Cook's Big Day

by Joanne Pence

  It seemed to her, all this bad luck meant someone had given her daughter the evil eye. Some jealous person, most likely, who didn’t like seeing the Amalfi family happy. If she ever found out who was behind it, that person would pay. But the best revenge would be to pull off Angie’s wedding and make it even better than it might otherwise have been.

  And even if, as her daughters tried to tell her, there was no such thing as the evil eye, Serefina still hated the thought of trying to be happy and celebrating a wedding in a place filled with the specter of recent violent death circling about it.

  Maybe ghosts and spirits were as imaginary as the evil eye, but why take chances?

  Out of the blue, a plan came to her. The more she thought about it, the better it seemed. She started making phone calls. After she talked to her other four daughters, relatives, and a number of friends, it seemed she could pull it off. Now, she just had to talk to her husband.

  Sal Amalfi had a bad heart. Presenting him with the bills for Angie’s wedding had been difficult until Serefina realized Sal’s heart wasn’t as delicate as she had feared because some of those bills would surely have given a weaker man cardiac arrest. But now she had to tell him that not only had he spent a fortune on the wedding reception, but it looked as if it wasn’t going to happen. And, while they might get a bit of a refund on the venue, the money spent on the food, wine, and catering service was very likely gone for good.

  But she had a solution. Sort of.

  She had no idea what Angie would think of it. And the one person she didn’t talk to that afternoon was Angie.

  Chapter 13

  Friday, 2 p.m. – 1 day, 1 hour before the wedding

  Benny Simms boosted himself up onto the six-foot tall wooden fence at the back of the house Angie Amalfi had entered. He had been able to grab the top and pull himself high enough that he could see over it while pressing the rubber soles of his tennis shoes hard against the wood so he wouldn’t slide back down. But he wondered if he had the arm strength to pull the rest of his body high enough to get his leg up to the top of the fence and then over it.

  From where he hung, he couldn’t see inside the house. He didn’t know if she was alone or not.

  If he could manage to climb over the fence and then inch closer to the house, he should be able to sneak up to a window and find out what the situation was.

  Somehow, he had to find the strength to reach her. His bride.

  And maybe she’d like him and be nice to him instead of screaming and trying to run from him the way Shawnita had done.

  Poor Shawnita. All he had wanted to do was to help her, but the fist to the face that she’d received from her groom had made her go all woozy. Despite that, she had fought against him as he pulled her into the alley where he’d parked his car. He couldn’t stop her cries until he banged her head against a wall a few times. After all, he didn’t want the 899 killers to hear her and have them turn on him.

  She slumped to the ground and stopped moving at all. She was still breathing, so he told himself she had decided to cooperate and stay quiet. But then he saw some 899ers nearing the alley. He put her in the trunk of his car and drove off before they paid any attention to him. He didn’t stop until hours later when he needed gas.

  When he was finally sure those gang-bangers weren’t somehow following him, he pulled off the highway and opened the trunk. That was when he wondered if, in his fear and excitement earlier that afternoon, he’d hit her too hard.

  Shawnita was dead.

  He brought her back to San Francisco. After a few weeks of him doing all he could to keep the store room sealed off so the smell wouldn’t get out, and to keep cleaning her body and using bug spray on it so the maggots and such wouldn’t turn her skin to soup, the smell went away, and the insects died.

  And finally, she was his, completely his, until those damn kids messed up everything. He thought about ignoring them, but he knew that eventually they’d tell what they saw and then the police would come nosing around. The best thing he could do was call the cops, and pretend he was the one who had discovered her.

  Those stupid, stupid cops believed him. They believed he knew nothing about who she was, or how she’d gotten there. Idiots! He smiled at his own cleverness.

  But, he thought, an eye for an eye. Or in this case, a bride for a bride.

