Courting Disaster

by Joanne Pence

  The little slut had no money for a nice hospital like Marin General. That meant someone was helping her. Who could it be but that slick character she’d been mooning over? The one with the fifty-dollar haircut and casual clothes that cost more than any suit he’d ever owned.

  He couldn’t remember ever hearing what the guy’s name was, but the woman with him shouldn’t be so hard to track down—the onetime restaurant reviewer, Angie Amalfi.

  “I’d like to speak to you about an acquaintance, Miss Janice Schullmann, who is also known as Elizabeth Schull,” Paavo said, showing his badge to a middle-aged woman working nights in the appliance sales department at Sears. “You were listed on a job application as a reference of hers.”

  “I haven’t seen her in years,” Lorraine Santiago said.

  “This was an old application. Is there someplace private we can talk?”

  Santiago told her co-worker she needed five minutes and led Paavo outside. She immediately pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. “What’s this about?”

  “I’ve got a complaint about her that I’m investigating,” he said.

  Santiago lit a cigarette. “Not a man, is it?”

  “It is.”

  “Look, I’m not her friend, all right?” She blew a long stream of smoke. “We hung out together for a little while when we both worked shoes at Mervyn’s. She was always falling in love with guys who weren’t interested. That’s as much as I know.”

  “You say the men weren’t interested, but I’ve heard she’s an attractive, intelligent woman. What was the problem?”

  Santiago puffed a couple more times before answering, as if trying to decide how much to tell him. “From what I saw, the guys she picked were always taken. You know, married, or engaged. She’d throw herself at them, calling, practically stalking. Then they’d get mad, and she’d play the victim.”

  “This has been a pattern, you say?”

  “For as long as I hung out with her.”

  “Was she ever dangerous?” Paavo asked.

  Santiago looked wary, and then almost relieved by the question. “It’s funny you should ask,” she said. “I’ve always wondered about that myself. Nothing that can be proved, if that’s what you mean. I will say, though, some of the women these men have loved have had weird accidents. And once there was even a fire. I can’t say Elizabeth set it, and I hope she didn’t, but it was always in the back of my mind.” She dropped the half-smoked cigarette and crushed it. “Like I said, I don’t see her anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “She started calling my husband when I wasn’t home. Soon after, I found a slow leak in a tire—one that would have probably gone flat when I was out on the freeway at night, and that can be pretty dangerous. Luckily, I noticed the tire looked odd before I left work and went over to the tire center to ask if they thought there was a problem. They found a weird hole in the side—not like a rock or nail might have caused, but one from an ice pick or something sharp, hammered in, then pulled back out. It scared me. I transferred to another department at work, we changed our phone number and sent back all her letters as undeliverable. After a while the letters stopped coming. I always supposed she found someone else to torment.”

  “Now, remember,” Angie told Connie as she drove from Connie’s shop to the Athina, “we don’t say a word about Stan or Hannah, but we talk to Tyler and try to figure out what the situation is between him and Hannah.”

  “How interesting,” Connie said. “I’m pretty good at figuring out people—their emotions, their deep, dark secrets—so you can count on me, Angie. Mum’s the word. I can’t wait to learn something about this bizarre Hannah myself.”

  After Angie stopped biting her tongue, she had to agree. “She’s a mystery, all right. And what’s even more curious, I’ve never seen Stan so quick to offer his help or mine to anyone.”

  “How long will she stay at his place?” Connie asked.

  “I have no idea. Neither does Stan. Not that it matters. He’s bewitched.”

  “All I can say is Stan had better watch out,” Connie warned. “If Hannah’s had to hide the baby from her father, that must mean he still cares about her and the child. To get between a man and his child isn’t smart.”

  That might have been the case once, Angie thought, but these days it seemed a lot of fathers couldn’t care less about their illegitimate children.

  They reached the Athina Restaurant.

  “You’ve been eating here?” Connie sounded shocked. They stood on the shabby side street that led to the restaurant and the wharf beyond. The area was bad enough, the outside of the restaurant worse.

