by Joanne Pence
The vase floated across the room towards the stone fireplace.
“But…?”
Connie shrugged. “Maybe it’s the thought of all the hours you’ll have to spend here alone at night, waiting for Paavo because he’s off on some homicide case until all hours. But I suppose if the case is interesting you’ll be sticking your oars in the water as usual, so being alone out here won’t be happening.”
The vase stopped moving.
“Stick my ‘oars in the water’? What’s that supposed to mean?” Angie asked, hands on hips. “I’ll admit that sometimes his homicide cases are interesting, but I’ve never, ever, gotten involved where I’m not wanted or, should I say, not needed.”
The vase did an about face and headed back towards the table.
Angie turned her head ever so slightly…and jumped.
“What’s wrong?” Connie asked, startled.
Angie gawked as the vase slowly settled onto the edge of the round table, and then slid to its center. She blinked several times. “Uh…”
“Angie?”
She walked over to the vase, stared at it a long moment. “Nothing.”
Connie put her hand to her chin as she continued to look around the room. “All right. If you must know, what bothers me about this house is what I already said: I can’t get over the feeling that someone is still living here.”
Angie turned her back on the vase, then looked over her shoulder at it once more. “You’re giving me the creeps!” Clearly, her eyes had been playing tricks on her. “And you’re making me see things. So just stop it!”
Connie placed her hand on the glossy white woodwork framing the opening to the kitchen. “If walls could talk, I wonder what these walls would say.”
Angie shuddered. “The more you talk, the more I don’t want to know! Cat suggested that the past is best left in the past.”
“Well, if Cat suggested it, how can it possibly be wrong?” Connie said. Angie knew she was being sarcastic. “Why not just see what Paavo thinks? If he hates it, case closed. If he likes it, you can always investigate further if you want to.”
“That’s a great idea!” Angie nearly jumped for joy. “No reason I should put all this on my shoulders! Paavo should have a say. Now, before we go, I’ll clean up the pieces of this broken candy dish. I’m going to buy a replacement. If I tell Cat the dish broke, she’ll find some way to blame it on me!”
She picked up the pieces. The bottom of the dish bore an imprint of English Spode china, Garden Rose pattern. “I know a shop downtown where I can get a replacement, or something close to it,” Angie said. “Cat will never know.”
“I’ll leave that to you, Angie,” Connie said as Angie switched off the lights and locked the front door.
o0o
Paavo and Yosh took Taylor Bedford’s coffee cup from his office and brought it to the crime lab where they matched the prints on the cup with those of the corpse in the autopsy room.
Now, they rang the doorbell of the dead man’s house. Judging from its size and its Marina district location, the Zygog sales job paid a lot more than Paavo would have expected.
A strikingly beautiful woman with sparkling blue eyes and black hair opened the door. “Are you Larina Bedford?” Paavo asked, showing his badge. Yosh did the same.
Her blue eyes widened with fear. “Is this about my husband?”
“We would like to speak to you,” Yosh said.
She invited them into the living room and they had her sit while they told her as gently as possible that her husband had been killed.
“Do you need me to identify his body?” she asked. Her eyes misted, but no tears fell.
“It won’t be…possible,” Yosh said, struggling to find a better word and realizing he couldn’t.
She looked ill. “My God,” she whispered.
They asked if they could call someone to be with her during this time.
“No, Inspectors.” She turned her head away from their scrutiny. “I’m used to being alone.” She took a few deep breaths then faced them again. “I knew something was wrong when Taylor didn’t come home last night. He always comes home Sunday night. I tried to call several times, but his phone went to voice mail. I hoped he had been delayed on his return trip and that’s why he wasn’t here, but that didn’t explain why he hadn’t phoned to tell me. He was”—her voice broke—“a thoughtful man.”
“How long had he been away?” Paavo asked.
