by Nancy Skopin
I paired the dress with taupe ankle strap sandals, and added an American Indian necklace of silver beads and turquoise stones that Bill had given to me on Valentine’s Day. I’d actually purchased the dress because it set off the necklace so perfectly. If I didn’t stop buying new clothes pretty soon I’d have to do a purge of my hanging locker and see what could be stowed in the built-in bunk drawers. My reflection seemed pleased with the results and when Bill showed up at 6:25 he was equally pleased and, shortly thereafter, I found myself in the shower again.
I arrived at the Garden Grill at 7:25 and spent a few minutes catching up with Jessica, who was acting as hostess tonight. Jessica James is five-foot-five and a hundred and twenty pounds of dynamite. She has long, slightly wavy brown hair, and an exquisite sense of fashion. Tonight she was wearing a cobalt blue and white chiffon dress that was almost translucent with a pair of blue Badgley Mischka pumps. The colors in the dress perfectly set off her dark hair and eyes.
We talked until the next patron arrived and I was escorted to my table. Jim came in moments later. I waved to get his attention. After joining me, he gave me a quick once over, taking in the strapless dress, then pecked me on the cheek and said, “You look great, Nikki.”
“Thank you, Jim. And thank you for working with me on this one.”
I’d printed out my notes from the interview with Brooke and made a copy of Stanley’s photo. I handed the pages to Jim and watched silently as he read them. Jim is just over six feet tall, with red hair and fair skin. He’s solidly built, intensely loyal, and has a wry sense of humor.
When he’d finished reading he looked up and grinned. “This might be interesting.”
I knew he was talking about Brooke’s history with men. I’d been thinking about that too. “You know what strikes me?” I said. “I understand Brooke made a decision to change the kind of guys she was seeing, but you can’t choose who you’re attracted to. There must be something a little bit bad about Stanley. Something that drew her to him. They’ve been dating for eleven months. You don’t spend that much time with someone if you’re not attracted to them.”
“Good point. Maybe he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Jessica came over to take our drink orders and I introduced her to Jim. She gave him a dazzling smile and shook his hand firmly, then told us about the specials.
Our drinks had been served and our waiter, Jaime, was taking our dinner orders when Brooke and Stanley were escorted past our table. If Brooke noticed me, she didn’t let on. Jaime saw them go by and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He collected our menus and hurried off to the kitchen.
I nudged Jim and inclined my head toward the glass-walled room where the couple was being seated. He smiled appreciatively as he looked Brooke over. Fortunately, she was going to be sitting with her back to us. Stanley was on the other side of the table, facing her, so we’d be able to observe his behavior throughout the evening.
Jaime returned from the kitchen and presented menus to Brooke and Stanley. I wondered if Brooke always ordered the same beverage and entrée to appease Stanley and his need for routine. That would be a shame. Most of the items on the Garden Grill’s menu are Jessica’s own original recipes, and each is a culinary masterpiece. I’ve often wondered how she keeps her figure. Just inhaling the tantalizing aromas in the restaurant makes my waistline expand. Maybe it’s metabolic. Jessica is so full of energy that she reminds me of a perpetual motion machine. She also has an impressive IQ, matched only by her creative brilliance in the kitchen.
Tonight I was starting with the Devils on Horseback appetizer (bacon-wrapped prunes stuffed with crunchy almond chutney), and had ordered the Prawns ‘Dublin Lawyer’ entrée, which is sautéed in Irish whiskey and cream. Just thinking about it made me salivate. Jim had requested the Grilled Salmon Fillet with White Wine and Shallots. There was a basket of cheese scones on the table, which is what the Garden Grill offers in place of a traditional basket of French bread. I was doing my best to ignore these succulent offerings, since I know they’re made with loads of butter and extra sharp cheddar, but the flaky delicacies were calling out to me. It was only a matter of time.