  As he dangled from the fence, clutching the top of it and trying, but failing, to boost himself up, the woman opened the sliding glass door. He stopped moving to gape at her, to admire her beauty. He watched as she looked down at her feet, and he heard her say, “Go on, boy! Go get ‘im.”

  He nearly slipped off the fence, so confused was he, wondering who or what she was talking to when he felt something bang against his leg. He looked down, but saw nothing until the jeans material just above his tennis shoes suddenly jerked outward, away from his leg and began to wriggle from side to side as if something had grabbed it and was pulling on it—as if something wanted to pull him off the fence. But nothing was there.

  He watched as a small rip appeared in the denim. It looked as if made by a knife … or a tooth. His heart nearly stopped. He lost his grip, and fell onto the ground, landing on his backside.

  He still saw nothing, but he had felt something … he thought.

  What was going on? What was wrong with him?

  He got to his feet and told himself he was imagining things. It was probably a nail or something left in the wood that had snagged his jeans. He was going to try to climb back up on the fence when out of the blue he saw a little white dog sitting on the ground between him and the street. He didn't know where it had come from, and hadn’t heard it approach.

  Something, he decided, was really, really wrong. He looked around. The dog’s cold brown eyes stared hard at him. A chill rippled down his back. He really wanted to go get his bride, but something told him not to. Not now, in any case. I can return another day. Or even later today. No problem.

  It was just a little dog, and yet something about it scared him. He backed away from the fence even as he smiled at the tiny beast. “Nice doggie-doggie. Good boy. That’s a good, good boy.”

  o0o

  Paavo's gut gave him a very bad feeling when he got a call from the uniform responding to the APB on Benny Simms’ car. Fortunately, there weren’t many yellow 1988 Toyota Coronas with dents in both front fenders still on the road in San Francisco. The car was spotted in the tony Sea Cliff, which was the land of BMWs, Mercedes, and even a Tesla or two or twenty. Not junks. It stood out like a sore thumb.

  His nerves got even worse when he heard the car’s location—only a block from Clover Street. He immediately called Angie’s cell phone, but got no answer. It can't be. Not Angie; please, God, not Angie.

  She often didn’t hear her phone, he reminded himself. If she was out, she buried it in a big leather purse with lots of other junk, and with noise around her ….

  Or she might have simply turned off the ringer, depending on where she was, or if she wanted to take a nap, since he knew she hadn’t slept well at all last night. It probably meant nothing.

  But it wouldn’t be the first time some sick-o decided to go after friends, relatives, co-workers, lovers, of the person he thought was persecuting him. Knowing what he did about Simms and the corpse, maybe Simms thought of the body as his “bride,” and wanted another. Who better than the bride of the person who took his away?

  Sometimes Paavo really hated his job.

  “You don't think ...” Yosh couldn't finish his thought as he realized Paavo was speeding up.

  “Why not?” Paavo said. “An attractive bride-to-be. She’s alone, distracted, kindly … even to strangers.” He couldn't go on.

  “She might not be at your new house,” Yosh said.

  “True,” Paavo said. “Or, she might be.”

  Paavo didn’t go looking for Simms’ car. He went straight to his house. His heart sank when he saw Angie’s car in the driveway. No other car was around.

  As
they got out, a man walking a black standard poodle on a leash came running towards them. “Do you have a cell phone on you?” he cried. “Someone's got to call the police!”

  “We are the police,” Paavo said, pushing aside his jacket to show his badge. “What's wrong?”

  “A body, a man ... he's at the foot of the cliff, down on China Beach. I imagine he must have fallen. He's not moving, and there seems to be a lot of blood. I'm no good at climbing, so I didn't—”

  He stopped talking because both Paavo and Yosh were running from him towards the edge of the cliff.

  Paavo peered over it. The body was face down, but its size, the hair color and length, were those of Benny Simms. And the clothes were the same as Simms wore while being questioned. A pool of blood had formed under the man’s head.

  Paavo inched closer to see if anyone—any woman—had also fallen and was lying near him. Simms appeared to be alone. But why was he down there? What was he doing on the cliff?

