Murder on Potrero Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 1)

by Hamilton, M. L.

  I want to ask Jake, but he and I are going through a rough spot. He won’t go see Dad anymore and he disapproves of Mom and my decision. I wish I could explain it to him, but every time I talk about Dad, I’m so overwhelmed with guilt and sadness I start crying. I’m sure Jake is sick of having a weepy, depressed wife all of the time.

  Jake marked his spot and closed the journal, leaning his head back with a weary sigh. His chest ached. He couldn’t read any more. Not tonight. Oh, God, Zoë, how had they gotten so far away from each other that she didn’t feel comfortable confiding in him?

  He hesitated and sat staring at the cover of the journal. Neal Goldman, Esq. Neal Goldman. He dug his phone out of his pocket and started to thumb it on, but stopped. The police would be able to trace him here if he used it, but he needed to check the text message he’d received awhile ago. He was certain the man’s name was Neal Goldman. The man who had never answered his call. He struggled with himself for a moment more, then he let out a heavy sigh and put the phone back into his pocket. He couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

  He slipped the journal into the backpack and rose to his feet, moving toward the counter. He needed to find a cheap motel for the night, so he could get some real sleep. If he didn’t get a full night, he wasn’t going to be able to help himself any more.

  CHAPTER 10

  Peyton pulled the Charger up in front of the stately mansion. She leaned over and looked at it. Her little home on 19th could fit inside of it about three times. She shook her head in amusement as she marked the lights angled to highlight its white columns as if it were a star parading in the spotlight.

  “Hot damn, being a gastro-whatever sure pays well,” she said.

  Marco was studying it as well. “I guess so. Definitely not a cop’s house.”

  They both laughed, then climbed out of the car.

  “What did the Queen Bee do again before she married Dr. Harper?” asked Marco.

  Peyton reached for the gate in the rose arbor. “She was a nurse. I think I’ve read where all these doctors keep something going on the side with their nurses.”

  “That’s a stereotype, Brooks. Like cops being fiends for donuts.”

  Peyton shrugged. “Whatever. I can’t say I mind donuts myself.”

  “You like anything that’s got sugar in it.”

  Peyton jogged up the steps. “That’s why I’m so damn sweet.”

  “Tell that to your boyfriend,” he responded and took two long strides to the door. He knocked loudly a couple of times.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, leaning back to take in the façade of the house. “Definitely in the wrong business.”

  “You keep on with your lawyer and you might get one of these in your stocking one Christmas.”

  Peyton stuck her tongue out at him.

  The door opened and a man in his late twenties looked out. He had massive shoulders and was over six feet tall. He had the arched brows, narrow nose, and thin lips of white aristocracy – a frat boy down to his polo shirt, khaki pants, and penny loafers.

  “Officers, nice of you to show up,” he said.

  Peyton bit her inner lip as she reached for her badge. All cocky aggression and condescension. Oh, she hated him already. She and Marco flipped open their badges at the same time. “Inspector Brooks and D’Angelo.”

  “Come in.” He stepped back and motioned them inside.

  Marco let Peyton go first. The entrance hall was tiled in marble with a huge staircase rising to the right. To the left was a door that opened onto a parlor. Peyton marked the blond woman rising from one of the chairs at the same time she caught motion at the far end of the hall. A short, dark haired woman, probably Hispanic, was watching them, but she disappeared as soon as she caught Peyton’s eye.

  “Police officers,” said the man as the blond woman bustled up to them. “Brooks and D’Angeles.”

  “D’Angelo,” Peyton corrected, turning to the woman. “Are you Claire Harper?”

  She was dressed in a silk blouse and a pencil skirt with black pumps. Her blond hair was pulled up in pearl combs and her face was made up impeccably. She pressed a hand to her chest where a large diamond sparkled in the light from the chandelier.

  “Yes. Why did it take you so long to get here? I was terrified.”

  Peyton started to say something, but the man interrupted. “I was here the whole time. He wasn’t getting inside, Claire.”