“Two weeks, as usual. He traveled for business. Two weeks away; two weeks home. That was his schedule.” She stepped into the kitchen for a box of Kleenex. Taking one, she lightly dabbed the corners of her eyes.
“When did you last speak to him?” Paavo asked.
“Friday.”
“Where was he?”
“Sacramento, I think. I’m not sure. He has, had, a lot of customers there.”
That didn’t make sense to Paavo. Sacramento was only two hours from San Francisco. Why wasn’t he home sooner? “Did he work weekends?”
“In a sense, he did. He called it ‘schmooze’ time. He believed a customer found it hard to transfer his business to a competitor after being wined and dined. So he’d usually set up golf games or other outings for his clients on weekends.”
“And you didn’t expect him home until Sunday night?” Paavo asked. “Was that his usual day to come home?”
“Yes. He would roll in about nine p.m. We’d talk, and then he headed to bed to be bright eyed Monday morning. He was usually exhausted when he got home.”
“Do you have the names of the customers or places where he golfed?” Paavo asked. “Or who he met with over the weekend?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know it sounds odd, but he traveled so much, I stopped trying to keep up with him years ago. His secretary should know.”
“What’s her name?” Yosh asked.
“His name is Otto. Otto Link.”
Chapter 6
YOU WON’T HAVE TO worry about a thing, my dear,” Diane LaGrande said even before she sat down on Angie’s sofa. She insisted on visiting her clients’ homes to get a sense of their taste and color choices. That sounded logical to Angie, and she invited her over. “I’ve done this many, many times. I know exactly what is needed for a magnificent wedding.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Angie said. After her unhappy experience with a wedding planner her sister Frannie had praised—she should have known better than to trust Frannie!—she decided to go with the one constantly written up in the San Francisco Chronicle’s style section as the best in the Bay Area, and who charged accordingly. But this was Angie’s one and only wedding, and in such things, price should be no object.
“Is this your first marriage?” Diane asked.
“Yes, it is.” Since it was morning, Angie served mimosa with miniature cinnamon rolls and strawberry tarts.
“Isn’t that precious!” Diane took a big gulp of the champagne and orange mixture, then folded one leg over the other, and looked around the apartment, evidently secure in the idea that Angie could afford her service. “We’ll definitely create a wedding suitable to someone who lives in an apartment like this.” She flashed a big smile as she took in Angie’s art and furniture. Her gaze zeroed in on one wall. “Oh, my!” She stood and walked towards it. “Is that a Cezanne? A real Cezanne?”
“Yes,” Angie said. It was a small lithograph.
“He’s one of my favorites. An inspiration to me. Ah, yes! I can see it now.” Diane threw back her head, waving her arms as if painting a tableau. “You! Dressed in reds and yellows and greens; colors rich yet delicate like this Cezanne. Your bridesmaids in a dotted impressionist array... quel magnifique!”
“I want a white dress,” Angie said, folding her hands on her lap.
Diane slowly lowered her chin, eyes open and piercing. “White?” she asked in a voice that sounded like she’d just described the inside of a dirty toilet. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a new bride. Oh, well, I’m sure you can w
ear white, but we’ll have your bridesmaids in beautiful color! And never mind your dress.” She fluttered her hands as if dismissing Angie completely. “Everything else is what’s important. We’ll make your wedding into a veritable rainbow of colors, with an emphasis on the deeper, richer hues. Purple, blue…indigo!”
“I’m not really an indigo person,” Angie said.
Diane lifted one eyebrow. “So?”
Angie cleared her throat. “Well, I am the bride.”
“Yes. The bride who will be wearing white.” Diane looked down on her with something that struck Angie as very much akin to pity. “As I said, my dear, I’ve done this many times. Many times! My weddings are creative treasures. The very best possible! Memorable! Colorful! Daring!” She picked up her purse and turned towards the door. “I’ve got a good idea of what you want. I’ll get started on it right away. I may need to borrow the Cezanne at some point, to get the colors right.”
