Formula for Murder
Page 15
I fiddled with Laurie in the sling while Kenny flirted with Butterfly. How did other moms look so natural with the sling? I felt like at any moment Laurie would slide out.
Kenny appeared with a warm apple scone for us to split, a cappuccino for himself, and my latte. After he seated himself I handed him the package.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I’m hoping you can tell me.”
He peeked inside the package. “A hard drive? Your computer crashed?”
“Someone sent it to me. Do you think you can make it work?”
“It depends. It doesn’t look too banged up. I can try.”
I sipped my latte and felt Laurie squirm in the sling. Why had I even thought to bring her in this sling? I reshuffled her. She let out a little protest cry.
The barista aka Butterfly made it to our table. “Aw. A little baby.”
I pulled aside the sling fabric and let Butterfly peek in on Laurie. As she leaned in to look at Laurie I spotted the tattoo. I smiled to myself. Kenny was practically drooling. She seemed like a good fit for him.
“So, you’re Ken’s boss?” Butterfly asked.
Kenny shot me a look. I scratched my nose to keep from laughing.
He told her he worked for me? How sweet! And what was the deal with “Ken.” I hadn’t known anyone to ever call him that.
“It must be superexciting. I wish I had a job like that. Working in a coffee shop, well, I mean, it’s okay. But it’s not like I do stakeouts and catch murderers or anything.”
Kenny tugged nervously at his green hair.
“I couldn’t do it without Ken,” I said.
A couple walked into the café and Butterfly slipped back behind the counter, not before shooting Kenny an appreciative look. She liked him.
Laurie completely wormed her way out of the sling and began to wail. I tried to stick her back inside, but before I could do it, the ring at the top came loose and I was left holding the beautiful blue fabric in my hands.
I should have brought the stroller. Now I’d have to walk home holding Laurie instead and carrying the sling.
I downed the rest of my latte. “All right, tech support, I’m heading home. Let me know if you can bring the hard drive to life.”
Kenny smiled. “Thanks, Kate.”
“No problem, Ken.”
Kenny ducked his head and tucked his headphones back in place. I figured he would stay until closing. Good for him.
• CHAPTER NINETEEN •
To Do:
1. Watch sling DVD.
2. Enroll Laurie in art class.
3. Why isn’t Galigani returning my calls?
4. Call Mom.
5. CHRISTMAS!!! Ahhhhh!
6. When do we get insurance check?
The next morning I lounged in bed staring at Laurie. Technically, she was “sleeping through the night” but “the night” only constituted six hours. Certainly not my definition of a night, but an improvement over last month.
Still, I was exhausted this morning and happy to spend my time daydreaming next to her until I was roused out of bed by the phone.
Paula’s voice filled the line. “I’m so excited about the party tonight! I hope Mr. Supervisor puts out as good a spread as the French.”
“I don’t know about that, but at least we won’t have to talk over an electronic tree.”
Paula laughed. “Do you like the dress I picked out for you?”
Guilt-ridden, I stared into the closet at the plastic suit bag. I’d gotten home so exhausted from that shopping trip that I’d placed the bag into the closet and completely forgotten about the dress.
“I love it.” And to avoid being quizzed about it I decided to change the subject. “What are you going to wear?”
“A potato sack. It’s lovely: You’ll be amazed at the things I can pull off. I’ll pick you up at 5:30.”
In the kitchen I found that Jim had brewed a fresh pot of coffee and left me a note. He’d gone for a run. I poured myself a cup of coffee and meandered to the bathroom to slather on a face mask.
If I didn’t have time for a proper facial, then the least I could do was get rid of dry skin before rubbing elbows with the San Francisco elite.
I took my coffee to the office and sat in front of the computer thinking. Galigani still hadn’t returned my phone calls. Fearing that he’d changed my password, I tentatively tried to log in to the background check database. I was able to get in without an issue, so that either meant he wasn’t mad at me or he hadn’t gotten around to terminating my access. I hoped it was the former.
Once past the initial screens, I typed in Kevin Gibson, Reparation Research. Kevin had never been arrested, had no open warrants for his arrest, and had good credit. He lived outside of San Francisco, on the peninsula in one of my favorite towns, San Carlos.
The database lookup got me nowhere nearer to knowing why he had contacted Nancy. I googled Kevin and found that he was a Harvard graduate with a degree in chemistry. His current position at Reparation Research was “Research Scientist II.”
I saw that he had a Facebook account. Something my brother and his wife kept e-mailing me about. They were pestering me to create an account and upload a gazillion pictures of Laurie. I clicked on the Facebook link and saw that Kevin was “friends” with a bunch of people I didn’t know and he seemed to like Celtic music bands.
I hit the “Send Kevin a message” link, which immediately brought me to a sign-up page. I reluctantly filled in all my information and created my own account. Then I was able to send Kevin a message.
I typed.
