It was a curved arc, the same as the one Father Monty had pointed out on the altar they’d seen earlier.
The niece squinted at the image and then looked up at the chief. His previously pleasant expression had transitioned to one of fear and foreboding.
She shook her head, perplexed.
“Does he mean the dead crew member? The lowest deck is where they stored his body . . .”
Isabella trilled out a rebuke. The niece glanced down at her cat and then returned to the picture—and the meaning of the chief’s message suddenly hit her.
“Oh.”
Isabella confirmed the translation.
“Mrao.”
The chief nodded again, as if he understood the cat perfectly.
The niece frowned with concern. The Indians were giving them a warning.
Something evil lurked on board the San Carlos.
More specifically, she reasoned, someone.
Modern-Day San Francisco
Three Months Prior to the America’s Cup Regatta
Chapter 36
UNFLAPPABLE
MAYOR MONTGOMERY CARMICHAEL breezed up the central marble staircase inside San Francisco’s City Hall. The soles of his dress shoes slapped against the polished stone floor as he strode around the second-floor hallway overlooking the rotunda. Whistling to himself, he danced up to the mayor’s office suite and swung open the reception’s main doors.
“Good morning, all!”
The niece mumbled a distracted reply. The lemon-scented perfume had once again permeated her desk. Isabella sat on her filing cabinet perch, offering warbling comments of assistance while the niece searched for the source of the smell.
Neither paid much attention as Monty paraded through to his open office door. His regular refrain echoed back to the reception.
“It’s a fabulous day to be mayor!”
“If you say so,” the niece muttered, crawling beneath her desk to inspect the underside paneling.
It had been a busy couple of months for the accidental administrative assistant. After Alberta’s murder on the Baron’s yacht, she had been loath to hire a replacement intern for fear of triggering another Ninja attack.
Even if she’d sought a new candidate, the pool of applicants had immediately dried up. The specter of two murdered interns in a row was too big of a coincidence to be ignored. The city’s politically minded career builders had fallen back on innate self-preservation.
No matter how prestigious the position, no internship was worth being killed—especially when the slot was in Mayor Carmichael’s office.
Unfortunately, this meant that the niece was left doing the bulk of the organizational work for Monty’s ongoing America’s Cup activities.
As she settled back into her chair and glanced at the pile of the day’s paperwork, she thought wistfully of the deceased Alberta. No one had mourned the zealous young woman’s passing more than the niece.
The next big event was coming up at the end of the week. As if tempting fate, this, too, would be held on the Baron’s yacht.
For the last several days, the niece had been busy tracking down RSVPs from local political leaders, coordinating with the media, and reviewing the final catering details. She felt as if her head were permanently attached to her telephone headset. If she never made another phone call, it would be too soon.
To top it all off, each morning when she returned to the office, she was met by the horrid perfume smell—the Knitting Needle Ninja, mocking her by odor.
As the niece dug determinedly through a side drawer she had searched several times before, Rupert trotted out of the igloo-shaped litter box and fell in line behind the interim mayor, slipping through to the next office before the heavy wooden door closed behind him.
His person didn’t notice his departure.
Isabella decided to look the other way.
• • •
“WHAT DO YOU think of my digs, eh, Rupert?” Monty asked, pleased to have someone with whom to share his exalted mood.
The pair walked the circumference of the square room, with Monty pointing out several of the paintings that he had brought in from his art studio—and Rupert wondering if Monty by chance had a secret stash of those fried chicken donuts the downstairs security guard was always talking about.
Unfortunately, they reached the mayor’s desk at the far side of the office without any sign of poultry-laden pastries.
The large bureau that had occupied the space for several mayoral administrations had been impounded by the police as evidence in their stalled Ninja investigation. The bloody knitting needles used in the Ninja’s assault on the intern last fall had been wrapped in a plastic bag and taped beneath the previous desk’s center console.
Monty had replaced the confiscated desk with a far more delicate piece of furniture. The elegant design featured spindly carved legs and a minimalist center shelf. There was no room for anyone to hide a packet of bloody knitting needles in this desk—he’d made sure of that.
Rupert nosed at the nearest wooden leg with disinterest.
The desk’s small size also meant there was little chance it held any hidden fried chicken donuts.
—
AFTER A DISAPPOINTING perusal of the desk, Rupert turned his attention to the decorative chairs by the floor-to-ceiling windows that fronted the balcony. Hopping onto one of the plush velvet seat cushions, the cat gazed out at the Civic Center plaza, an open green space that fronted City Hall. The public library’s main branch, a couple of museums, and several other city and state government buildings also flanked the plaza.
“It’s a nice view, don’t you think?” Monty sidled up beside his furry friend and reached for the handle to one of the top windowpanes. “If you like, I can open this up for some fresh air.”
Rupert’s wobbly blue eyes crossed with intrigue as the pane swung open. He lifted himself up on his haunches, curiously sniffing the spring breeze.
Just then, a fist-sized bullet of green feathers zoomed through the opening and into the office.