“Wait!” Angie hurried after her. “Let me think about this. I’ve got more interviews coming.”
“Excuse me?” Diane looked down on Angie as if she had two heads. “I told you I was free to work on your wedding. Surely, there isn’t anyone else you could possibly want.”
Angie squared her shoulders. “I expect you’re right, but I haven’t yet made my choice.”
Diane sniffed. “Well, I hope I’m still available when you come crawling back. Be sure to call me as soon as you decide, or I may have to disappoint.”
“I couldn’t have that,” Angie said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.
“I should hope not.” With that, Diane left.
Angie no sooner got rid of Ms. LaGrande than Cat unexpectedly showed up at her door. She stormed into the apartment then swirled around to face Angie. “You want Connie to be your realtor, fine! Let her handle the house sale!” Cat loudly harrumphed.
“Relax, Cat!” Angie went into the kitchen to make her a mimosa. She had plenty remaining. “This has nothing to do with Connie. The questions are mine, and I’m sure Paavo, too, will want to know the answers. Why did the owner stop renting out the house, and what happened that caused others not to buy it? They’re simple questions and should have simple answers.”
Cat took off her coat, then walked to the kitchen doorway, arms folded. “Who cares as long as you like the place? Are the answers really that important?”
Angie looked Cat straight in the eye as she held out the drink. “Yes!”
Cat heaved a sigh and gave a disgusted shake of the head. She took the drink to the sofa, then perched on the edge of it. “All right, if you must know. For a long time, when home prices were doing nothing but going up, the house was considered the owner’s nest egg. Now, times have changed. That’s all.” She reached for a cinnamon roll and took a big bite.
Angie sat in a chair, interested in hearing all Cat had learned. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t it sell?”
Cat put the roll down, professed it delicious, then took a couple of sips of her drink before explaining. “The house did sell…several times. But the people who bought it backed out before the sale was finalized. It happens all the time.”
Angie scooted forward. “Do you mean they changed their minds and backed out? All of them? That doesn’t make sense!”
“Calm down. It’s nothing. They had reasons that had nothing to do with the house.”
Angie folded her arms, her gaze shooting daggers at her sister. “Such as?”
Cat drank some more, then put the glass on a coaster on the coffee table. “One realized she had acrophobia, and couldn’t stand being so close to a drop off. Although it’s called a cliff, it’s not a sheer drop. People can, and do, climb on it all the time. Anyway, another said the constant sound of the waves made her nervous. You know that most people love to hear the sound of waves, and find it soothing and relaxing and oh, so very—”
“Is that all?” Angie interrupted.
“Well, let me see.” Cat picked up the glass again, taking a big gulp of the champagne-orange juice mix this time. “There was the couple who got a divorce. Luckily their marriage fell apart before they signed the final papers.”
“Great luck,” Angie muttered sarcastically. Cat didn’t even notice. Angie’s brows crossed. “Any more?”
Cat cleared her throat. “Well…I mustn’t leave out the woman who had a, uh, nervous breakdown before signing papers. The bank denied her loan at that point, so she shouldn’t really count.”
“Okay, I guess. That would certainly tie the place up for months with each transaction. But that doesn’t answer my other question. Why didn’t they continue to rent the house?”
“You know renters, they mess up places. The owner wanted it to look nice to sell it.”
“For two years?”
“Maybe…maybe no one wanted to rent it for a while.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice dropped. “Maybebecausethefirstrentersdied.”
“What was that? Did you mumble…”
“Who cares what happened!” Cat said loudly. She began eating the rest of her cinnamon roll, saying a few words between bites. “None of it matters if you like the house. Just get Paavo to see it. If you buy it, I’m sure you’ll both be happy as clams.”
Angie looked at her suspiciously. “Who said clams are happy? What else was it you said? Something about first renters?”
Cat finished the roll and then knocked back the rest of her mimosa. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she said innocently. “Now, let’s think about something else. How are your wedding plans coming along?”
