The Gossiping Gourmet: (A Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 1) (Murder in Marin Mysteries)

by Martin Brown

  As she waited a few moments for him to work his magic, her eye caught a face she had seen a couple of times before, but she had difficulty placing. When Alberto put her drink down in front of her and asked with a warm smile if she needed anything else, Holly said, “Yeah the name of that cute guy over there, blue shirt, blond hair.”

  “Oh, that’s Chris Harding, the new guy with the Sausalito police.”

  She smiled. “Do you think I can get him to lock me up?”

  “I guess that depends on how badly you’re going to behave,” Alberto responded with a laugh and a wink. He hurried off to serve another customer.

  Holly absentmindedly stirred her martini. Where had she seen Hottie Harding? Oh yes, she’d met him at the reception after Bradley’s memorial service.

  Eventually, Holly caught Chris’s eye. They exchanged smiles and an air toast.

  A few minutes later, Chris walked over to her side of the bar and stuck out his hand.

  He had a firm, but deliberately gentle, grip. Holly liked it, along with the rest of him.

  “I feel certain we’ve met before” Chris said.

  “Well, Sausalito is such a small town that—”

  “Wait a minute; I know where…it was at the reception after Warren Bradley’s service” He shrugged at the realization. “Sad day. He was such a talented guy.”

  “Yes, so they say.” Holly took it as a good sign that she didn’t have to remind him exactly where and when they first met.

  After a few minutes of What do you do small talk, Holly’s mating mind clicked into gear. It confirmed her initial interest. Chris was probably mid-thirties, which made him a little younger—or a little older than her, depending on whether she lied about her age—check. He had great features: blond hair, blue eyes, handsome face, and adorable dimples whenever he smiled—double check. And clearly, he had an impressive build underneath that soft blue cotton shirt he was wearing.

  Yep, he was a hottie trifecta.

  Chris told her why he had made the move up from San Jose, and Holly told him that she worked at the Standard.

  “I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t read it, I’m sorry to say.”

  It was after Holly’s second martini, and Chris’s third Jack Daniels and soda that he leaned into her and said, “You know, my place would be a lot quieter than here.”

  Holly thought for a moment, and then said with a smile, “So would my place.”

  “Where is it?” Chris asked, as he moved in close to her ear so he could be heard.

  “I’m on Caledonia Street, but I’ve got nosy neighbors.”

  “I’m renting a small guest cottage behind a house on Easterby, that’s just a couple of minutes away—and from what I hear, the local police are always on the lookout for DUI’s.”

  “I guess you’d know, huh?” Holly snickered, as she gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

  She grabbed her purse. He was right on her heels, and they were out the door.

  Saturday was another beautiful day, as most are during Northern California’s dry season. Shortly before one, as Rob and Karin were finally getting together what they and the kids would need for their overnight in Calistoga, the phone rang. It was Eddie.

  “Hey man,” Rob said. “You sound a little tired.”

  “Long night. But I’m at my departure gate, in Phoenix.”

  “Wow! That was fast.”

  “Saw all the folks I needed to see, first at NAU, and then Flagstaff PD, and even social services. The late Mr. Benedict had a very interesting back story.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I will, when you pick me up outside of Oakland airport.”

  “But Karin and I are going with the kids up to her folks place in Calistoga for the night,” Rob explained. Still, he was desperate to hear about Eddie’s trip.

  “Hate to spoil your plans, pal, but we’re going to make an arrest—probably Sunday night, or early Monday—of a suspect in the killing of Warren Bradley. I think that after all the work you’ve done on this story, you’ll certainly want be there at the end.”

  “What time do you land?”

  “Should be on the ground by three-forty-five. Southwest flight eight-oh-two.”

  “Sure, okay. I’ll be on my cell. Just ring me when you’re heading out of the terminal, and I’ll pick you up on the curb at arrivals.”

  “Okay, see you there, bro.”

  “Eddie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Want to give me a hint?”

