“Actually, it is, but that’s not my primary concern. If he’s someone you suspect of being involved in your friend’s death, your actions could be very dangerous.”
Did this mean he was taking my claims seriously? “Thank you for the warning,” I said, “but I just feel like time is running out—and I had to do something.”
“I assure you we are investigating every avenue. There’s no need for you to put yourself in jeopardy. Do you understand?” he asked with concern.
“Yes.”
“Very good.” Seemingly satisfied, he listened as I told him whatever I could remember about the papers I’d seen and gave him the address on Grant Avenue.
“You’ll investigate that address, won’t you?” He didn’t answer. I asked again.
“If we think that it has a bearing on the case, yes, certainly.” He urged me again to be careful and promised to be in touch if he had any news.
I went back to the garden and started deadheading roses furiously, snapping off spent flowers with my bare hands until a thorn plunged deep into my thumb. “Shit!” I went into the kitchen to rinse off the blood. Peter was making another pot of coffee.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“Hernandez,” I grumbled. “He’s not taking anything I say seriously.”
“Honey, he seems very capable. Why don’t you leave it all to him?”
“Peter, he didn’t care about what I . . . what Julien found in Marcel’s hotel room.” I’d caught myself just in time. I was pretty sure that Peter would not approve of my sneaking into Marcel’s room. “There was stuff about Etienne’s business. Julien was hesitant to phone Hernandez about what he found, so I did.” I noticed that lying was becoming increasingly easy. “But he’s not listening!”
Peter sighed, then said, “Look, how about we go away for a few days, since the shop is closed anyway? We’ll drive up the coast to that B and B you like.”
“Peter, the funeral is in two days!”
“After the funeral, then?” He put his arms around me. “It will do you good to get away.”
“OK. Maybe. Let me think about it.”
He kissed my forehead and left the kitchen. The last thing I wanted to do was leave town right now, but Peter was being so considerate. I had to stop snapping at him.
I pulled into the familiar circular driveway in Ross. Thalia’s convertible sat in the open garage. For a brief instant I felt a pang of anticipation at seeing her. Then I remembered. Thalia was gone. Luc answered the door. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Good. Are you OK?”
He nodded. “Garrett’s not back yet. Come have some coffee. And that basil smells divine.”
I set out ingredients on the kitchen counter: basil, salad greens, and tomatoes, plus pine nuts, a head of garlic, a box of tagliatelle pasta, a hunk of parmesan, two lemons, and a bottle of Montepulciano, my favorite Italian wine. “I didn’t bring olive oil,” I said. “I’m sure there’s plenty here.”
He came over to inspect. “Ooh la la. Sweet basil and Thai basil.”
I smiled. “I couldn’t decide which one to use for the pesto, so I brought both.”
He put the stems of basil in a glass of cold water to stay fresh, then poured the coffee and set the cups on a tray along with spoons, cream, and sugar. I followed him into the breakfast room off the kitchen. Luc stirred sugar into his black coffee and said, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m worried about Garrett.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Did he tell you about the gun?” Luc asked.
At my look of surprise, Luc explained that the police had asked if Garrett owned a gun when they came to the house after the murder. “Of course, they must have already known,” Luc said, “since it was registered. Anyway, they asked to see it. Garrett went to get the box from his desk drawer—and it was empty.”
“Oh no.”
“Garrett told them he never locked the door to the study, since there were no kids in the house. They seemed dubious that someone had stolen it.”
I wondered if Marcel had pilfered the gun at the party. It would have been easy for him to disappear for a while and snoop. In fact, I’d seen him coming downstairs from the second floor.
“Yeah, it doesn’t look good,” Luc continued. “Especially since it was the same sort of gun that my sister was shot with. A 9mm Glock. Although that doesn’t mean anything,” Luc said, trying to look optimistic. “It’s a common sort of gun among you Americans, I’m told.”
