Tail of the Dragon

by Connie Di Marco

  I tucked my evening purse under my arm and left the restroom. It was a quarter past eight and Cheryl was at the food table sampling each of the tasties. I joined her. “I’m absolutely starving,” she said. “I didn’t have time to eat anything today.”

  “Me neither. Well, other than a salad at lunch and some crackers.” I filled a small plate with a few delicacies and asked for a glass of white wine. “I’m not sure if there’s anything we can really do here tonight.”

  Cheryl popped a piece of sushi into her mouth. “We’re here for moral support, that’s all. And, who knows, maybe I’ll meet a fascinating man.” She glanced around to make sure no one was watching and licked a few grains of rice from her finger. “Maybe I’ll meet a fascinating wealthy man!”

  “Good luck,” I replied as she moved away to circle the room.

  Within a half hour, the gallery was packed with guests. I helped myself to more food and nursed a second glass of wine. At one point, I spotted Nora across the room. She was sipping champagne and talking to, of all people, Roger Wilkinson from the firm. She must have forgiven him for his earlier comment about smoking and dinosaurs. Had they come together? Roger’s eyes were darting around the room as if he wished to escape his present company and attach himself to someone more important. Looking at them now, it was unnerving to think that only that morning we’d spent hours cooped up together after the discovery of Jack’s body.

  nine

  At nine thirty exactly, Gale stepped to the center of the room and, clinking a spoon on a crystal glass, caught everyone’s attention. “My dears, I’m so glad you could all be here this evening.” Her glance took in the entire gathering. “I’ve arranged this event so you could have a very special preview of the fantastic work of Luca Russoli. Luca is Milanese and has been working in Europe on his latest sculptures. I’m proud to present him and his work to you this evening.” Gale held out her hand, beckoning Luca, who stood on the sidelines, to join her. Built much like a square box wearing a tux, he joined her in the center of the room. “Everyone … may I present the work of Luca Russoli …”

  At this point the ceiling spots trained on the covered sculptures brightened, and the thin, taut cables lifted the drapes up toward the rafters. This magic trick was greeted by a round of applause from the eighty or so guests, who then began to walk around and examine each monolith. A growing murmur filled the space as the guests relaxed and resumed their chatter.

  The evening was a huge success. Gale buzzed around, smiling and greeting the well-dressed and well-heeled patrons who were sipping alcohol and balancing hors d’oeuvres on tiny napkins. Hopefully many would spend lots of money on Luca’s art, with a commission for Gale, of course.

  I found myself standing next to a piece that looked like a cross between the Willendorf goddess and Big Foot. A silver-haired gentleman holding a wine glass identical to mine walked around the piece, studying it, then turned to me.

  “His rendering is quite extraordinary, particularly in this medium, don’t you think?”

  I smiled, temporarily at a loss for words. I wracked my brain for something intelligent to say, but failed. I could have sworn the stranger read my mind.

  “Or perhaps you disagree?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows. Fine lines were etched around his deep blue eyes.

  “My knowledge is limited.” Since I couldn’t figure out what any of the pieces were about or what this particular one was supposed to represent, I decided to keep my mouth shut. In spite of his years, this man was very attractive. I wondered who he was.

  A bespectacled younger man in a black suit approached and cleared his throat. “Sir, you asked me to remind you …”

  “Oh, of course.” The older man nodded. He turned back. “Forgive me, my dear. It has been a genuine pleasure, Ms. …”

  “Bonatti. Julia Bonatti.”

  “What a lovely name.”

  “And yours?”

  “Henry Gooding.” He smiled and turned away, heading for the exit with the younger man following a few feet behind. As he passed Roger Wilkinson, Gooding nodded to him. Roger’s face brightened. He moved forward a step as if to speak, but Gooding walked past him.

  “Julia … Julia,” Gale called out happily as she maneuvered through the crowd. “Where did you get to?” She leaned closer. “I can’t believe you. How did you manage to meet Henry Gooding?”

