by Nadia Gordon
“Ronald Fetcher,” said the man, with a warm, natural smile. “Pleasure meeting you.” He was dressed Ralph Lauren preppy as before, with a cable sweater around his neck and a polo shirt underneath. “You must have been close with her,” he said, indicating Heidi’s house.
“We were friends.”
“Since we’re here, do you mind if I ask you a rather forward question?”
“You mean about Heidi?”
“Yes. As a friend and a peer of hers, you might have some insight on a topic that’s been tickling my curiosity.”
“Now I’m curious.” If Ronald Fetcher wanted to exchange gossip about Heidi Romero, she wasn’t going to do anything to discourage him.
“Not that it’s any of my business, mind you. Just something nagging at me.”
“Fire away.” She gave him a smile of encouragement.
Ronald glanced up and down the dock, as though expecting someone to be eavesdropping on them. “It’s just this. Frankly, I couldn’t understand it. Why would a girl like that, a young woman with everything going for her, why would she waste her time with a married man? What was it about that guy that was so special?”
Sunny watched his face. Did Ronald Fetcher have a thing for Heidi too? Or did his concern find its roots in the protective paternal impulse? Or was he simply a voyeur and a scandalmonger, mining for details of her personal life? “The usual reason?” said Sunny. “I don’t think most people have affairs on purpose, do they? It’s too messy. They fall into it by accident. The attraction overwhelms them and they can’t help themselves. Before they know it, it’s too late.”
“You’re being generous. If you ask me, it was the money. Or a daddy complex. He was twice her age.”
“Was he rich?”
“He wasn’t poor. You never know how much a guy like that is really worth, but it was more than nothing.” He inched closer to her and put his hand on her sleeve, speaking with an air of intimacy that made her want to pull away from him. “I’ll tell you something else. Those two had a knock-down, drag-out catfight a few days before she disappeared. Everybody heard it. He was furious because she’d called him at work and his PA told his wife. He said she did it on purpose to drive a rift between him and his wife. She was livid. She said that that was the final straw, she was tired of sneaking around and didn’t want to see him anymore. Then he really came unglued and accused her of using him for sex.” He gave her an awed look and waited for her to react.
“Interesting,” said Sunny.
He seemed disappointed at this response but soldiered on. “Is this the twenty-first century or what? The older man accusing the mistress of using him for sex. That was the last we saw of him.”
Sunny manufactured an appreciative smile while she studied his face. He obviously enjoyed other people’s lives. He gave the impression of being idle. Did he work? Or just hang around other people’s houses? “Vurleen said you’re moving.”
“That’s right. I found a place up in Guerneville for the summer. On the river.”
“Nice spot to be in for the summer,” said Sunny. “Very relaxed. Especially if you don’t have to commute to work.”
“Not as nice as this spot,” said Ronald, gesturing to the surroundings. “Still, nothing lasts forever.”
A seagull squawked overhead. Sunny looked out toward the water and the distant high-rises of San Francisco, stone gray in the dusk. She turned back to Ronald. “I should hit the road. It was good to meet you, again.”
“Likewise.” He shook her hand for the second time. “Take care of yourself.”
Sunny walked out to the parking lot clutching the iPod in one hand. The harbormaster’s office was dark, the door closed and locked. She felt an illogical pang of guilt. Illogical because even if Vurleen had still been there, she would not have left the iPod with her or even mentioned it. It belonged with Sergeant Harvey if it belonged anywhere. She had already decided she would try to discover what was on it herself before she turned it over to him. The risk of its being ignored in a storage box somewhere at the police station was too much. She would try everything she could think of to extract whatever information it held before she handed it over. There would be music, certainly, but people kept plenty of other things on iPods. There could be photographs, contacts, to do lists, documents. Anything that could be on a computer could be on there. When her curiosity was satisfied, or if the device refused to come back to life, she would turn it over to Steve and hope he had technical contacts who could work their magic and extract the data from its memory.