  Claire touched his arm. “I know. I felt so much better that you were here.”

  Peyton exchanged a look with Marco before she turned to the man. “Exactly who are you?” she asked, meaning her tone to be sharp.

  He narrowed his eyes in affront and Claire straightened like a bird dog on alert.

  “This is my dear neighbor, Brandon Dixon. He and my darling Zoë were sweethearts in high school.”

  Peyton reached for her notebook and a pen. She jotted his name on a clean page.

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the parlor, Officer?” Claire said, motioning behind her.

  Peyton closed the notebook and followed the woman into the room. She took the seat Claire indicated in front of the windows, but Marco wandered around the room as he always did, looking at the paintings and the furnishings. Claire perched on the very edge of her chair and patted the seat next to her for Brandon.

  Peyton frowned at that. Now that they were here, why exactly was he staying?

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” offered Zoë’s mother.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, I must insist. You look positively exhausted.”

  Peyton lifted a hand to touch her wild mane. It was dutifully pulled back in a ponytail, but some curls always escaped. With her ass-kicker boots, jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, she guessed she didn’t look like she belonged in Pacific Heights.

  “Juanita!” Claire shouted. “Juanita, ven aqui, por favor!”

  Marco had wandered to the piano, but he turned and gave Peyton a quizzical look. Peyton glanced down to hide her amusement.

  “So, Mrs. Harper, can you tell me what happened earlier?”

  Claire placed her hand over her heart again. Give the woman a diva award. “Jake showed up here, demanding to talk to me. I was so afraid. I don’t know what I would have done if Brandon hadn’t stopped him. He just kept shouting and shouting.”

  Peyton stored part of that away to come back to later. “What was he shouting?”

  “He wanted money for a lawyer. Can you believe that? He asked me for money for a lawyer.” She shook her head in disbelief, then she shifted in the seat. “Where is that maid? Juanita…” She stopped as the little woman appeared in the doorway. “Oh, there you are. Bring us some tea, por favor. El tea-o.”

  Peyton’s eyes widened in shock at Claire’s words. Juanita was studying both her and Marco with wide frightened eyes, but when Peyton’s attention shifted to her, she disappeared again. Peyton sat staring at the empty doorway.

  “Language barrier,” said Claire with a strange laugh.

  Peyton blinked, then shifted back to Claire. “No doubt,” she said. “Okay, um, he asked you for money for a lawyer?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “It hurt me to turn him away. We were once very close, but…” She let the last trail away.

  “When you refused, what did he do?”

  “He wouldn’t give up. Brandon had to threaten him and I had already called the police.” She rested her hand on Brandon’s arm again. He patted it.

  “Did you see where he went?”

  “No, after I was sure he went out the gate, I locked the doors and waited for you.”

  Peyton looked down at her notes. “Let’s go back. You said Brandon stopped him when he first came to the door.”

  “Right.”

  “I answered the door,” offered Brandon.

  Peyton nodded at him, then turned her attention back to Claire. “What was Brandon doing here? Didn’t you say he was a neighbor?”

  Claire had shifted to
see what Marco was doing. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting down, Officer D’Angelo?”

  Marco looked over his shoulder. “I’ve been sitting all day, ma’am. I’d like to stretch my legs if you don’t mind.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Claire, turning back to Peyton, but Peyton could tell by her pinched lips, she wasn’t pleased with his answer. “What did you ask?”

  “Why did Brandon open the door? Was he here for a specific reason?”

  “Brandon has been a rock for me since Zoë died…well, since Blake got sick. He takes care of small chores for me.”

  “Chores? Things Juanita doesn’t do?”

  Claire’s finely drawn brows knit. “Of course. Yard work. Heavy lifting.”

  “Yard work?” said Peyton with a forced smile. “You don’t have a gardener, Mrs. Harper?”

  “Well yes, but…” She clamped her mouth shut.

  “You told me on the phone that you knew about Zoë’s pregnancy, right?”

  “What does that have to do with Jake showing up here tonight?”