Jaime returned from the bar with a bottle of wine which he uncorked at Stanley and Brooke’s table. He poured a small amount into Stanley’s glass, and Stanley inhaled the bouquet, took a sip, and savored for a moment before nodding. Jaime poured half a glass for Brooke and did the same for Stanley, then set the bottle on the table after carefully wiping the neck with a white dishtowel he carried over his arm. He silently accepted their orders, collected the menus, and departed, his eyes heavenward.
Jaime Antonio Garcia is a gem. He’s been with Jessica since she opened the restaurant and I’ve been served by him countless times, so I knew him to be exceptionally patient. If Stanley got on his nerves it was not without cause.
The evening was relatively uneventful until the dishes had been cleared from Brooke and Stanley’s table, and Jaime had taken the couple’s dessert order. As he moved away from their table I saw Stanley reach into his pocket and take out a ring box. He unceremoniously popped it open and set it in front of Brooke, who sat stone-still for a few moments, then apparently said something that was not the response Stanley had been hoping for. He reached forward, snapped the ring box shut, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Jaime returned at that moment with two dishes of peach cobbler. As he set them on the table Stanley’s face convulsed in some kind of a spasm, like a twitch fueled by extra voltage. He put his fingertips to his right temple in an effort to quiet the errant musculature. Before Jaime could escape, Stanley held out a credit card. Apparently he’d lost his appetite.
Their desserts remained untouched and neither of them said a word as they waited for Jaime to return with the check. Stanley signed the credit card slip, pocketed his card and the receipt, and stood. Brooke remained seated and Stanley walked behind her chair and pulled it out as she slowly rose. Then he followed her out of the restaurant, his face clenched in a grimace.
“Wow,” Jim said, when they were out of earshot. “He doesn’t take rejection well.”
“I don’t think she even rejected him. I think she just asked for more time.”
I left enough cash on the table to cover the check and Jaime’s tip, and we hustled outside in time to see Stanley and Brooke pulling away in a Volvo station wagon. I jumped into my little BMW 2002 and gave chase. After a couple of blocks I spotted Jim’s Bimmer behind me. Jim leases several anonymous looking vehicles, which he and his agents use for surveillance, but tonight he was driving his personal car, a new Mediterranean Blue BMW 3 Series sedan.
We caravanned along behind Stanley’s Volvo to highway 101 north, then Jim dropped back while I stayed closer to the subject vehicle. I kept my eyes peeled for anyone else who might be tailing the couple, even though it didn’t make sense for Stanley to have Brooke followed when she was with him. The Volvo stayed just below the speed limit, making it easy to shadow.
I called Jim on my cell when Stanley pulled into the slow lane. “He’s taking the Holly Street exit,” I said. “Brooke lives in a Redwood Shores condo complex, so he’s probably taking her home. You have the address on the report I gave you. I’m going to pull over and let you take the lead so you can see where they park. You stay with Brooke and I’ll follow Stanley when he leaves.”
I pulled over on Redwood Shores Parkway and waited until Jim drove past, then followed at a distance. When I reached the condo complex I hit redial and Jim picked up.
“Where are they?” I asked.
“Volvo’s parked in the lot nearest the street. They’re both out of the car, heading toward the apartments.”
I cruised around the lot until I spotted Jim’s BMW, then killed my lights and pulled into a vacant parking space. I dug in my purse for my copy of the report I’d given to Jim and looked up Sta
nley’s home address. He lived off Ralston Avenue in Belmont, not far from his office in downtown San Carlos. I looked around the well-lit parking lot and located Stanley’s Volvo.
Only a few minutes passed before Stanley reappeared and unlocked his car. I waited until he’d pulled onto the Parkway, then started up the Bimmer and followed.
Jim and I were still connected, so I told him I was going to call Brooke to make sure she was okay and to let her know that he would be outside until midnight. We disconnected and I turned on my dome light long enough to read her home number at the top of the report. I shut off the light and dialed by touch. Brooke didn’t answer and my heart started racing, imagining what Stanley might have done to her. When her answering machine picked up I started to leave a message, but was interrupted as soon as I’d announced who I was.