Past the harbormaster’s hut and the acacia tree standing guard over it, a wider outer parking lot led to the street. At the entrance, Sunny glanced automatically both ways before crossing to the truck, then stopped and looked right again. There it was. Waiting at the stoplight was a white pickup truck with mismatched taillights. All she could see of the driver was an outline. The light turned green, and the truck pulled up and made a right. On the door was the Pelican Point Harbor logo.
25
By the time she started the old Ford, turned it around, and drove up to the stoplight, the white truck was long gone. It didn’t matter. Dean Blodger’s truck was the truck, that was all she needed to know.
Her heart pounded. She dug in her purse for her cell phone. She needed to talk to Sergeant Harvey. Make that Officer Jute. She put the phone down. Before she talked to anybody, she needed to organize her thoughts. In fact, was it really so urgent that she report what she’d discovered? Couldn’t it wait until she’d had a chance to unwind a little? She wanted to sound calm and together when she talked to the police. Dean Blodger wasn’t going anywhere, and Mark Weisman was already out of reach. It had been a tiring day.
She foraged in the glove compartment for music and found a Beach Boys CD. She rolled down the window to the cold air and turned up the volume. Wouldn’t it be nice…
It took the entire greatest hits to get home. She was back at the beginning, replaying her favorites, when she turned onto Adams. Round round get around, I get around … The cottage on Adelaide was dark when she pulled up, as of course it would be, since she lived alone. She never got entirely used to that. How long until the day she would come home to a light on, somebody else home, somebody expecting her? Too long. Forever, she thought gloomily, if past experience was any indicator of the future. She picked up the mail on the way in. Andre had left her knife kit and the movie he’d mentioned on the dining room table. She headed straight for the refrigerator, grabbing the phone on the way. She dialed Wade Skord’s number. This was no time to be alone. “Have you had dinner?”
“Nothing I couldn’t forget about. You cooking?”
“If you’re eating, I’m cooking. Nothing fancy. Looks like I can scrape together a refrigerator clean-out pasta. I’ve got, let’s see, two Meyer lemons, a red bell pepper, a red onion, some of those big capers we love, a little leftover salmon, and, in the herb department, a bunch of fresh parsley. Wish it was dill. Anyway, we’re good for a carbfest, and soon. I’m starved.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Monty Lenstrom had eaten already. “But I could use a glass of the soft stuff,” he said. “Work kicked my ass all day long. I need to sit on the couch and stare at a blank wall for about twenty minutes, then I’ll head over.”
Rivka picked up her mobile. “I’m at the market. You want anything?”
“A baguette, if they’re worth having. And a pineapple. I have a strange craving for pineapple. Unless there are apricots or cherries. The first cherries should arrive any day.”
“One baguette, one pineapple, early seasonal dream fruit optional. You sure you don’t want some chocolate sauce with that? Maybe a side of mac and cheese?”
“Tonight I’ll eat anything.”
She put the phone down and turned her attention to the tiny, mud-caked device she’d left on the counter on her way in. This one had an extra nugget, a white rectangle of plastic, plugged into the top of it with a perforated metal are
a, probably a microphone. Ronald Fetcher was probably right, it was sure to be ruined for good. Still, it was worth a try. Rivka once dropped her cell phone into a tub of lime vinaigrette. The tech gurus in customer service in Bombay suggested she rinse it in warm water and leave it somewhere warm to dry out. Sometimes all the water evaporated from the inner mess after a few days and whatever it was worked fine again. Sometimes, they regretted to inform her, one had no choice but to go back to the store and select a replacement model. This was the way with cell phones dropped into tubs of lime vinaigrette. Sunny rinsed the player under the tap, wondering if this was also the way with iPods found at low tide in local harbors. The stream of water ran over the casing and into the tiny holes with disastrous efficiency. Certainly there was little hope it would ever sing again. She patted it dry and left it on the windowsill, then went to find a pair of headphones. She found one plugged into the portable CD player she never used and brought them back. They fit into the port and she put them on, to no point since the device was dead as a stone. She hit all the buttons. Still nothing. No life on the screen, not even a crackle over the headphones. She put it back on the windowsill and turned to the refrigerator.