  “The food is good,” Angie said. When they entered, Tyler Marsh was on duty. As soon as she saw him, Angie pinched Connie’s arm as a signal that he was “the one.” Connie squawked. Angie had been a little too enthusiastic.

  Tyler gave them menus and Angie introduced him to her friend.

  “How nice to meet you,” he said. “I hope you enjoy the restaurant as much as Angie and her fiancé.”

  “My—” Angie was momentarily confused until she realized his mistake. “My goodness! You think Stan is my fiancé? We’re just friends. Nothing more. My fiancé is a Homicide inspector.”

  “A Homicide inspector.” Marsh took a moment to absorb that. “I see. Very interesting. Maybe we should ask him to look into something here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our kitchen helper hasn’t shown up for a couple of days and no one can reach her. We’re all doing double duty.”

  Angie caught Connie’s eye. “Do you think something bad has happened to her?”

  “The others think so, but I don’t.” Marsh frowned. “I think she had her baby and took off, that she’s planning to live off welfare and not bother to work anymore.” With a grimace, he walked away to give them time to study their menus.

  “He means Hannah, doesn’t he?” Connie whispered.

  Marsh abruptly turned and stared at them. It was probably a coincidence, but Angie told Connie to lower her voice even more.

  When Marsh came back to take their orders of bourekia, meat and vegetables rolled in phyllo, and spanakopita, a spinach and egg pie, he began flirting with Connie, who subtly indicated she wasn’t interested. To Angie’s eye, the fellow wasn’t even good-looking.

  Still, he was gregarious, with a good sense of humor, and not in the least put off by Connie’s rebuff. Angie soon got sucked into their conversation, and even found herself telling him about her upcoming stint on public TV. As they talked, the cook stood in the kitchen doorway, watching and listening.

  Tyler then asked if Connie was Stan’s girlfriend, and they explained that he was simply Angie’s neighbor. He said the cook, Michael Zeno—he then gave a nod toward the fellow in the doorway, who turned and reentered the kitchen—had commented on the way the missing waitress had been caught staring at Stan a few times, and that he’d also seen the two talking out on the dock. He asked if Angie or Connie knew anything about that.

  Angie said no, and Connie said nothing until Angie kicked her under the table. She yelped, then murmured, “Me neither.”

  “Tell me about this waitress.” Angie hoped she’d been sly and subtle about inserting Hannah into the conversation. “Is she married? Do you know the baby’s father?”

  Just then, an attractive woman with black hair and an olive complexion stormed from the kitchen. “You’re taking your sweet time!” She glared at Angie and Connie, then grabbed Tyler’s arm and spun him toward her. She wasn’t a large woman, but she was obviously strong—and very angry. “How long does it take to write down an order? I was talking to you!”

  He jerked his arm away. With a quick glance at Angie and Connie, he tried to keep his voice low as he turned her toward the kitchen. “Olympia, I’m working.”

  “The hell with your work!” she screamed. “I know all about it, and I don’t care. I’m tired of your lies.”

  He took her arm and tried to lead her
into the kitchen. “Go inside!”

  She shoved him away, causing him to topple backward. A table stopped him, but made a loud, clattering sound as it knocked against the chairs around it. “You can go to hell!” she cried. “I’ll see you there. Believe me—I will see you there!”

  With that, head high, she left the restaurant.

  Tyler straightened himself out and walked to Connie and Angie.

  “Old girlfriend?” Angie asked, wide-eyed and curious.

  “She’s the daughter of Eleni Pappas, a waitress here. Have you met Eleni yet?” Tyler asked, clearly trying to slough off the ugly scene. “Very nice woman. Usually works nights. Her daughter is a little…emotional.”

  “She seemed quite smitten with you, for all her harsh words,” Angie said, pressing.

  “Maybe so. I don’t understand women. I never will.”

  He walked away. Angie never did get her questions about Hannah answered.

  Chapter 12

  At nine the next morning, while Angie pondered ways to get her mother to tell her about her party, she heard a knock on the door. It was Stan with Kaitlyn. Behind him was a man with a big box on a dolly.