“Wha-ha-ha!” Monty hollered, ducking as a redheaded parrot swooped toward his face.
The bird was the least of the mayor’s problems. Rupert’s feline instincts took over, and he leapt into the air, his front paws swatting at the fast-moving object—without regard for their eventual landing point.
“Ahh!” Monty screamed as Rupert’s claws accidentally dug into his shoulder blades.
The parrot circled the room, keeping well out of reach. Rupert romped from one chair to the next, finally landing on the desktop, his tail swishing with intrigue.
The parrot’s red head cocked to one side as he eyed the cat, sizing up his opposition. He was a cagy bird and not easily intimidated.
Hearing the commotion, the niece threw open the office door. The parrot zoomed through the opening, flying over her head and into the reception area.
Rupert bounded after the bird, running between his person’s legs.
“What’s going on in here?” the niece demanded, peering under the desk where Monty had crawled in an attempt to hide from the chase.
“Bird,” he replied in a traumatized whisper.
Turning, the niece looked through the open doorway. She spotted the green intruder perched at the top of a coatrack.
The parrot appeared far less confident in his new surroundings. He had escaped the mayor’s main office, but picked up an extra feline.
Isabella stood on top of the filing cabinet, her blue eyes focused on the prey, her back legs tensed for a takedown leap.
The parrot sensed that his odds had now diminished. The once-confident smirk had been replaced by an expression of genuine concern.
Before Isabella could launch her attack, the reception door opened, and a young man stepped inside.
He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but was cut off by the niece’s hollered command.
“Close the door!”
It was a testament to the newcomer’s sharp wits and
quick reaction time that he managed to maneuver around the door and close it behind him without mishap.
The parrot slipped through unscathed, leaving two disappointed cats skidding to a stop at the man’s feet.
Unaffected by the feline and avian charge, the unflappable fellow turned to the niece and smiled.
“I’m here for the intern position.”
Chapter 37
THE VOLUNTEER
“YOU’RE HERE FOR the intern position?”
The niece couldn’t believe her ears.
“The mayoral intern position?”
The young man pointed across the reception desk to a sign posted over the door to the mayor’s office. Muffled howls emanated from within as Monty applied disinfectant and antibiotic cream to the deep scratches on his shoulders.
“This is the mayor’s office suite, isn’t it?”
The niece plopped down in the chair behind her desk. “You know what happened to the last two mayoral interns, right?”
The man nodded, unconcerned.
The niece decided to be blunt. “They were both murdered.”
The remark caused no dent in the man’s armor of confidence.
“By the Knitting Needle Ninja.”
He smiled, undeterred by the prospect of being gored through the chest with an antique sewing weapon.
“Hmm.” The niece stared at the potential intern, searching for the catch.
Isabella resumed her position on the filing cabinet. The cat leaned forward, her blue eyes gleaming with intensity.
He seemed like a nice enough guy, the niece thought, puzzling over the man’s suicidal interest in the treacherous intern position. He wore his hair in a buzz cut, trimmed so short she couldn’t tell whether the color was a dark blond or light brown. Fit and athletic, he had a pleasant smile and a casual demeanor.
He didn’t look like a disturbed individual—nor did he resemble an overzealous political type.
Further questioning was definitely in order.
Before she could speak, Hoxton Finn strode through the reception entrance. Popping his notepad against his left thigh, he grunted at the man who had just volunteered for intern duty.
“Hello, Officer.”
—
THE WOULD-BE UNDERCOVER intern crumpled into an office chair, blushing at how easily he’d been revealed. He grimaced up at Hox.
“I didn’t think you’d recognize me that easily.” He pointed to his short hair. “I got my hair shaved off and everything.”
Hox whapped the notebook against his leg. “I’ve been telling you to cut that mop for years. Five pounds of hair removal is hardly a disguise. If I recognized you, Mabel surely will.”
The officer held up his hands, trying to deflect the criticism. “It was unlucky, running into you first thing. Before I had a chance to perfect my role. You won’t tell anyone at the station, will you, Hox? I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Hox huffed noncommittally. “They should have told me they were sending you over here.”
“Well, hey, no harm done,” the man said with an impish grin. “You’re in the know now.”
The notepad took another beating. “Surely you’re not serious about going through with this?”
The officer straightened his shoulders. “Of course I am. We can’t let the Ninja continue her killing spree.”
“You’re underestimating this woman. You think she’s nothing but a little old lady with a knife problem.”
Solemnly, the officer unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a Kevlar vest. “I’m prepared for anything . . .”
But Hox wasn’t finished. “Or maybe you’re just trying to advance your career.” He bent over the man’s chair. “Accolades aren’t much use if you’re dead.”
The officer rebuttoned his shirt. His expression remained steadfast. Hox’s warnings were not having any effect.
“What’s your alias?” The reporter crossed his arms over his chest. “So I know what I’m supposed to call you.”
“Toronto. James Toronto.” He paused before adding with a wink. “In honor of Alberta.”