  Peyton shrugged. “I just have a few questions I’ve been meaning to ask you. Since we’re already here, I thought I might get it out of the way.”

  “Fine. Yes, I knew Zoë was pregnant.”

  “Even though she didn’t tell her husband?”

  Claire made a scoffing sound. “Daughters tell their mothers things they tell no one else, Officer Brooks. You should know that. Besides, she and Jake weren’t getting along very well.”

  Peyton ignored the comment about mothers. In her family, that axiom didn’t exactly work. She certainly hadn’t told her mother about Devan. “Yes, you said that before. What do you mean?”

  “You know, fighting and such.”

  Juanita appeared with a tray. She brought it into the room and placed it on the table. Peyton marked that the teacups clattered as she set it down. She was shaking. Peyton offered her a warm smile as she rose, but she didn’t return it, backing away from the table as if it were hot.

  “I’ll pour,” said Claire, waving her away.

  The maid retreated. Peyton leaned back to watch her go. What was that all about?

  Claire reached for the teapot and began pouring.

  “What did they fight about?”

  “He didn’t approve of us keeping Blake on life support. He thought it was a waste of money.” She held out a teacup to Peyton.

  Peyton set down her notebook and accepted it. “That’s what he said – waste of money?”

  Claire lifted another cup and shifted around to hand it to Marco. Marco accepted the tiny cup in his huge hands. Peyton wanted to laugh at the ridiculous sight. “Yes, he was always going on about money.” She handed a third cup to Brandon, then leaned forward. “I think he saw all of this and he wanted his share.”

  Peyton set her cup on the coffee table. “That seems like a relatively silly reason not to tell your husband you’re pregnant. Did you encourage her to tell him?”

  Claire paused in the act of pouring her own tea. “Of course I did. I begged her to tell him, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Zoë was head-strong. She always did things her way. Didn’t she?” she said to Brandon.

  He nodded and sipped his tea.

  “Just like med school. Blake tried so hard to get her to go, but she liked working in that horrible coffee shop for minimum wage.”

  “A lot of people think it’s honest work.”

  Claire made a scoffing sound. “Believe me. I’ve done honest work and there’s nothing to be said for it.”

  Peyton’s brows rose. She resisted the impulse to comment. She closed the notebook and replaced it in her pocket. Her gaze lifted and met Marco’s. By his slight nod, he knew where she was going next. They’d likely get no more cooperation after Peyton broached her next topic, but she had to see Claire’s reaction.

  “Could it be that Zoë didn’t want to tell Jake about the pregnancy because she knew it wasn’t his?”

  A teacup clattered against a saucer, but it wasn’t Claire’s. Peyton’s attention shifted to Brandon. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. When Claire shot him a look, he closed his mouth, then leaned forward and placed his cup on the table. He didn’t rise for a moment, just sat with his hands between his knees, staring at the cup.

  “What a particularly horrible thing to say about my daughter, Officer Brooks. I’m shocked you would slander her reputation that way.”

  “Oh, it’s not slander, Mrs. Harper. Our M.E. typed the baby’s blood. Both Zoë and Jake are O, while the baby was B. There’s no way for Jake to be its father.”

  Claire set down her cup and rose swiftly to her feet. “I’d like to know what you are doing to catch my daughter’s murderer. I’m not interested in such defamous allegations about her.”

  Peyton rose also and offered her a smile. “I’m sorry to upset you, Mrs. Harper. I do have one last question.”

  Claire smoothed her skirt. “Go on.”

  “We saw Dr. Chang today.”

  “My husband’s doctor?”

  “Yes. Jake told us you and Zoë had been to see Blake the day Zoë died.”

  “Yes, we go often.”

  “Really? Well, when we checked with the receptionist, she said neither one of you were there that day.”

  Claire’s face shifted – grew grim and cold. “I am a donor to that hospital, Officer Brooks. I don’t have to sign in when I visit. Everyone knows me on sight.”

  “I see. Is the same true for Zoë?”