  “Oh … we just struck up a conversation.”

  “I’ll bet you don’t even know who he is.”

  “You’re right about that. Who is he?”

  “He’s only the richest widower in San Francisco. Made a fortune in import-export. And he’s a big collector. In fact, it was Henry who urged me to show Luca’s work.” I had a momentary twinge of guilt about my lack of enthusiasm for the monolith.

  Then Gale looked over my shoulder and flashed a brilliant smile. “Julia, I’d like you to meet Luca. Luca, this is my dear friend Julia Bonatti.”

  “Piacere,” the Cro-Magnon growled deep in his throat.

  Gale shot me a look that said Behave yourself, and then Luca turned on a three-hundred-watt smile and took my hand in his, bowing his head slightly. I was waiting for his heels to click together. I made sure I kept my expression pleasant.

  “Gale has spoken very highly of you …” I began. Gale was standing close to me and I could feel the pressure of her shoe on the side of mine. “Of your work. This is very impressive.”

  “Oh, I do not know.” He spoke slowly, in halting English. “I am not completely happy with many of my pieces.”

  “You must be a perfectionist.”

  “Ahh … yes, you do understand … so many people do not.” He had turned up the volume and his charm felt like an oil slick.

  Cheryl was observing us from across the room, and Gale was staring at me in a pursed lips/constipated smile kind of way. I knew she knew what I was thinking. I didn’t dare grab a third glass of wine from the tray the waiter waved under my nose since I might have said something to blow my perfect behavior. I smiled at Gale and she relaxed.

  “Julia, I’ll give you a call this week. Let’s get together for lunch, okay?”

  That was code for I can’t wait to talk to you and chew your ear off about my latest obsession.

  “Let’s do that,” I said. Gale, now smiling widely, tucked Luca’s arm under hers in a proprietorial sort of way and pivoted to greet a group of people who were standing behind us.

  The long day had taken its toll and the wine had made me very sleepy. I meandered around some more, nodding vacantly at people I didn’t know, and managed to kill another three-quarters of an hour. I feel my aloneness most keenly at events like this. It was time to leave. I found Cheryl and said good night. No one would miss me now and I had done my bit. I walked to the bar, left my wine glass on the top, and came eye to eye with Eddie of the spiky blond hair. He was busy reorganizing trays and cleaning up the debris.

  “Are you leaving already?” He looked disappointed.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you’re going.”

  Was he trying to pick me up? “What did you think of the artwork, Eddie?”

  “Well, I don’t know much about sculpting.”

  “Me neither. I’m just bored out of my skull. I’m here for a friend and I know a lot less than you.”

  “Actually, these pieces aren’t bad,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m just surprised anyone outside of California or the west would choose to work in that particular type of stone.”

  “Why? Not popular?”

  Eddie shrugged. “No, just not readily available anywhere else. If I’m not mistaken, it’s either Utah alabaster or some sort of alabaster from Central Mexico, but I could be wrong. It’s beautiful, but not that much used in Europe.”

  “That is interesting. What kind of work do you do?”

  “I work in various media
, oils … acrylics.”

  “Ah, sounds interesting.” I had exhausted my commentary and my feet were killing me. Just then, one of the men in catering jackets behind the table called Eddie’s name and he turned, winked once, and rushed off.

  In a moment I was through the huge doorway to the loading dock, then clumping down the stairs and through the fog to my car. The parking lot stretched out into utter darkness as if sliding into the black waters of the bay. No delineation marked the end of the tarmac. The headlands on the far side of the straits loomed a darker gray against the night sky, bare rounded peaks that resembled a great sleeping beast. Shivering against the chill, I hurried to my car, kicked off my heels, and fastened my seat belt. I cranked up the heater and waited for my feet to warm, then pulled out slowly, following the path that would take me out to Marina Drive.

  As I passed the end of the loading dock outside the exhibit space, my headlights raked over two figures standing far away from the brightly lit doorway. I slowed down to get a better look. One was a large man in a tux, the other, a blonde woman. It was Luca. And the woman was Nora Layton.