  “A crib, Angie?” Stan cried. He was unshaven, with bags under his eyes, and wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Baby drool was on the sweatshirt. “I don’t have room for a crib. I’ve got my Bowflex in the bedroom, and that diaper-changing thing I spent all day yesterday putting together.”

  “Put the Bowflex in the living room,” Angie suggested.

  “Do you know how big it is? And how crowded my living room is already with baby stuff?”

  “The baby needs a crib. That one is beautiful.” She’d been out with Paavo the night before and they passed a baby goods store. She went in to pick up a few more things for Kaitlyn, and when she saw the crib, she bought it. “Where’s Hannah?”

  “Since we were up at four-thirty this morning with Kaitlyn, she’s gone back to bed. I should, too, but the baby started fussing, so I picked her up for Hannah to be able to sleep, and then this guy came knocking at the door.”

  “Can I put this down while you two chitchat?” the deliveryman snarled.

  “The crib will have wheels, right?” Angie asked. When the deliveryman nodded, she had him wait while she went to the linen closet and got sheets to protect her carpets, then told him to set it up in her living room, and they’d move it in place later.

  Soon the deliveryman was cutting the box open.

  “Let’s go into the den,” Angie said to Stan.

  “How about the kitchen? I’m starving. Do you have anything to eat?”

  Was he joking? “You bought groceries. Didn’t you and Hannah eat?”

  “I made us TV dinners last night,” he said. “But they weren’t very filling.”

  Angie took the baby from him. Kaitlyn immediately started crying. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Angie cooed.

  “Let me take her,” Stan said wearily. As soon as he took the baby back, she quieted. “She started this yesterday. I don’t get it.” Stan dropped onto a chair, then slid down as if he didn’t have the strength to sit upright. “I can’t get more than three hours’ sleep at a stretch before the baby wakes up, hungry and crying. I had no idea babies were so much work! The days and nights run together. I’m almost as tired as Hannah. I even wished I could go to work, just to get away from all this. So…what do you have to eat?”

  “Before you worry about food, the baby needs her diaper changed,” Angie said.

  “I know.” Stan rubbed his nose. “Nobody ever told me babies were such smelly little creatures, either. I didn’t want to wake up Hannah, though. I’ll just keep her downwind while I eat. Want me to check out the fridge? See what’s good in there?”

  “You can’t leave the baby that way,” Angie exclaimed. “You’ll need to change her.”

  He looked stricken. “Me? I’ve never changed a diaper in my life!”

  “Go get one and I’ll show you how to do it.” With all her sisters’ children, she’d had lots of experience.

  Knowing he’d get no peace until he complied, he ran back to his apartment. When he returned, Kaitlyn in one arm, a box of Pampers in the other, Angie sent him back for Desitin, baby powder, and baby wipes.

  The deliveryman had pieces of the crib spread all over the living room.

  “You’ve seen Hannah do this, haven’t you?” Angie asked as she placed a bath towel on the kitchen table.

  Stan shook his head. “I’ve always left the room. There are some things I really don’t want to get up close and personal over.”

  Angie put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe she didn’t make you learn.”

  “Maybe she’s not bossy,” he murmured under his breath, laying the baby on the towel.

  Her head snapped his way. “What did you just say?”

  “Maybe she’s too fussy. I really don’t want to do this, Angie.”

  “Nonsense.” Angie pointed out the sticky tabs on the sides.

  Using just his thumb and forefingers, he tried to lift off the Pampers tabs. They were stuck better than Krazy Glue. He pulled, tugged, and finally had to use all fingers and thumbs to grip them firmly and tear them open. Immediately he ran to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Stan!” Angie shrieked. “You can’t walk away from a baby and leave her on a tabletop like that! Once she learns to roll over, she could kill herself!”

  “I’m so sorry.” He darted back, his hands dripping. He wiped them on his sweatshirt. Luckily, the newborn hadn’t gone anywhere. Gingerly, he lifted off the diaper. “Eeooouuuww!” he howled.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” Angie cried. “It’s just baby poop.”