I bristled. Is that how the rest of the world saw us? As a bunch of gun-toting crazies? This wasn’t the Wild West anymore. “Their house was burglarized a few years ago,” I said stiffly. “I’m sure that’s why Garrett had the gun.”
Luc shrugged. “Anyway, the next day was worse. Garrett was called in to the police to explain why he withdrew ten thousand dollars in cash two days before the murder.”
“That’s a big chunk of money! What did he tell them?”
“Just that it was a personal matter. He refused to say what it was for.” Luc shook his head. “He told me it was none of their business. It’s almost like he’s daring them to arrest him. Seems very foolish to me.”
“He’s not thinking clearly. I’ll talk to him over dinner.”
Garrett got home at around four thirty and immediately poured himself a scotch. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Thanks so much for coming, Rae. It’s been lonely around here without Thalia,” he confessed. “Not that Luc hasn’t been a tremendous help,” he added quickly. “We wrote the obituary for the newspaper together.”
Garrett and I spent about a half hour discussing details of the funeral: flowers, catering for a reception back at the house, accommodations for out-of-town guests. I took copious notes as we talked. “OK, I’ll make all the arrangements,” I told him. “You go relax until dinner’s ready.”
“Thanks, Rae. I think I’ll go lie down. Oh, will Peter be joining us for dinner?”
“No, he’s got some work to do.” Which was true. But I hadn’t exactly invited him.
As Garrett was heading upstairs, he turned and said, “Oh, damn, I still haven’t paid the twins who did the valet parking. I got the cash out for them days ago.”
“I can do it,” I offered. “Where do they live?” This would give me a chance to ask them if they’d happened to see anyone leave a note on Thalia’s windshield.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? They live just a few blocks away. They’ve worked for us before when we’ve had big parties. Nice kids.” He pulled out his wallet and started peeling off bills.
I pocketed the cash, scribbled down the address, and promised to stop by their house on my way home. Then I went into the kitchen to start the pesto. Luc had rolled up the sleeves of his blue chambray shirt and was washing dishes. As I chopped garlic, I found myself stealing surreptitious looks at his muscular, tanned forearms working in the suds.
“I’ll make the salad,” Luc offered. He began rinsing the greens I brought. “Lovely,” he said, admiring them. I told myself that the pleasure I felt at this praise was because he was a professional grower admiring my crop. His arms had nothing to do with it.
About forty-five minutes later, we sat down to dinner in the dining room, the three of us clustered at one end of the long table. Luc ate heartily, while Garrett picked at his food despite saying it was delicious. Finally, he brought up the subject I’d been wondering how to broach. “The San Francisco police seem to think I murdered my wife,” he said, going to the bar for a refill of his scotch. Luc and I made appropriately scoffing noises and said how ridiculous that notion was.
Garrett sat back down and told me about the missing gun. “I didn’t keep the drawer locked—after all, it’s not like we had kids in the house. So anyone could have slipped upstairs and gone into my office. There were quite a few people at that party that I’d never met before. Really, it could have been anyone.” Like Marcel, I thought, but didn’t say so.
“Problem is,
” Garrett said, beginning to slur his words ever so slightly. “Problem is, my alibi is not solid. Not like Luc here, who was talking to our neighbor at five minutes to eight, so he couldn’t have gotten to the city in time to kill Thalia. No, my alibi didn’t satisfy the cops.”
Luc and I quickly glanced at each other. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“I was at a friend’s house from six to nine thirty—except when I went to pick up takeout Chinese food.”
“So what?”
“His house is on California Street. And I went to Five Happiness on Clement and Sixth Avenue. I have a receipt,” he added petulantly. He swallowed more scotch. “That bastard Warren kept harping on why I chose that restaurant. ‘So you just got a sudden urge for kung pao chicken right around the time your wife was being shot,’ he said. Smug son of a bitch. I always go to that place. They know me. Warren says it was close enough that I could have driven to the park, shot Thalia, and come back to my friend’s house without being gone very long.”
Again, Luc and I made appropriate noises of disbelief.