  “When she’s with me.”

  Peyton nodded, then turned to go. Marco was already in the entrance hall. She took a few deliberate steps, then turned back. “Dr. Chang also mentioned that Dr. Harper has very little brain activity and hasn’t for a long time. I’m just curious why you won’t let him go in peace.”

  Claire’s mouth opened and her hands gripped the sides of her skirt. Brandon glanced up at her from his chair. “How dare you ask me something so personal! My husband is still alive and I have no intention of hastening his death any time soon. What a horrible question to ask! Be assured I’ll be contacting your supervisor over this visit. I am utterly appalled by the way you’ve handled my complaint.”

  Peyton couldn’t resist a smile as she reached into her pocket for a business card. “Feel free to call anyone you choose, Mrs. Harper. My captain’s name is Katherine Defino.” She held out the card. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to receive your call.”

  Without waiting for a response, she met Marco in the entrance hall. A coat tree to the right of the door caught her attention. A fur jacket of some kind hung from a hook and over it was a green Coach handbag.

  Peyton reached out and touched the textured leather. “Beautiful bag, Mrs. Harper,” she said.

  “Please leave, Officer Brooks,” said the woman, coming up behind her.

  Peyton followed Marco onto the porch just as the door slammed behind them.

  Marco arched a brow. “That went well.”

  “It did indeed. For my part, I learned a little Spanish and some English I wasn’t aware of.”

  “If we stay around much more, I’m sure you’ll learn a host of words you’ve never heard before.”

  Peyton laughed, but a motion in the corner of the drive caught her eye. “Wait for me at the car,” she said, passing him the keys.

  He nodded and went down the walk. Peyton descended the stairs and crossed the drive to a little fenced-in area, housing the garbage cans.

  Juanita was hiding between them. “Please no, I have papers. I show you.”

  Peyton halted. “I’m not with the INS. I’m with the San Francisco Police Department.” She glanced up at the house, but she didn’t see anyone in the windows. “I’m here about Zoë Ryder.”

  The little woman nodded, quickly.

  “Tell me, Juanita. Is Brandon here a lot?”

  “Sí. A lot.” She kept looking at the house. “No quiero hablar, por favor.”

  “Okay,” said Peyton. She reached for
another business card. “If you do decide you want to talk, here’s my number.”

  The maid took the card.

  Peyton started to walk away, but shifted back around. “What work does Brandon do around here?”

  Juanita’s eyes rose to the upper story windows and then she looked down, hunching her shoulders.

  Peyton followed her gaze. “What’s up there, Juanita? On the second floor?”

  “Dormitorios.”

  Bedrooms.

  “Gracias.”

  “De nada.”

  * * *

  Peyton lifted the beer and took a sip. The pounding of the bass from the sound system on the dance floor echoed in her skull, but she tried to tune it out. Marco lounged in the booth across from her. Every so often a young, scantily clad woman would stroll past, giving him a once-over and a smile. He returned each one with a lazy wink.

  “You got something in your eye,” said Peyton, pointing with the neck of her beer bottle.

  He laughed and peeled away part of the label on his own beer. “Jealous, Brooks. You’ve got to do something about that.”

  Abe slid into the booth, carefully setting a frothy pink drink on the table.

  Peyton and Marco both frowned at it.

  “What the hell is that?” Marco asked.

  “This is a Flaming Pink Flamingo.”

  Marco opened his mouth, but didn’t respond.

  “Flaming is right,” said Peyton.

  Abe gave her a saucy smile and sipped at his pink concoction.

  “What’s in it?” asked Marco with a skeptical look.

  “Vodka, triple sec, and grenadine, Marco, my sweet. Want a sip?”

  Marco shook his head. “I’ll pass.” He picked up his beer and took another sip.

  “What makes it foam?” asked Peyton.

  Marco gave her a horrified look and a massive smile bloomed across Abe’s face. Before he could respond, Peyton leaned forward and clasped his hand.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said, closing her eyes briefly. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I asked.”