  “Rob, there’s no way I’m going to miss the expression on your face when you hear all this. No way!”

  Chris and Holly slept in until just past noon. They kissed, first gently, and then passionately. Chris suggested that they go out for breakfast, but Holly insisted that he let her cook for him.

  He agreed, and she dressed quickly and then took a brisk fifteen-minute walk down to the Marinship, and into Mollie Stone’s Grocery, where she bought eggs, sausage, white cheddar cheese, and a Rustic Bakery sourdough polenta bread. She wasn’t sure about Chris’s taste in coffee, so she went for the top of the line, picking up a small bag of Kona coffee beans.

  On her way back to Chris’s snug cottage, she walked close to the waterfront. Whereas, in the 1940s, it was teeming with ship builders readying America for its war in the Pacific, now it was a quiet home for sailboats and houseboats.

  She stopped herself from thinking how happy it made her to wake up next to a handsome man who seemed to adore her.

  Holly loved his little place, and she was impressed at how neat he kept it. Chris was just stepping out of the shower when she walked back in. Wearing nothing but a rather small yellow towel that was wrapped tightly around his waist, in the bright light of day, Holly could more fully appreciate the sculpted quality of his physique: flat abs, broad shoulders, and obviously powerful arms.

  She put down her groceries and wrapped her arms around her new-found love. “Where have you been all my life?”

  “I was thinking the very same thing about you.”

  “To hell with breakfast,” Holly said, as the two held each other, kissed passionately, and fell back into bed.

  Karin insisted that Rob not feel guilty about the last-minute change of plans. “Don’t worry; I’ll take the kids up to Calistoga. They had their hearts set on seeing Grandpop and Nanna, and I don’t want to disappoint them. Besides, it sounds as if you’re going to be busy working on your story for most of the weekend.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. What a break for us if Eddie has cracked the case and we’re the first with the whole story—it’s going to put the Standard in a whole different light. The dailies will all be quoting our reporting for once, instead of the other way around.”

  She kissed Rob on the cheek. “I’m excited for you, hon. And, frankly, it would be nice to see an end to the whole town’s hysteria over the guilt or innocence of Grant Randolph. I think the Randolphs will be the happiest when all this craziness comes to an end.”

  An hour later, Rob and Karin were off in two different directions. She headed up 101 for Napa County, as he drove across the Richmond Bridge, and then south, toward Oakland Airport.

  He’d waited only a few minutes in the “cell phone waiting area” when Eddie rang for pickup. Rob could not remember a time he was so excited to see someone. All he could hope was that this really was the big break.

  “Good flight?” Rob asked Eddie as he tossed his overnight bag and his briefcase on the back seat.

  “That’s not what you drove down here to ask me, Rob.”

  “Gee, you really can see right through me.”

  “Let’s go over to Francesco’s, right outside the airport off of Hegenberger. I think they open at four. I’m starved, and I could go for some nice Italian comfort food and a double Scotch.”

  “I’ve got to wait until then?”

  “It’s five minutes from here, and besides I’m not going miss the expression on your face when you hear this. Hell, I might take a snap of your puss with
my phone. I want to see if your chin can actually fall all the way to the floor.”

  “Okay, I won’t say a word until we’re seated. Hopefully, in the meantime, my head won’t explode.”

  “Shit, I hope not; you’re driving.”

  Eddie slid into one of the restaurant’s leather upholstered black banquettes, and he let out a sigh of relief. “I feel like I’ve been going nonstop for thirty-six hours.”

  “Sounds like it was worth it, though.”

  “That’s an understatement.” With a tired smile, Eddie waved down a waitress for, “A Johnnie Walker Black, on the rocks. Make it a double,” he told her.

  “Having the good stuff, I see.”

  “I deserve it.”

  Rob waited impatiently, sipping on water, while Eddie gulped his scotch and worked his way through a plate of lasagna.