“The autopsy put the time of death between six and ten. But from Thalia’s phone calls to you, they were able to narrow it even more.” Garrett shook his head sadly. “I understand the good-cop, bad-cop technique. But that doesn’t make it any easier to take.”
“Garrett, maybe you should tell them what the money was for,” I suggested.
A dull red flush spread from his jaw up to his cheeks. “Who told you about that?” he demanded angrily.
“I did,” Luc quickly said. “Sorry if it was supposed to be confidential.”
“Damn right it was. Rae, forget you ever heard anything about that.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, a bit unsteadily. “I’m going upstairs.” He stopped in the archway and turned toward us. “Thanks for dinner.”
I cleared the table and Luc started on the dishes. “I’m so sorry that Garrett snapped at you,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was such a sensitive subject. Since he told me about it, it never dawned on me that he’d keep it from you. After all, he barely knows me.”
I assured him there was no need to apologize. “But if they think Garrett hired someone to kill Thalia, then what’s all that about him going to the park himself to do it?”
Luc shrugged. “Maybe they think he was going to pay someone, then decided to do it himself. Who knows?” When the dishes were all put away, I gathered up my things and Luc walked me to the door. “Let me know if you need any help with funeral arrangements,” he said. I promised I would.
CHAPTER 10
I found the twins’ low-rise apartment building without too much trouble. Ringing the bell of Unit 3A set off furious barking from within. A pretty forty-something woman answered. “Can I help you?” she asked, peering out from a barely opened door.
I introduced myself and explained that I was there to drop off Garrett’s payment to the boys.
“Oh, come in, come in,” she said. As soon as the door opened wider, an overweight bulldog waddled out and began growling at me. “Denise! Stop that, Denise!” the woman scolded, to no effect whatsoever. “I’m Margaret,” she told me, waving me into the living room. “Have a seat.” She gestured toward the couch. I sat down, and Denise stood at my feet, glaring at me balefully.
“I’m so, so sorry about Thalia,” Margaret said. “She was such a lovely person. I know her and Garrett from our church. The boys did odd jobs for them sometimes.”
“Are the boys at home?”
“No, but they should be back any minute. They’re at a friend’s house watching the game. Would you like some coffee?”
I said yes, hoping that when she left the room, Denise might follow. Not a chance. The dog immediately jumped up on the couch, continuing to stare at me. A string of drool was forming in the corner of her orthodontically challenged mouth. As I shifted my position, the low growling resumed, making the drool quiver.
“Here you are,” Margaret said, coming back into the room with two cups of coffee. I reached for my cup, causing Denise to utter a warning bark. Apparently I wasn’t allowed any refreshment. Margaret sat down in the armchair and smiled at the dog. “She’s taken a liking to you. She doesn’t usually sit next to strangers.” Lucky me.
“Such a tragedy about Thalia,” Margaret said, shaking her head ruefully. “What a shame that you have to fear for your life if you go into the city at night. It’s so dangerous in Golden Gate Park with all those vagabonds lurking about.” I nodded, although it seemed to me that confronting a blackmailer was not a good idea regardless of the locale. Meanwhile, Denise continued watching my every move.
“How’s poor Garrett holding up?” Margaret asked.
“Oh, as well as you’d expect.”
“I’m going to make him a casserole tomorrow. Do you think he’d like that?”
I assured her that he would. Finally, the boys came home and introductions were made. Joshua and James thanked me for bringing the money. “Tell Mr. Holcombe we’re sorry about his wife,” Joshua said. “Yeah,” echoed James. But I could tell the finality of Thalia’s death didn’t really register with them. Nor should it. They barely knew Thalia.
“Mr. Holcombe told me you boys do a great job for him,” I said. “It must have been hard that night, with so many people arriving.”
“It wasn’t too bad,” one of them said. I’d already forgotten which twin was which. “We got to drive some super-cool cars. There was a Jaguar and three BMWs.”
“And five Porsches,” added his brother.