Hope you are well. I’m a private investigator in San Francisco, working on a case involving the murder of KNCR reporter Nancy Pickett. I understand that you may have contacted Ms. Pickett. Is there any way you can kindly share with me your communication with Ms. Pickett? I further understand from your office that you are on vacation in the Bahamas. I hope this is not too much of an intrusion on your time.
I hit SEND and then proceeded to start adding my own friends. Out of curiosity I entered every name I could remember from the consulate: Jean-Luc, Christophe, Armand, even the consul himself, Eloi Leppard. I didn’t find any of them.
Oh well, what good would it do anyhow? Tell me what kind of music they liked?
I found my brother, Paula, and even Kenny, and noticed that they all had their pages marked as “private.” I figured if I was going to upload a bunch of pictures of Laurie then I should do the same.
I poked around the privacy settings and adjusted them as I felt my mask getting tight. Better go wash it off before I had to peel it off.
Once I scrubbed the last bit of green from my face, I decided it was time to try the dress. Mentally I was already compiling a list of backup options before I even had the dress out of the bag.
I pulled the plastic bag up an inch to reveal the hem of the dress. It was gold with tiny red flowers on it. So far, so good. Paula had great taste, I knew that. I just hoped it would fit. I unveiled the rest to reveal a classically cut simple dress. V-neck, short sleeves, looked promising.
I slipped it over my head and got my arms stuck. I couldn’t get the dress on.
Shoot!
What was I going to do now?
Served me right for procrastinating!
I fought the urge to cry. I took off the dress, disgusted, and threw it in a heap on the floor.
Wait a minute.
I picked the dress up again and examined the side.
What an idiot! I unzipped the hidden zip and slipped the dress on over my head again, this time chanting, “Please fit, please fit, please fit.”
I took a breath and yanked on the zipper. It closed seamlessly. I stared at my reflection. The dress fit like a glove.
I looked sophisticated. I looked slim. I looked . . . I looked like I could belong at an SF supervisor party.
I let out a whoop of happiness and ended up waking Laurie.
She wailed from the bassinet.
She pedaled her feet and reached out to me.
“Wait! Before I pick you up, you monkey, let me change because you’ll probably use me as a spit-up rag!”
Paula and I pulled up to valet parking at the Merchants Exchange Building and walked into the building. The streetlevel lobby had a gorgeous barrel-vaulted ceiling sparkling with marble, gold leaf, and bronze.
Both Paula and I immediately looked up to appreciate the glittery beauty.
“I only take you to the finest establishments,” Paula joked.
I smiled. “It matches my dress!”
Paula laughed. “I planned that.”
She was wearing a new simple black maternity dress with some green piping that she’d added herself for holiday cheer.
“Just promise you aren’t planning to go into labor tonight,” I said.
She smiled. “I can’t promise. I can only hope.”
She wasn’t due for another few weeks, but it already looked like the baby had dropped.
In the elevator we were pressed up against other partygoers. We followed them to the ballroom and were happy to see that no one was at the door requesting invitations.
We slipped into the ballroom, which had a wonderful curved mahogany bar, a twenty-foot fireplace of creamy stone, and a honeycombed ceiling of mahogany octagonals.
We immediately spotted Kimberly. She was at the bar on the arm of Calvin Rabara, the city supervisor. The party was a thank-you to all his supporters. The mayor was standing next to Calvin, laughing and leaning into Kimberly’s face.
She giggled at his joke and tossed her head to the side. As soon as she did our eyes connected. Her head jolted upright and then she seemed to suddenly shrink into herself. She adjusted the way she was standing so that Calvin blocked my view of her.
That was strange. Was she trying to avoid me?
Why?
Paula pulled me to the buffet table. “No dancing waiters this time,” she huffed.
On the center of the buffet table was a chocolate fountain.
“We can hardly complain,” I said, grabbing a plate and piling some cheese, bread, and chocolate onto it.
Someone bumped my arm. I looked up to find Christophe Benoit.
I tried to hide my shock. What was the press and communication liaison for the consulate doing at a fundraiser for Calvin Rabara?
Well, I suppose staff schmoozing is what gets consuls commendations and awards and whatnot?
“Mrs. Connolly!” he said, his hand on my arm. “What a pleasure to see you here.”
“Christophe! Yes. I didn’t know consulate personnel attended this sort of thing.”
He laughed and grabbed a plate. “What sort of thing? A party? Of course, why not?”
What did this party have to do with French business though?
I immediately scanned the room for Jean-Luc.
“I guess you have to keep up with San Francisco politics,” I said.
“How else are they going to get commendations,” Paula muttered to me.
“Is the consul here?” I asked.
“Oh, non, non, non,” Christophe said.
Kimberly broke away from Calvin and the mayor, then marched toward us.
“Wow,” Paula said. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Kate! What are you doing here?” she said, trying to burn a hole through my head with her stare.
“She’s my date,” Paula said.
Kimberly looked from Paula to me. She seemed uncertain as to what to say. Her eyes shifted back to Paula, momentarily evaluating her, trying to determine if Paula could be a huge contributor to her boyfriend’s campaign. If that was the case, she certainly wouldn’t want to risk saying anything to alienate her.