  When, finally, he had only a few bites left, Rob, who came only with an appetite for information, muttered, “Okay, give! I’ve been holding my breath for hours by now—no, make that days.”

  Eddie nodded, and put down his fork. “I met with two of Benedict’s co-workers, the only two who are still there on staff.” He paused. Benedict was, shall we say, eased out of his position at NAU. There was quite a stink about that. He was living with a woman named Elaine Hayden. They met at NAU; she worked in student services.”

  “And?”

  “She died, just a year after Benedict moved in with her. It was a violent death, and the Coconino County prosecutor’s office tried him for murder one, but based on the evidence, it was perhaps an overreach. They probably would have had a better shot with the jury if they had gone for a manslaughter conviction.”

  “How did she die?”

  “Broken neck. Fell down a flight of steps in her own house.”

  “Wow.”

  “He claimed it was an accident. The Flagstaff police and the county sheriff’s department had reason to believe it was a homicide”

  “How about the boys in the pictures?”

  “Turns out that the older one in those two pictures was Hayden’s son, from a previous marriage. The younger one was a foster kid who was placed in the house at the age of six, around eighteen months before all this shit came down.”

  “What made the cops think it was anything more than an accident in the first place?”

  “Just two weeks before she died, Elaine Hayden went to child welfare services, claiming that Benedict had molested both of her boys. Of course, Benedict denied everything. He insisted that both boys fabricated the stories because he was strict with them, and it was their way of driving a wedge between him and their mother.”

  “Then what?”

  “Child services brought in therapists to talk with both the boys. The older one, James, who had just turned twelve at the time, said he had been molested on and off during the time Benedict lived in the home. But Topher, the youngest, was age seven; he denied ever having been touched by Benedict. Interestingly enough, however, it was the younger one who told investigators that the man we knew as Bradley had pushed Hayden down the steps, but the defense shredded the kid’s story on the witness stand.”

  “What about the older brother?”

  “Bad luck for the prosecutor, great luck for Benedict on that score. James was at a sleepover the night of the incident. He would likely have been a much more convincing witness then the little guy. He did testify, quite credibly from what I could tell, about the molestation, but getting a murder one conviction on Benedict, based on a seven year old foster kid who came from a very challenging background, wow, that’s a tall order to pull off.”

  “What a sad story,” Rob said.

  “The jury deliberated for four days, and then voted for acquittal. If it had been a hung jury, he could have been tried again. Unfortunately, the prosecutor went for all the marbles, and walked away with nothing. But, despite being acquitted, Benedict lost his job.”

  “Having been acquitted, couldn’t he have sued NAU?”

  “Yes. But I guess in this case, he felt as if he just beat a hangman’s noose, and thought it was a better idea to thank God he was a free man and just get the hell out of town and start his life over again.”

  “Where did he go after Flagstaff?”

  “Well, one of the guys in the sheriff’s office took a particular liking to the boys, both of whom were placed in separate homes after Hayden’s death. Like a lot of small counties, Coconino has limited resources, but the sheriff did his best to keep tabs on Benedict. The last he heard of Benedict, he was living a thousand miles east of Flagstaff, in Tulsa, Oklahoma. That’s where I tracked down the name change he filed to go from Benedict to Bradley.”

  “Doesn’t law enforcement keep a national database for child predators?”

  “Yes, but remember, he was acquitted of the murder. As for the molestation accusation, well, somehow, the new name became his loophole.” Eddie sighed. “At least the kids were placed far away from Benedict, regardless of what he did or did not do. Things calmed down, new cases started up, and old cases began to fade into the background. Flagstaff was glad to be rid of William Benedict. Most of them were not overly concerned about where he went, as long as it was far away from them.”

  “So, any idea what happened to the kids?”

  “Hayden’s son, the one who was twelve at the time of her death, later died of a drug overdose. Poor kid. From what I read in his file, he had a pretty miserable life after his mom died. Went to live with grandparents, but got in with a bad crowd. I would love to have spoken with him about William Benedict before he became the Warren Bradley we knew.”