An hour later, the three of them—Rivka, Wade, and Sunny—sat down to pasta, mixed greens, and bread and butter. Sunny passed a bottle of chilled pink wine. Rivka rhapsodized about her recent telephone conversations with her new crush while they loaded their plates.
“Who are we talking about?” asked Wade skeptically.
“Remember the sexy guy selling those incredible blackberries at the farmers’ market last summer? Super puffy hair, great lips.”
“I remember the crazy hair and the blackberries. The sexy lips part may have escaped me. He had some kind of an accent. What is he, Caribbean?”
“Jamaican. Love the accent.” She stuffed a heap of mixed baby greens in her mouth. “Totally irresistible,” she said with her mouth full.
“Irresistible.” Wade assumed a worldly expression. “Sounds like you’re telling me this guy puts the afro in aphrodisiac.”
“Very funny,” said Rivka.
“I can’t believe you used that before Monty got here,” said Sunny.
“I tried to hold off, but I couldn’t contain myself.”
Monty Lenstrom turned up near the end of dinner bearing a bottle of Schramsberg. He went into the kitchen and came back with four champagne flutes, which he filled and passed to each of them. Sunny turned the bottle. “Brown label. The good stuff. And of a certain age. This must be important.”
“Only the best for my dearest friends.” Monty stood and raised his glass, his eyes moist behind wire-rim glasses. For a moment no one spoke. Their glasses frosted over and bubbles rose in steady, luminous streams. “My people, I have news.”
“Oh my god,” said Rivka. “You did it.”
“That’s right. Friends, it is my great pleasure to announce that you are looking at the future Mr. Annabelle Reins.”
Sunny gasped. “I don’t believe it!”
“Believe it,” said Monty. “I’ve always known she was the one. I knew the moment I laid eyes on her.”
“That would have been, let me see, about seven years ago,” said Sunny.
“I’ve been busy. What’s your point?”
“No point at all. I salute your conviction, and caution, and Annabelle’s patience. You make a lovely couple. To Monty and Annabelle.”
They chimed and sipped. Wade stood up. “As the senior male of the tribe, allow me to propose a toast to the end of a record-breaking run of bachelorhood, if you can call it bachelorhood when you’ve been living with a woman since the week after you met her. To Monty and Annabelle, may she one day grace us with her presence.”
They drank to the happy couple and hashed through the usual congratulations and inquiries. Would they do it this summer? Not likely. Too soon. Probably not until the fall. This wasn’t a shotgun wedding, was it? Was Annabelle expecting? Certainly not. As far as he could tell, all she was expecting was a solid carat of bling, maybe more, since, considering they already owned a house, lived in it together, and didn’t need a new toaster or bath towels, not much else would change after the big party. Any venue selected? Hardly. He just sprang it on her over the weekend. When this flurry of talk had run its course, a satisfied pause came over the table. Good food, good news, glass of bubbly in hand, the end of another solid Monday, and still plenty of time to brush, floss, and knock off eight hours before the whole business started again tomorrow. Sunny pounced on the moment of tranquility. “I went down to Sausalito this afternoon,” she said. “I found out some interesting stuff.”
She described how she’d discovered that the mysterious man Heidi had been seeing was named Mark Weisman, and that he also owned a sailboat named Vedana. She repeated her conversation with Vurleen, the harbormaster’s assistant, and how she’d corroborated that Mark was married and suggested his wife would go homicidal if she discovered his betrayal, and that she’d thrown in the comment that Dean Blodger, the harbormaster, was smitten, or possibly even obsessed, with Heidi. Then she told them about seeing the mismatched tail-lights on Dean Blodger’s white truck.
“There’s plenty to go on, but where it goes is still beyond me. You tell me how it all fits together. I can’t figure it out.”