Hox groaned and turned away.
The niece had remained silent throughout this exchange, occasionally looking up at the filing cabinet to visually confer with Isabella. As Hox paced a circle around her desk, however, she leaned in for a question.
“Can you do event organization?” she asked. “Some routine filing, perhaps make a few phone calls?”
At his nodding shrug, she shoved a stack of papers across the desk.
“Great. You’re hired.”
With an apologetic glance at Hox, she added, “And, uh, please try not to get yourself killed.”
Chapter 38
CAPED CRUSADERS
THE FRISKY PARROT shot into the second-floor foyer outside the mayor’s office suite, relieved to hear the reception door thump shut behind him, sealing the two pursuing cats on the opposite side.
The bird took a relaxed swoop through City Hall’s ornate rotunda, his red head bobbing as he surveyed the building’s open center.
He had strayed almost two miles from his regular roost on Telegraph Hill, but the morning light streaming through the stained glass windows felt warm and inviting—and there was something familiar about the stenciled image of the San Carlos etched into the windows’ center panes . . .
The parrot circled the enormous interior, casting a moving shadow across the multiple marble surfaces.
Office workers traversing the second-floor corridor shuffled from side to side, trying to avoid the dark object sliding across their feet. Someone realized the source of the shadow and called it out to the others. Soon, groups began to gather, staring up at the unusual sight.
Despite the vast open space beneath the dome, City Hall rarely entertained avian visitors. Occasionally, a stray pigeon or two managed to sneak through the front doors before being corralled out the exit, but no one could recall ever having seen a parrot inside the building.
Pointed fingers traced the bird’s path through the rotunda. Excited whispers bounced off the stone walls as the collected watchers lost track of the green body and then picked it up again.
Unaware of all this attention, the parrot glided into the ceremonial rotunda at the top of the central marble staircase and landed on the polished bronze head of the Harvey Milk bust.
Making himself at home, he reached over his shoulder and casually preened his feathers.
• • •
MEANWHILE, THE MORNING’S first wedding party gathered in the first-floor foyer outside City Hall’s licensing office.
The couple had decided to turn their nuptials into a theme party. The bride was dressed as Wonder Woman, with a red and gold corset, a short star-spangled skirt, and knee-high red leather boots. The groom had donned a shiny blue Superman suit, complete with flowing cape. Members of the wedding party were clad as various comic book characters.
Everyone cheered when the wedding coordinator rounded the corner, applauding with delight at her over-the-top Marilyn Monroe getup. Her blond wig, stuffed bosom blouse, and bouncy white skirt fit right in with the rest of the group.
The groom whooped his approval.
“Man, I can’t wait to see our wedding pictures.”
With a demure smile, the coordinator ushered the eager couple and their entourage toward the inner dome area.
But at the entrance to the rotunda, she looked up and across to the top of the central staircase where the soup vendor stood with the parrot perched on his arm. Raising her hand, she halted the wedding party.
“There you go, Petey. Let me give you a ride.” Oscar’s voice echoed down to the rotunda’s lower level as he began to descend the steps. “What are you doing so far from home? Come along with me. I’ll take you back where you belong.”
The wedding coordinator pursed her heavily painted lips. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt a strong aversion to the bird.
Pivoting, she turned her clients toward the elevator bank in the
foyer wing.
Preoccupied with the antics of a Green Lantern–impersonating groomsman, the group didn’t notice the sudden diversion.
But after a discussion about their various superhero powers, the conversation turned to the recent City Hall crimes.
“Is it true the Ninja killed another intern? On the billionaire’s yacht during an America’s Cup shindig?”
“Do you think she’s hanging out here in City Hall?” The caped crusader shuddered at the thought. “That would be creepy.”
“Well,” Marilyn replied as the elevator doors slid open, “that’s what they say . . .”
Chapter 39
THE CAPTAIN OF A TROUBLED SHIP
REPORTER HOXTON FINN returned to the newspaper’s Mission Street office building that afternoon, perplexed by the latest development in the Ninja case. He’d spent several hours at the police station, arguing with the chief detective about the risks of Officer Toronto’s undercover assignment—to no avail.
It had been three months without any leads. The investigators were desperate for a break.
With a grunt, Hox swung open the door to the third-floor conference room that he had commandeered last fall after the murder of intern Spider Jones.
He had an assigned desk in the main office area, but he rarely used it. Whenever he worked in the newspaper’s building, he closed himself up in this conference room. Here, he was the captain of a troubled ship, surrounded by files, boxes, newspaper clippings, and other various documents related to the Knitting Needle Ninja.
Everything the reporter had gathered about the most recent episode was piled in the center of a long wooden table.
Alberta’s murder on the Baron’s yacht had generated a stir in the local press. Once the signature knifed knitting needles had been spotted, there had been no doubt as to the murderer’s identity. Despite a thorough search of the massive boat, the Ninja had eluded capture.
Alberta’s beaming smile had been plastered across every news outlet. Word had quickly spread, generating gruesome headlines.
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