“Maybe because the first renters…?” Angie tried to recall…then, she felt herself go cold, as if all the blood drained from her body. She jumped to her feet. “Died! That’s what you said, wasn’t it? ‘Maybe because the first renters died.’ What’s that supposed to mean? Are you telling me a couple died while renting the house?!”
“They…apparently, they died while living in the house. But it happened years and years ago.”
“What!”
“Don’t worry! They didn’t die inside the house.” Cat sounded indignant. “California law says I must disclose it if anyone died inside the house, for pity’s sake!”
“Well, that’s good!”
“Realtors have rules, you know. And a murder must be disclosed.”
“A murder? They were murdered?” Angie shrieked. “Where?”
Cat swallowed. “Out on the cliff. They were found near the edge of the cliff, both shot to death. But it’s not even part of this property, it’s beyond it. And it happened before the owner put up the fence.”
“Oh, my God! A murder!”
“It’s nothing to worry about. Besides, it happened years and years ago.”
“How many years ago?”
“The early 1980’s I believe.”
“What? The 1980’s? Wait a minute. I thought you said the house has been empty since those renters…well, since they died. Did I misunderstand?”
“Not exactly.”
“Didn’t you say the house has been empty two years?”
“I said it’s been for sale for two years.”
“And it’s been empty…?”
“Thirty…plus.”
Angie said nothing for a long while, then sat back down and slowly and calmly asked, “Are you saying no one has lived in the house since renters were murdered there over thirty years ago?”
“Look on the bright side.” Cat gave her a big smile. “The place is practically new! It hasn’t been worn at all.”
“Ah ha!” Angie cried. “So, you’re trying to push some loser house off on me!”
“It’s not a loser house! It’s a lovely house that has simply had bad luck. And I never tried to push it off on you! You’re the one who insisted you see it while I told you to ignore it, that it’s had a troubled past. But nooooo! You had to see it! You can’t blame the house for that! Or me!” Cat stood and poked Angie in the shou
lder with her forefinger. “You, of all people, should understand bad luck. Think of all the jobs you’ve tried, and haven’t gotten anywhere with. You’ve been a food columnist, did radio, television, ran a cake baking business, tried to become a chocolatier—”
Angie pushed her hand away to stop the obnoxious jabbing of her shoulder. Even as a kid, Cat had skinny, pointy, fingers of steel and used them with relish. “All right, all right! I get the message.” Memories of all those jobs…and others…rushed at her in a wave of failure.
“Just as no one can blame you for the problems with your jobs,” Cat preached, “so you can’t blame the house just because the right person hasn’t bought it yet. Maybe you and Paavo are the right people. You should be sympathetic towards it!”
Angie seethed. “If I thought the house had feelings, maybe I would be!”
“But yesterday you loved the place. Why should this matter?”
“Apparently, it mattered to all the others who wanted to buy it!”
Cat looked stricken, then laughed, a bit too loudly. “Silly girl. When can Paavo see it?”
o0o
So far, Paavo had not found a reason for anyone to want Taylor Bedford dead, yet nothing about the case felt as if it were a random murder. The M.E. had placed the time of death as sometime Saturday evening, when Larina Bedford said Taylor should have been in Sacramento with some clients. Something told Paavo that he and Yosh were going to be spending a lot of time tracking down out of town clients and at the company’s headquarters.
After long hours with nothing to show for them, the two detectives decided it would be best to go home and start again fresh in the morning.
Home for Paavo didn’t mean going to his small house, but being with Angie. He called and asked her out to dinner to make up for missing dinner with her two nights in a row, but she insisted on cooking for him so he could relax. He liked that since she cooked better than any restaurant he knew of. She planned some “Italian comfort food”—spaghetti carbonara with homemade bread, red wine, and a garden salad with a variety of green vegetables, tomato, cucumber, and avocado.
He knocked on the door and she opened it almost immediately.