  Judging by their body language, they were arguing, although I couldn’t hear a sound. I hit the brakes and turned off my headlights. What possible connection could there be between Nora and Luca? I rolled down my window, hoping to catch their voices. Too late. Luca turned away suddenly, and just as suddenly, Nora grabbed his arm. He pulled away violently, causing her to stumble. She regained her composure and turned, walking toward the entrance doors into the brightly lit gallery. Luca was alone. As if he could sense my gaze, he turned and looked in my direction. I was sure he couldn’t see me in the darkness, but nonetheless, I slid down in my seat. A moment later, he too returned to the gathering.

  I flicked on my headlights and handed some cash to the attendant at the parking booth. I pulled out to Marina Drive and mulled over the scene I’d just witnessed. I would definitely have to mention it to Gale. I hoped she’d have an explanation.

  My route home was deserted and free of traffic. The streets were shiny with the moisture of fog. The wind had picked up, blowing mist from the lip of the Bay across the Marina Green. I followed the road west as it wound its way toward the Bridge and took the turnoff to the Presidio. My high beams picked out clumps of brush, wildflowers, and tree trunks. At Park Presidio, city lights illuminated the streets once more. I reached 30th Avenue and pulled up to my building. The best thing about my neighborhood is the fog that rolls in every afternoon, summer or winter, and the foghorns that lull me to sleep at night.

  I hit the garage door opener, pulled in, and waited for the automatic door to close behind me. Exhausted, I grabbed my shoes and purse, exited through the back door of the garage, and picked my way carefully up the wooden stairway to the kitchen door in my bare feet. Inside, I stripped off my evening dress, hung it in the closet, pulled the hairpins out of my hair, washed my face, and slid under the comforter. Wizard climbed onto the bed and curled into a ball next to me. The foghorns and Wizard’s deep-throated purring lulled me into unconsciousness.

  ten

  To say that a gray pall had settled over the offices of Meyers, Dade & Schultz would be an understatement. Despite the presence of a skeleton crew, the office was officially closed. The litigation department had various court deadlines to meet and David hadn’t seen the sense in asking for continuances only to have time crunches later on. He’d hoped for some semblance of normality, but silence enveloped the hallways, broken only by the ding of the elevator doors opening and closing and a few whispered conversations.

  I arrived at quarter to nine and, after settling in, headed down the hallway to see what was going on in the other offices. Yellow tape was stretched across Jack’s office door. Nora Layton was nowhere to be seen. Roger was rifling through papers laid out on his credenza, and Dani was typing madly, transcribing from a tape. She looked up with a glazed expression and rolled her eyes to indicate both boredom and burden. Karen Jansen, seated at the desk behind Dani, smiled and rose from her chair. I was taken aback by her friendliness, but perhaps she hadn’t been at her best when I’d arrived the day before.

  “I’m surprised you came back,” Karen said.

  “It’s horrible, I agree, but what can any of us do? If I didn’t need the money, maybe I wouldn’t have returned.”

  “Did someone tell me you used to work here before?”

  “Yes. Maybe Dani.” I nodded my head toward Dani, who was still typing furiously and ignoring us.

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, about two years ago now, I guess, a little more. I didn’t work here for very long, but it’s a nice place, so when they called me to fill in, I agreed.”

  “I see.” At that, she turned abruptly and walked away. I glanced at Dani, who shrugged and raised her eyebrows in an expression that seemed to say It takes all kinds. I moved closer to her desk. She stopped typing and looked up.

  “Dani, I was wondering if Suzanne had come in.” If, as David had said, Suzanne Simms, the paralegal, had been one of the three recipients of the death threats, I wanted to talk to her.

  Dani hesitated. “Uh, no, she isn’t in. She was out yesterday too, probably sick, I guess. I imagine she’ll be in later. She hasn’t called me or anything to say she wouldn’t be.” Dani looked at me quizzically.