Wade frowned. “I don’t like this, Sun. It seems obvious enough to me who killed Heidi, and equally obvious that you’re playing with fire by hanging around down there. This Dean Blodger character is your man. You saw his truck at Vedana Vineyards. You saw the same truck at the place the girl lived. His assistant says he was glued to the window whenever she went by. Then he turns up here in town, not to mention at the racetrack. We don’t know if he followed you there or if he went to check them out like we did, but either way, he’s showing way too much interest in topics related to you and that girl. I don’t need anything more to convince me. I think it’s high time you got the police in on this, like tonight, like right now, and ask them to loan you a bodyguard while you’re at it.”
“I agree,” said Monty. “It’s not safe to be here alone.”
“Dean Blodger worries me too,” said Sunny. “The trouble is, the Dean theory leaves two big holes and no good way to explain them. Why would he transport the body an hour away and leave it tied up in a tree? It makes no sense to risk being seen like that. And what about the boat?”
“Maybe he was trying to throw suspicion on the boyfriend,” said Monty. “Or maybe there’s a piece missing. Just because we don’t know why he did it doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”
“Hang on a second,” said Rivka. “Back up. I still don’t see how Dean Blodger could have done it. First of all, everybody up and down that dock knows him. They’re going to notice if they see him carry off Heidi Romero. And there’s no way he could have done it silently. Sun, you remember how sound carried in that place. If she so much as squealed, everyone for half a mile would hear it.”
“That’s simple enough to explain,” said Monty. “All your well-informed date rapists know you can buy chloroform off the Internet for less than it costs to take a girl to a movie. Or you can make your own with nail polish and pool chlorine. It’s just like on TV. You sneak up behind her, hit her with a rag full of chloroform, and she’s yours. This guy is stationed right there in the parking lot. All he has to do is watch for her, call her over, dose her, and let the creepy fun begin.”
“I don’t want to know how you know that stuff,” said Rivka.
“College,” said Monty.
“Exactly how they did it isn’t all that important,” said Sunny. “It matters ultimately, but not in relation to who did it. The fact is, anybody who wanted to abduct her could have. I can think of a dozen different ways. You could break into her house with a credit card. The front door had no deadbolt and a nice, wide gap between the door and the door frame. Or you could make a copy of the key while she was out. You could grab her off the back deck while she was sunbathing, or in the parking lot. O
r in the parking lot at work, or better yet while she’s out on some trail riding her bike. She could have been lured somewhere where she was vulnerable. These things aren’t difficult. She might even have been seduced. Killers have been known to be charming.”
“Not by Dean Blodger,” said Rivka. “That guy couldn’t seduce the last woman on earth if she’d been living alone in a cave for six months.”
“My money is on the winker,” said Monty. “I would have made a citizen’s arrest on that guy right there at the table.”
“You mean Ové? Innocent,” said Wade. “If anyone at Vedana is guilty it’s Kimberly Knolls, or possibly Bruce Knolls. She’s way too slick and he’s too quiet for my taste. Never trust a guy who doesn’t drink too much and make an ass of himself at a formal dinner party among strangers.”
“I still say how they did it is not as important as why they did it,” said Sunny. “When we know why, we’ll know who. Leaving all the inexplicable pieces out of it for the moment, I’m with Wade. All Vedanas aside, Dean Blodger scares me most because he has a motive, and he is directly connected to the murder.”
“What’s his motive?” asked Rivka.
“If he was in love with Heidi, he might have done anything to get his hands on her. Once he’d forced himself on her, he would have to kill her to keep her quiet.”
“That sounds sort of thin to me,” said Rivka. “Joel Hyder was obsessed with her too, but I don’t think he did it. What’s Dean’s direct connection?”
“The truck.”
“Also sort of thin. You saw his truck, not him. Somebody else could have taken it. He left the keys hanging right there on the wall in his office.”
“You’re right,” said Sunny. “I forgot about that. He put them on the hook by the door. And somebody broke into his office right around the time Heidi disappeared.” She thought a moment. “Except the office is open in the daytime, so there’s no need to break in, and at night he’d have the keys with him, since he would need them to drive home.”