Murder with Strings Attached

by Mark Reutlinger

  “When we got around to suggesting the three of us might meet for drinks and a little socializing after dinner, Mr. Levy seemed very uneasy,” I continued. “When we pressed the issue a bit more, he finally came out and told us why he’d rather not accept our offer.”

  “And why was that?” Jenner asked. “Don’t tell me he’s married and his wife and kids are staying with him. I thought he was a bachelor.” She looked genuinely alarmed, either at the prospect of Aaron’s marriage or at her having failed to notice something so obvious.

  I was suddenly sorry I hadn’t thought of that particular ploy, which sounded even better than the one I was working on; but it was too late for that now.

  “No, nothing like that,” I assured her. “But just as much of a problem, maybe more.”

  Jennifer was getting impatient. “So what was the problem? Something about you and Sara?”

  “You might say that. More something about all of us ladies.” I looked around and lowered my voice.

  “He’s gay.”

  ****

  Several seconds went by in silence. I looked at Jennifer and tried to read her expression. I had a sudden vision of Jennifer deciding it was her duty to change Aaron’s mind about women, to show him what he was missing. Doubtless more than one woman, especially unsophisticated and infatuated women, have made such an effort, as if sexual preference, like electrical current, could be changed from AC to DC, so to speak, with the flick of a switch. I was preparing to talk her out of such a plan while Jennifer, realizing her mouth was hanging open, closed it. The young woman began to say something like “Don’t give me that shit,” but stopped herself. She was considering it. And gradually her face was turning a soft shade of red.

  “You know,” she said after a minute or two, “come to think of it, that would explain why he…what happened when we…when I met him in L.A.”

  Sara and I were both tempted to ask Jennifer what happened in L.A., but we both already knew, and it was obvious Jennifer would rather not elaborate to near-strangers on her abortive roll in the hay with Aaron.

  Jennifer asked, “Did he come right out and say that? That he’s gay?”

  I had not actually come up with the details of our supposed conversation with Aaron, so I was momentarily at a loss to answer. Sara saved the day by jumping in with, “Oh, he didn’t come right out and say, ‘Sorry girls, but I prefer boys’ or anything like that. He was very nice about it and said something like, ‘I’d love to, ladies, but the fellow I live with might not understand.’ Kept it cool.”

  Jennifer seemed satisfied with Sara’s answer, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  Just then, as we all looked toward Aaron’s table, Jennifer with new eyes, a good-looking young man of about twenty-five, with a well-toned, well-tanned physique, strode up to Aaron, said a few words, then sat down next to him. They conversed amiably for a while, and Aaron got out his wallet and put some money on the table to pay his check. The two men then stood up and, with the newcomer leading the way, left the café.

  We three ladies looked at one another. My arched eyebrows communicated my thoughts. Sara commented, “Oh well, it’s always that way, isn’t it,” leaving Jennifer to interpret the way to which Sara was referring. As for Jennifer, she clearly had seen enough. She looked at her watch, smiled at Sara and me, and said, “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to change my plane reservation and I’ll just have time.”

  I was all innocence, of course. “Oh? I was hoping the three of us could get together tomorrow, maybe for lunch. When will you be leaving?”

  “Tomorrow, if I can get a reservation. I had planned to stay a bit longer, but…but I’ve remembered something I need to do at home and I think it would be best if I left as soon as I can.”

  Sara and I exchanged a look that might be interpreted as “Yes!” with a fist pump, but more discreet. Sara said to Jennifer, “What a shame, and with us just getting to know each other. But if you have to go, you have to go. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.” Jennifer probably hoped not.

  And with that and a few more parting pleasantries, Jennifer was gone.

  I exhaled loudly. “You know, for a minute there I was afraid my plan was going to backfire and that little idiot was going to stick around and try to ‘reform’ Aaron.”

  “C’mon, do you think that’s possible?”

  “No, but I was still afraid she’d try. Anyway, it looks like we dodged that bullet and she’s going home.”