  “Okay … thanks.” I made a quick excuse. “David had a question for her. Maybe if you hear from her, you could let me know?”

  “Sure, I will.” Dani smiled and returned to her typing. I walked back down the hall to David’s office. As soon as I stepped into the reception area, the door was flung open. David stood on the threshold talking over his shoulder to someone I couldn’t see.

  “Julia, there you are. Come on in.” I stepped inside and came face to face with a tall, dark-haired man. I resisted the urge to pat my hair.

  “Julia, I’d like you to meet Adam. Adam Schaeffer.”

  “Hello, Adam.” I offered my hand. His was warm and strong. I liked his handshake. It’s a prejudice of mine, but I can’t stand anyone with a damp, limp hand. He had a nice smile too. A really nice smile. A strong jaw and just enough irregularities to his face that you might not call him handsome, exactly. Was it my imagination or did he hold my hand a moment too long?

  “Julia?”

  “Yes. Julia Bonatti.”

  “Very glad to meet you.” He was dressed in a suit that was well cut but not flashy. Who was he? An attorney? Somehow I didn’t think so. David indicated the two wing chairs in front of his desk.

  “Have a seat. Both of you.” David turned to me. “Adam works for Sinclair Investigations, our regular investigators. He’s handled a few jobs for us in the past and he’s been assigned to us for the time being. He’s going to organize some security for the firm and interface with the police investigation …”

  “I actually asked to be assigned,” Adam said. “I know this firm a bit and really like working with David. Plus I have a good relationship with a lot of people at the police department, so I think I can be of some help.”

  Adam had a grace of movement, yet didn’t appear arrogant or smooth. A few strands of gray at his temples kept him from looking too boyish.

  “… and Julia is here out of pity for me,” David was saying. “I’ve asked her to fill in for Muriel, but now I think I’ve dragged her into a dangerous situation.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, David,” I said.

  “Oh, and before it slips my mind …” David opened a side drawer in his desk. “You’ll need this.” He handed me a bright new key on a small ring. “This is an extra one you can keep while you’re working here. It’ll open our stairway doors and all the offices.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pocketing it.

  Adam shifted in his seat. “David has a good point. Office gossip and intrigue is one thing, even cranks sending death threats, but there’s been a murder here.
It’s nothing to fool with. You could be nosing around in the wrong place and become a target yourself.”

  “If I feel it’s too much, I’ll back out. But for now, everyone who absolutely has to be here has shown up, so why shouldn’t I?” I neglected to mention that Suzanne hadn’t yet put in an appearance and I did really want to talk to her.

  “Hopefully the police will come up with some answers soon, but everyone needs to be careful,” David replied. “Once the immediate work is handled, I may keep the office closed until things get resolved. I’m not sure yet. We’ll see how it goes.”

  Adam said, “We can provide top notch-people, twenty-four hours a day if you feel it’s necessary. Believe me, no one will gain entrance to this floor or to the 40th floor without a good reason.”

  I thought that sounded just great, but if the murderer was already in the firm, as I suspected, it wouldn’t do much good. I could be wrong. I’m only an astrologer. I decided not to voice my opinion then and there.

  Adam pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket. “Any important court cases going on right now?”

  “Well, the most pressing is a case we got from Public Counsel. You know, they take cases where the client is without funds to speak of and often refer them to large firms like ours. And we do the work on a pro bono basis. It’s a tax write-off for us, and a good way to train less-experienced attorneys. The clients get legal help they could never afford otherwise.” David leaned forward. “Now, this case … they’re a nice enough couple. Apartment managers. They live in the building that they manage. They suffered damages from a leaky roof, as did a lot of other tenants in the building. The owners refused to repair the roof. Then the managers were subjected to all sorts of insults by the owners. Their complaints about the roof and other things were ignored, and finally they were fired. They have two small children. Suddenly they were out of work and out of a home.”

  “Who owns the building?”