  “It looks like mashed lima beans!”

  “Stop moaning.” She handed him a baby wipe.

  His mouth dropped. “You don’t expect me to…”

  Angie nodded.

  His eyes flitted from Angie to the baby, as if trying to decide which was scarier. He apparently decided it was Angie, because he did as she said, muttering his new favorite expression, “Ee-yew,” the entire time.

  She helped him slide the clean diaper under the baby and then, in a cloud of baby powder from his overzealous shaking of the can, she told him to fasten it with the tabs while she knotted the plastic bag with the dirty diaper.

  “I did it,” Stan said. He lifted the baby.

  The baby rose. The diaper slid right off her bent legs.

  “What’s wrong with it?” he cried. “That never happened when Hannah put it on her.”

  Angie lifted the diaper. The tabs were stuck to the very edges. It could have fit Baby King Kong. “You’ve got to tighten it around her,” Angie said.

  “I thought it came in her size!”

  “Try again.”

  “Uh-oh. Something feels warm.” He put the baby back on the table and looked at the front panel and sleeve of his shirt. They were wet. “Oh, my God!” he shrieked.

  “What is it?” Angie cried. “Stan, what’s wrong? Are you bleeding?”

  “It’s baby piss.” He held his arms straight out.

  Kaitlyn began crying. Stan almost did as well. “Now you’ve upset her,” Angie scolded.

  With finger and thumb, Stan plucked the wet parts of the shirt from his skin. “I thought she liked me!”

  “She’s probably hungry, poor kid,” Angie murmured, then glared at him. “And embarrassed about her diaper. Go get her a bottle. Hurry!”

  He ran back to his apartment. The crib was still in a thousand pieces. He needed Hannah.

  Stan returned, panting, with a bottle of formula and wearing yesterday’s shirt since it was still in the living room, albeit crumpled, and he didn’t want to rummage through his closet or dresser while Hannah was trying to sleep. He might have to think about moving his clothes out of his bedroom.

  As soon as he returned, Angie thrust the squalling baby into his arms. Kaitlyn immediately stopped crying once more.

  “She just wants you,�
� Angie said, taking the bottle.

  “I wish grown women found me half so desirable,” he murmured.

  “I know what’ll help.” Angie left the kitchen, soon to return with something that looked like a sling with straps. “I bought this for Hannah, but I think you could use it.” She adjusted the straps wide. “It’s called a Snugli. Put it on your shoulders, hook it behind your back, and it’ll hold the baby against your chest, but leave your arms free.”

  Stan gaped in horror at the bizarre contraption. “Angie, please tell me you’re joking.”

  At the same time, Rebecca Mayfield slowly cruised Fisherman’s Wharf’s Jefferson Street, avoiding jaywalking tourists and concentrating on her next action.

  Her investigation of the death of Sherlock “Shelly Farms” Farnsworth was going nowhere. She’d managed to account for most of his activities the day he was killed. A couple of people said he’d seemed distracted by something, but when they asked him what it was he refused to answer. They’d wondered if he wasn’t looking into something that might become another case for his law firm.

  The last anyone saw of him was the evening before his death, on Jefferson, heading toward Aquatic Park. He’d been dead about twelve hours before his body was discovered.

  People mentioned him being concerned about a pregnant woman, but no one knew who the woman was or what he found so worrisome about her situation. One man thought he was on his way to see her when he died, but even that fellow had no idea who she was or where she could be found.

  To Rebecca, it made no sense to canvass the wharf looking for pregnant homeless women, but she was desperate enough to consider it.

  She kept Paavo informed of her lack of success, and he seemed as puzzled as she was.

  Paavo was also in his car, but heading in the opposite direction from Rebecca. He was going to the Stonestown Mall, where Elizabeth Schull managed Amalfi Shoes. He had looked into her credit cards and found nothing of note; in fact, she either lived a sterile life or used cash for everything. Her phone records, however, contained a number of calls to the Amalfi residence and several to Angie’s. That worried him.