  Paavo looked back towards his and Angie’s house and paled.

  “I'll take it from here,” Yosh said. “You go to the house. Make sure Angie’s inside it and okay.”

  Paavo froze. Yosh put his hand on his shoulder. “She's all right. I know it. Go to her.”

  Paavo took a step, then another, and soon he was running.

  He found his key and opened the front door. “Angie? Angie? Are you here?”

  No answer.

  “Angie?” he called as he ran into the kitchen. He saw her handbag on the counter—her cell phone with his urgent messages was most likely inside it.

  He ran back to the living room, spun around, hand on the back of his neck, trying to think, then he moved towards the back yard.

  She was sitting out on the deck.

  She jumped at the sound of the sliding glass door opening and turned around. She looked surprised, but then gave him a big smile as she stood, the kind that lighted her eyes and brightened his days. “Paavo! What are you doing here?”

  He could scarcely breathe as the feelings he had for this woman swept over him. He wanted to hold her, but he also didn’t want to scare her—he didn’t want her to even hear about anything ugly today of all days. “I was in the area and decided to drive by and check on the place. I was surprised to see your car. But what are you doing here?” he asked as he quickly crossed to her. Then, unable to stop himself, he put his arms around her and held her tight.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Now, it is,” he said, then kissed her, a long kiss filled with love.

  She stepped back, slightly breathless. “Something has happened.”

  He grinned. “No, not at all. So, what are you up to? Why are you here?”

  Since they had no outdoor furniture yet, they sat on the deck, their legs dangling off the side. It was only a couple of steps down to the lawn-covered yard.

  “Sometimes,” she began, “over the past few weeks and months when things like our wedding arrangements turned complicated, and I felt as if I couldn’t make one more decision, I would come over here and remind myself of what's really important. There's something soothing about this house, about its location on this point of land where I can hear the steady, eternal sound of the ocean. And, of course, it has my little doggie friend.” With that she stopped talking and looked around. “Hmm, he was just here with me. He must have run off when you opened the sliding glass door. Anyway, as I was saying, I've always felt welcomed here, as if it was a little haven. It sounds funny, but I feel protected.”

  “I didn't know that,” he said, his arm around her shoulders. “But I'm glad you’ve told me. I was worried you'd feel isolated since I have to work nights so often. It's not like Stan is right next door.”

  “Hmm ... there's something I need to talk to you about,” she said with a small grin. “That small house across the street is empty.”

  “No. He didn't.”

  “You never know about Stan.”

  “I'm glad you like him Angie, but to me, he's a pain in the—”

  “I know. But he's got a good heart.”

  Paavo heard the wail of police sirens growing louder.

  “All right, Paavo.” Angie eyed him suspiciously. “What's really going on?”

  “Someone found a body.”

  “Oh, no! A neighbor?”

  “No. Just some drifter wandering through apparently. Nothing to worry about. But that's why Yosh and I were near. He's taking care of everything while I came to check on you.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “So that’s why you looked so worried when you came in.”

  “Well ...”

  “Paavo, haven't I told you that you don't have to worry about me? I know how to take care of myself.”

  His gaze drank in each feature of her expressive face. “You're right. You do, and I know it, but I'll still always worry about you simply because I love you.”

  They held each other until Yosh came knocking at the door. Time to go.

  Chapter 14

  Friday, 9 p.m. – 18 hours before the wedding

  Rebecca met with the crime scene inspectors to discuss their findings. They had lifted a number of fingerprints from La Belle Maison’s kitchen and anteroom, but none matched any known criminals. The knife used to kill Taylor had plenty of smudged fingerprints that belonged to the kitchen staff, but no others. When CSI found a white cloth napkin under a table in the anteroom, they concluded the killer probably used it to pick up the murder weapon, thus smudging any fingerprints already on it.