She turned back to me and seemed to try to swallow a bit of her anger. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I don’t know. Is there something you can help me with?” I asked.
She glared at me. “Like what?”
I took a stab in the dark. “Did you send me anything in the mail?”
For her part, Kimberly looked genuinely confused. “What?”
I glanced at Christophe; he was more interested in the buffet than our conversation, but when I looked back at Kimberly she was gesturing toward the fireplace hearth. I followed her.
She didn’t want to talk in front of him.
Interesting.
Christophe had told me he didn’t know Kimberly, but now that seemed unlikely.
We approached the fireplace, the warmth from the fire penetrating the room. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I received a package yesterday in the mail. I was wondering if you sent it.”
“No. What was it? Why do you think I sent it? Did it have to do with Nancy?”
“It was a computer hard drive.”
Kimberly squinted. “Whose? What did it have on it?”
I’d been so caught up with my mini facial and trying on my dress this morning that I’d forgotten to check in with Kenny.
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me,” I said.
Kimberly shrugged. “How would I know?”
“Why didn’t you want to talk to me in front of Christophe?”
Kimberly’s hand shot up to her choker. An instinctive self-preservation move? “Oh. No.” She licked her lips, stalling for time. “No. It wasn’t that.”
“What then?” I pressed.
“No. I was just cold. I wanted to stand by the fire.”
“You do know him, don’t you?” I asked.
She looked confused. “Of course, he’s the press liaison at the French consulate.”
I leaned in a little closer and in my best conspiratorial voice said, “Kimberly, I know there’re things you’re not telling me. If you could level with me, it might really help. Don’t you want Nancy’s killer to be brought to justice?”
She pressed her shoulders back in indignation. “Of course I do! I just don’t know what I could tell you to help.”
“Do you know anything about Reparation Research? About the story Nancy was working on?”
Kimberly’s eyes darted around the room. “No.”
It was a lie. There was something about the way she looked around the room. So I did the same.
Who was she searching out?
“What were you doing at the consulate the day before Nancy was killed?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“You were. You’re lying. I just don’t know why.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell a figure was approaching. It gave Kimberly some courage.
“I wasn’t there. Whoever told you that was wrong.”
I didn’t have the opportunity to tell her I was there and saw her. Calvin Rabara swept up to us. “Doll, are you hiding from me?” He wrapped an arm around Kimberly’s shoulder and steered her toward the room. “Come here, there are some people I need you to meet.”
He barely gave me a cursory glance. Kimberly shot me a pained look.
Maybe she did want to help me, but just didn’t know how?
Was she afraid?
Paula hadn’t budged from the buffet. She and Christophe were comfortably parked at a corner of the table. He was doting on her, fetching her seconds and thirds of any items she pointed out, while juggling his own plate and a champagne flute.
He smiled when he saw me approach.
“That got me nowhere,” I said to Paula.
She nodded absently. “I can’t believe this place. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
I looked to the left side of the room where floor-to-ceiling arched windows provided a magnificent view of the San Francisco skyline. “Yes.”
Christophe polished off his champagne. “Unparalleled!” he said, following my gaze out the windows.
I studied his features as he took in the city. He had a straight nose and a la
rge, prominent Adam’s apple. The last time we spoke he hadn’t known about Armand, but by now the news most certainly would have reached him.
“Christophe, do you know anything about the investigation into Armand’s death?”
He looked surprised. “Armand Remy? How did you know? I tried to keep his suicide out of the press.”
Suicide?
He flashed a look in Kimberly’s direction. “Was there a leak?”
“I’m the one who found him in his apartment.”
Blood rushed to Christophe’s face and it colored. “I didn’t know.” He dropped his gaze and looked at his shoes. “It’s a shame. He was in a hit-and-run accident a few days before he killed himself. I think he didn’t know how to cope. I heard he hit a woman and a small baby.”
Paula’s eyes widened and she gave me a quick shake of her head indicating I should keep my trap shut that I was the woman with the baby.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “When I was at his apartment, I noticed that the front lock had been broken. That’s why I was able to go inside. Why do the police think it’s suicide and not—”
“Oh, non, non. His apartment was broken into before. He came to work complaining about the neighborhood.”
What about the bruising around his neck?
I had to speak to Galigani. He might be able to answer some questions by poking around with his contacts. Could he really be mad at me because of Mom?
Paula picked at her teeth with a meatball skewer. “What’d they take?”
Christophe glanced at her as if suddenly remembering she was there. “Em, I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
Nancy’s apartment had been broken into. Her computer had been stolen.
Whose computer did I have and who had sent it to me?
“Did they take his computer?” I asked, picking up a plate and perusing the buffet.
Christophe shrugged. “I don’t think they took anything. He would have complained. The boy complained about everything! No. I think he said only that they broke into the apartment.” He rumpled his unruly mop of curls and looked thoughtful. “How is it that you found him?”