“Mrs. Holcombe’s car is pretty nice too,” I said.
“For sure! It’s a classic,” said twin number one.
“Did you happen to notice anyone hanging around it? I saw that the garage doors were open.”
“Oh, Mr. Holcombe left them open for us, so we could sit inside and watch TV while we waited until the guests started leaving.” His brother nodded. “We watched an awesome soccer match! Mrs. Holcombe’s brother came out to bring us food, and he watched for a while too. He said he didn’t want to go back to the party, but he had to.”
“Someone left a note for Mrs. Holcombe that night. Whoever it was left it on the windshield of her car. Any idea who that might have been?”
One of the boys shrugged and shook his head. The other said, “No, I didn’t see anyone leave a note. But it got really busy at the end. We had a lot of cars to move to let people out.”
“Do you remember anyone hanging around, asking you about Mrs. Holcombe’s convertible?”
“Yeah, a couple of people. One guy admiring it asked if I knew what year it was. And then there was someone who asked me whose car it was.”
“Oh, who was that?”
More shrugging.
“Did he happen to have a French accent?”
The boys both frowned. “I don’t think so,” one said. “Yeah, I don’t really remember,” said the other.
“Do you remember what kind of car he came in?”
They both thought for a moment. “I think a Taurus,” said twin two. He turned to his brother. “Or were they the ones in the Hyundai?”
“They? Did he arrive with a group?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
That’s all I was able to get. Margaret came back in the room and instructed the boys to take the dog out. I stood up to go, too. As I brushed past Denise, she tried to sink her teeth into my left ankle. Fortunately, I had boots on under my jeans, and I only felt a pinch. None of the family appeared to notice.
CHAPTER 11
Jasper joyously pursued a golden retriever who had a stick in her mouth, the two dogs splashing through the shallow waves and sending up sprays of water with their tails. Sonia and I sat nearby in the sand, letting the tide lap at our toes. I realized I had gone an entire hour and a half without thinking of Thalia—a first in the four days since the murder.
The sun, the breeze, the spicy sent of the nasturtiums trailing down the hillside behind me all enveloped me in a soothing, fa
miliar cocoon.
“How’d you find this spot?” Sonia asked. “I didn’t even know it was here.”
“Someone at the dog park told me about it. It’s nice, isn’t it?”
The little beach—which had no name as far as I knew—was at the bottom of a flight of wood stairs. Up above was a quiet street lined with quaint older homes. An idyllic setting, with a view of the water and the Richmond Bridge spanning the bay. The only thing that kept real estate prices in check in this cozy hamlet at the eastern edge of Marin was the fact that its main street dead-ended at the gates of San Quentin prison. The fortress-like building held the largest collection of death-row inmates in the country. On the rare occasions that an execution was scheduled, the streets filled with news cameras and death-penalty protesters engaged in candlelight vigils.
“Do you think the death penalty is a deterrent?” I asked.
“Maybe, if you’re planning to kill someone,” Sonia mused. “But if you do it in the heat of the moment, no. You’re not thinking about the consequences. Of course, murderers who plan it don’t expect to be caught. They think they’re too clever for that. Otherwise they wouldn’t do it. Let’s face it. If you believed you could get away with it, don’t you have someone you’d like to kill? I know I do.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing Marcel suffer a painful death.”
Jasper and his pal had demolished the stick by this time, and he was getting bored. He trotted over and graced us with a big shake of sandy wetness. We jumped up laughing. “Let’s go this way,” I said. At the far end of the beach were more stairs that climbed to a grassy knoll. We stood there awhile, admiring the view all the way from Mount Diablo in the east to Mount Tam, which loomed to the west. We had a bird’s-eye view of the San Quentin prison yard, encircled in barbed wire and punctuated with a watchtower and searchlights.
“I think the way to do it is to make it look like an accident,” Sonia continued. “Say you want to bump off your nasty, rich husband. You go cross-country skiing out in the backcountry, you get him alone at the edge of a cliff, and wham. Done.”
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