“Nicoli, thank goodness it’s you. I was afraid it was Stanley.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine. Just a little shaken up. Did you see what happened after dinner?”
“I saw the ring box, if that’s what you mean.”
“Can you believe that? When he originally proposed I told him I needed time to think about it. It’s only been a week! I was so shocked tonight, I didn’t know what to say. Finally I just told him I wasn’t ready. What else could I do? I care about Stanley, but lately I feel like I don’t really know him.”
“So what happened after you left the restaurant? Did he say anything?”
“Not a word. He looked like he was going to explode, though. I’m worried about him.”
“Did he walk you to your door when he brought you home?”
“Yes, but he didn’t come in. He just said, ‘Goodnight, Brooke,’ and walked away.”
“Okay. I guess that’s good. My associate Jim Sutherland is parked outside, keeping an eye on you.”
I gave her Jim’s cell number and told her to call him if anything out of the ordinary happened. I didn’t know what that might be, but I thought it would make her feel more secure, knowing someone was nearby.
“He’ll be there until midnight and he has your number so he can call you if he sees anything suspicious. Is your door locked?”
“Locked and deadbolted.”
“Good. I’m following Stanley. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thank you, Nicoli.”
“Call me Nikki.”
We disconnected and I rang Jim back to let him know that Brooke was fine and that she had his number. He hadn’t seen anyone lurking around the complex, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. If he didn’t spot a tail after a couple of nights, I was thinking we could have Brooke take a late night drive somewhere isolated, where it would be obvious if she was being followed.
Stanley drove to his home in Belmont, locked his car in the garage, and entered the house through the front door. Apparently the house didn’t have a connecting door to the garage. Not so unusual in California where the temperature rarely drops below thirty degrees. I parked down the street and watched as Stanley went from room to room turning on lights. It appeared he was turning on every light in the house. I wondered if that was part of his affliction. I’d done some reading about people with OCD and the importance of their rituals. Some of them apparently fear something horrible will occur if they deviate even slightly from their established routine. I’d also watched Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, washing his hands dozens of times a day, each time with a fresh bar of soap. What a way to live.
I remained parked on Stanley’s street until a few minutes after midnight and all the lights were still on. I wondered if he slept with the lights on. I couldn’t fault him for that. I’m not a big fan of the dark, myself. My cell phone chirped and I picked it up, knowing it would be Jim.
“Everything’s quiet here,” he said. “I’m heading home.”
“Okay. Thank you, Jim.”
I decided I might as well get some sleep too, since I needed to be back here first thing in the morning. I started my car and pulled away from the curb. As I passed Stanley Godard’s house I thought I detected the slight movement of a curtain. Could he have been watching me all this time? The thought sent a chill down my spine. It’s one thing for me to watch other people. I do this for a living. But for someone to watch me watching them totally creeped me out. I reached into my purse and found the American Spirit Organic cigarettes I’d been trying to quit smoking, and lit one on my way to El Camino Real.
Chapter 5
On Saturday morning, after my workout at the gym and a quick breakfast, Bill drove me to the local Alamo Rent A Car. I wasn’t sure Stanley had been watching me the night before, but I drive a 1972 BMW model 2002 in British racing green. It’s an unusual looking car, and I didn’t want to risk being recognized.
Bill dropped me off outside the car rental office and asked when I’d be back.
“I’ll be doing surveillance all day, and I have to do surveys on two restaurants and a bar tonight. I thought I’d ask Elizabeth to come along, that is, if you can sit with Buddy again. You know how he hates to be left alone.”
Elizabeth Gaultier is my best female friend, and a fellow marina dweller.
“No need for the extra guilt. I’ll be happy to stay onboard with the boy.”
