. “All right, listen. I’m not calling anonymously. I’m telling Jaglow I overheard your conversation with Baldacchio and went to see him before you got there. I found the body.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “But what about me?”
“What about you?”
“Are you going to tell him I was there?”
He pierced me with a look. “Are you going to do everything I tell you to do from now on?”
“Probably not.”
His lips twisted. “Then I’ll have to think about it.”
“That’s blackmail.”
He grinned. “Such an ugly word, but yes.”
“All right, all right. Just go.” As I watched him walk away, I realized I didn’t care whether the police knew I’d been there. The most important thing right now was that they took care of Enrico and tracked down Abraham’s killer.
As soon as Derek came back, he said, “It’s best if you go back to work this afternoon.”
I took a hearty gulp of wine. “As though nothing happened?”
“Exactly,” he said as he paid the bill.
“I’m not sure I can lie about this.”
“I’m well aware of your status as the world’s worst liar,” he said. “And I know you had nothing to do with his death. But if the police find your fingerprints, it could make things difficult. Are you prepared to deal with it?”
As I pushed the barstool back I thought about it. “I know I’m innocent so I’ll deal with it. I just want the police to find this killer before he strikes again.”
I made it back to the Covington in less than twenty minutes. Ian was nowhere to be found and I was just as happy not to have to confront him this afternoon. I’d give him a day to calm down. Not to mention I could use a day to calm down, myself. Of course, there was a strong chance Ian would grow more frantic once he realized the police would be going through Enrico’s house looking for clues-like a five-thousand-dollar check with Ian’s name on it, for example-with a magnifying glass and tweezers.
I left him a voice mail message, telling him I had some good news for him. I didn’t mention the check, but I hoped my exuberant tone would keep him from jumping off a ledge somewhere.
I tried to carry on my normal activities, but it wasn’t easy.
People were dying around me. Two of the City’s most prominent bookbinders had been brutally murdered. I’d seen their dead bodies with my own eyes. I hadn’t been close to Enrico, hadn’t even liked him. But I’d known him. I’d seen him curled up on his antique rug, shot through the head by some insane killer. I couldn’t get the sight out of my head.
“Enough!” I protested aloud. I pushed away from the table. I needed to move around, shake myself up, do something to distract myself from the pictures of blood and dead bodies that kept playing over and over in my brain like some broken movie reel.
I stretched my arms and rotated my wrists and did a few jumping jacks and deep knee bends-which really hurt so I only did two.
I pushed my hair back into a ponytail and sat down again. I didn’t have time for any more distractions. I had to finish this book, and this last process of repairing the tears I’d found would be time-consuming and problematic.
It wasn’t the repair itself, which involved ripping a small piece of thin, fibrous Japanese tissue paper and gluing it over the tear. The problem came when you introduced moisture, in the form of glue, to paper. If your timing was off or you used too much glue or you didn’t dry the page properly, your page could ripple and buck.
To dry each page flat, I’d place it between two pieces of glass with a sheet of blotter paper to soak up any excess moisture.
I could use the drying time to clean and polish the rubies from the front cover.
Ian wanted the book finished in time for the official public opening of the exhibition this Saturday. I knew I could make it-if good-looking security experts and various dead bodies would stop interrupting me.
I’d just stirred up my first batch of wheat paste glue and was about to apply it to the repair tissue when I heard the sound of high heels tapping madly down the hall.
My door swung open and Minka pointed at me.
“Killer!” she screamed. “Murderer! She killed him! I saw her car at Enrico’s house. Arrest her.”
I was relieved to see Inspector Lee step closer to Minka and clutch her upper arm. “Ms. La Beef, keep it down.”
“Check her hands for gunshot residue,” Minka added shrilly as she yanked her arm away. “Do your damn job right so she won’t kill somebody else!”
Homicide in Hardcover Page 16