  They also believed the killer had to be a man, given the strength needed to penetrate Taylor Redmun-Blythe’s back. Some women might be able to do it, but looking over the female guests and bridesmaids, most appeared—especially to Rebecca’s eyes—to be in pathetically poor physical condition. Rebecca was proud that she did her best to spend at least three hours at the gym each week, plus close to an hour at the firing range.

  The wedding had a still photographer, but at the key moment his back had been to the anteroom. Even worse, when he did notice the bride stumbling towards the cake, he had been so shocked he lowered his camera to watch.

  Rebecca collected the photos taken by guests using smart phones. Since most of the guests weren’t particularly close to the couple, few bothered to take any pictures except the movie people—but the photos they took were all of each other. Using them, however, she did find the “missing” third bridesmaid that Sally Lankowitz had mentioned. She was out on the deck smoking a cigarette.

  Rebecca determined three people weren’t in the photographer’s last few photos, and weren’t in those cell phone photos time-stamped near the time of the murder. The three were the groom, Leland Blythe; his brother, Mason Blythe; and his best man, Darrel Gruber.

  Of the three, Leland supposedly loved the victim, Darrel clearly didn’t care for her but he was a long-time friend of Leland’s and seemed to want his friend to be happy, and Mason also didn’t much like Taylor even though he supposedly hardly knew her. Actually, other than Leland, Rebecca couldn’t find anyone who genuinely liked Taylor, so not being a fan hardly made a person a suspect.

  Rebecca ran her fingers through her long hair, then held her head as she stared at her computer and the evidence before her. It was already Friday night, and she knew that if she couldn’t turn La Belle Maison over to Paavo and his wedding by noon the next day, her name would be mud in Homicide. He and Yosh had already solved a case that might have been hers. Benny Simms, now deceased, was the man seen with the body of Shawnita Higgins. Although they might never be able to prove he had murdered her, the circumstantial evidence was strong enough to close the case.

  But that didn’t help Rebecca’s case any. In fact, it made the lack of evidence she and Sutter were dealing with even worse. Everyone in Homicide was hoping to see the Taylor Redmun-Blythe case solved. Every one of them had been invited to Paavo’s wedding, including Lieutenant Eastwood. To the surprise of all of them, the tight-ass boss granted the whole squad
the afternoon off to attend the wedding and the reception. They had been looking forward to the dancing and some really good food—and to watching one of their own get married. But now, she stood in their way.

  Even she was beginning to hate herself.

  She was at her wits end, and, late though it was, she decided to interview the three men again, one by one.

  o0o

  That evening, the wedding rehearsal went off without a hitch, as Angie hoped it would. She was surprised that, after all the planning, the worry, and the recent disappointment, to be in the church with her family and wedding party surrounding her, holding hands with Paavo as they listened to the priest’s instructions along with those of the office aide who helped with the more secular aspects of the ceremony, it all suddenly became more real to her than it had up to that point.

  Before that, it was almost as if she had the starring role in a play, a performance. But now, it all became real life, a lifetime commitment in the eyes of God to the man she loved. Paavo wasn’t Catholic, but he had attended marriage counseling classes with her at the church, and doing so, had come to appreciate the spiritual side of the union beyond the legalistic and civic. He even admitted, once, that he couldn’t help but wish he could believe as deeply as she did—that he envied her her faith. She only smiled and nodded. Such words, she knew from watching others, could be an important first step.

  After the surprisingly moving rehearsal, they went off for the rehearsal dinner at the restaurant Maria had found. The restaurant even let the large group order from the full menu, and somehow managed to serve them all close to the same time.

  “If only everything would go as smoothly tomorrow,” Angie said, as she stood with her parents and Paavo saying good-bye to friends and relatives.

  “Somehow, it’ll work out for you, sweetie,” her best friend, Connie Rogers said as she gave her a big hug. Connie, who was divorced, would be Angie’s matron of honor. “Haven’t we always gotten out of one crazy situation after the other?”