  “What about the younger boy?”

  “Poor kid bounced from one foster home to another. By fifteen, he caught a break. He wound up in San Jose with a really good family, and stopped acting out. He went to San Jose State, studied criminology, and his foster care dad got him a position with the San Jose police department. Could have been a happy ending, but…”

  “But what?”

  “You don’t know the name of that troubled little seven year old boy. Remember the little Topher who got chewed up by Benedict’s defense team? He decided to take the last name of his San Jose family, Harding. He now goes by his given name, Christopher, you know, Chris, as in Chris Harding.”

  “What?” Rob, realizing how loud he had said that single word, grimaced. Fortunately, before five in the afternoon, Francesco’s was still pretty quiet.

  “The new kid with the Sausalito PD? You mean, Chris?”

  “Si senor, one in the same, Patrol Officer Chris”—he emphasized the last name—“Harding.”

  For a few moments, Rob was simply speechless. He mumbled in a low voice, “Oh, my God,” as he flagged down their waitress and ordered a vodka tonic. “This is just incredible. I don’t suppose there’s any chance this is an enormous coincidence.”

  “Anything is possible, Rob. You might get a call tomorrow from the Pope saying he just can’t keep the church running without your help, but I doubt that’s going to happen.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  “Chris will most likely be arrested Monday morning before going to work. A request for an arrest warrant has to be presented to one of the county’s judges, and then I’ll have to contact SPD, so that two officers can accompany me while I make the arrest, and at least one of those officers will ride along with Harding while he is processed through, and into, the county jail to await an arraignment hearing.

  “Instead of going to the suspect’s home, I could go to Sausalito police headquarters, but that might get very messy. That many poorly trained officers standing around with firearms, yikes! I’d hate to see the situation turn into a circular firing squad.”

  Rob frowned. “Won’t going through channels, as you put it, take time? What if he gets wind of the arrest? He’s got a lot of buddies on the force, and none of them can keep their damn mouths shut. He may vanish.”

  “In the weeks since Bradley’s killing, he has gone about his norma
l everyday life. My guess is that he thinks he got away with this, particularly with about one third of the population demanding Randolph’s arrest, and the Sausalito PD maintaining a twenty-four-hour watch on the Randolph house. If Harding was going to run, he would have done so by now.”

  “I guess you’re right about that,” Rob said, as he felt his head spinning with how much he had learned in a very short time.

  “Oh, I don’t want to forget to mention,” Eddie said, “you and I have another run to make early tomorrow.”

  “Where now?”

  “Mr. Bradley’s cottage, where else? I think there is one little gem we might have missed.”

  “What’s that, Eddie?”

  “Oh, come on, Rob. You don’t want me to take all the surprise out of it, do you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Before dropping Eddie off at his house the two agreed to meet the next day at that same ungodly hour: five-thirty in the morning. Rob ached at the thought of missing a chance to sleep in, with the family out of the house and Karin not pushing him to get the kids ready for church. But the excitement of closing the Bradley case—not to mention the anticipated embarrassment all of this news would soon cause Alma Samuels and the Ladies of Liberty—was more than enough to compensate Rob for a few lost hours of sleep.

  The moment Rob was alone, visions of headlines danced in his head. “The Secret Life of Warren Bradley,” was his favorite one for now, but there was plenty of time to tweak that. Sure, if the arrest occurred on Monday, the dailies would beat him by a day with that small part of the story.

  But the story of William Benedict was all his.

  Rob got into bed by ten, and set his alarm for five. He drifted off as excited as a kid the night before the last day of school.

  Holly was amazed. She had sailed through all of Saturday in a cloud of bliss. Chris was not only a gentleman; he was tender, considerate, and attentive to her needs.

  Saturday night, the newly minted twosome decided to leave their love nest to go to the movies, and afterward to Marin Joe’s, a famous spot for great burgers and great drinks. The two of them kissed and held hands while sharing the same side of the booth.