“Thank you!” I kissed Bill and jumped out of his Mustang, speed dialing Elizabeth on my cell as I strode toward the car rental office. She picked up on the first ring.
“Hi, honey. What are you up to?”
“A full day of surveillance, then two restaurants and one bar survey tonight. I need a beard and some girl time. Are you free?”
“I’m at Jack’s right now, but I’ll be home by five. What time are you picking me up?”
“Seven-thirtyish?”
“Perfect. I’ll have time to primp. Are we going anyplace special?”
“Bos in San Francisco, Benedetto in Belmont, and Caliente Bistro in Palo Alto.”
“Sounds fattening. You know I’m dieting so I can fit into my wedding dress.”
“Your wedding isn’t for sixteen months.”
“Fifteen and a half months, and I don’t want to leave anything until the last minute.”
“You know Jack would love you even if you gained fifty pounds, right?”
Jack “The Cat” McGuire was a recently retired cat burglar to whom I’d introduced Elizabeth last August while I was working on a case for him. The rest, as they say, is history. The attraction between my best friend and my client was immediate, and as the two redheads got to know each other it had quickly developed into one of those storybook romances. He’d met her in August and proposed in October. I wasn’t the least bit jealous that my friend had found true love. I was content in my relationship with Bill, and a lifetime commitment was the last thing on my mind.
“Of course I know that,” Elizabeth said, interrupting my thoughts. “But I want to look perfect for my wedding anyway. Besides, who knows how long I’ll have my figure.”
I’d just entered the Alamo office, but stopped mid-stride. “What do you mean? You’re not pregnant are you?”
“Of course not. Jeez, Nikki, take a breath. I’m just planning for the future. My mom said she never got her figure back after I was born.”
“Your mom’s a perfect size two, Elizabeth.”
Of course I’d only seen photos. Elizabeth’s mother still lived in New Orleans, where Elizabeth had grown up, and in the years we’d known each other had never paid her only child a visit. From what I understand about their relationship, Elizabeth is fine with that.
“That’s true. How should I dress tonight?”
“I’m wearing jeans and a halter top.”
“Gotcha. Sexy casual. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”
We ended the call, and I felt the familiar ache in my
chest at the thought of my best friend moving out of the marina to Jack’s estate in Hillsborough. Even though Hillsborough is only a fifteen minute drive from Redwood City, I knew I’d miss Elizabeth more than I was willing to admit to her. I wouldn’t spoil her happiness for anything.
By 8:45 I was seated in a beige Toyota Corolla at the corner of Stanley’s street, hoping he was still at home. My hair was pulled up in a ponytail and I was wearing dark glasses. He couldn’t have gotten a good look at me last night in the dark, but there was no sense taking chances.
At 8:47 Stanley exited the front door carrying a briefcase. I scrunched down in my seat. He locked the door behind him and opened the garage. He backed the Volvo into the driveway, then got out of the car and closed and locked the garage door. In the daylight I was better able to appraise the house. It looked to me like it had been built in the last ten years. I couldn’t help wondering why Stanley didn’t have an automatic garage door. Maybe it was a safety issue, or the fear that if the power went out he wouldn’t be able to get the door open.
When he got to the corner I started my engine and followed. We took Ralston Avenue to El Camino Real and went south toward San Carlos. I assumed he was headed for his office, and I was right. He made a right turn on San Carlos Avenue and then a left on Laurel Street, drove five blocks, and parked in a small lot in front of an unpretentious single-story office building. The signage read Stanley A. Godard, CPA.
I parked on the street, far enough away to be inconspicuous, but close enough to see his front door. Stanley got out of the Volvo with his briefcase, and went inside. He turned on the office lights, then turned them off, then on, then off again. He did this seven times. I didn’t remember him flipping the lights on and off when he got home last night. I know OCD sufferers have strict rituals and routines they follow. Maybe these change depending on the location. My heart went out to Stanley, trying to live a normal life with this emotionally crippling affliction.