  “Yeah, and I think what did it was him going off with that young hunk. What luck that guy showed up when he did; must be someone Aaron knows from somewhere.”

  I had to laugh. “That wasn’t luck, and Aaron had never met him before now. I found him at a sports equipment store we passed. And remind me to drop by later and give him fifty dollars. Not bad pay for five minutes’ work, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 27

  Monday through Wednesday were spent in carrying out the various preparations we had decided upon. I found the uniform shop that serviced TidyHome—only the fourth one I called—and reserved the necessary attire. I said I was going to be doing some fill-in work for TidyHome and needed to rent a uniform like theirs. I was asked for which client I would be working. I wasn’t sure why they needed to know, but reluctantly I said the Sanders home. That seemed to cause no difficulty, and when I stopped by on Tuesday the uniform was ready for me. I tried it on in the little dressing room provided for customers, looking at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall. Then I saw why they needed to know: Sanders required special arrangements. The uniform, what there was of it, covered barely enough to be legal, with a deeply plunging neckline and an outrageously short skirt. It made the plain-Jane livery I wore in the Hotel Royale seem like a Girl Scout uniform in comparison.

  To be frank, I looked like I’d just stepped out of one of those French farces, where the scantily-clad chambermaid gets chased from bedroom to bedroom, being pinched regularly in the derriere by the lecherous husband. Once again it was fortunate I still had the figure to more or less do it justice.

  For Aaron they had an appropriate-looking selection of coveralls, so that problem was solved.

  Back at the hotel, I tried on the uniform for Sara’s benefit.

  Sara looked thoughtful. “Hmm, I guess I’m not surprised at the uniform, the way Aaron described Sanders,” she remarked. “He probably interviewed maid services until he found one that was willing to dress with the right amount of skin showing.”

  “Yeah, and I can imagine the view he gets when they bend over to dust under the furniture,” I said. “But then, in our case, maybe distraction is good.”

  It was a little trickier to find a woodworking studio that could design and build the special carrying case I wanted, and within two days. I finally found one, and they wanted a higher price for expedited service, of course, as I had expected. Hey, not my money. I was to pick it up on Wednesday morning.

  Aaron and I then visited a costume shop not far from Nob Hill.

  “We’re going to a costume party,” Aaron told the proprietor. “I’ll need a false moustache and maybe a small beard.”

  “Will your wife also want a costume? We have a special on a Cinderella ball gown.”

  “No, I don’t think so, thanks.” Turning to me, “Right?”

  “Uh, right.” I was a bit distracted.

  The explanation of how to apply the false moustache and beard didn’t take long. Within thirty minutes we had what we needed and departed.

  What I’d been distracted by was Aaron’s failure to correct the impression that we were married, but of course it wouldn’t have done to mention it in front of the proprietor, so I let it pass. I’m not sure why it bothered me, but it did, and afterwards I did bring the matter to his attention.

  “I don’t know,” he responded when I quizzed him on his reason for agreeing to the sudden betrothal. “It just seemed like the easiest thing to do.”

  “Hmm. Okay, as long as you’re careful to w
hom you do it.” And we left it at that.

  ****

  On Wednesday morning I picked up the supplies-cum-violin carrier, as well as a magnetic “TidyHome” sign I had ordered, having remembered the approximate design of the one on the car we saw drive up with the cleaning crew. In the afternoon Aaron and I packed a few necessities, our disguise materials, and Aaron’s replica Guarneri, into still another car, this time a very plain white Chevrolet Malibu. The BMW was far too ostentatious and ritzy for a cleaning service, and besides, it had already been around the Sanders house and might be remembered.

  We didn’t return the BMW, however. Sara asked if she could drive it while we were away, so she could explore out of town a bit. That seemed only fair to me, and Aaron didn’t mind. (The BMW was rented in my name, the Chevy in Aaron’s.)

  Once packed and ready, Aaron and I settled ourselves in the Chevy and headed for Los Altos. Sara saw us off. Finally just a tourist, she was staying behind at the Fairmont.

  “I’m really not far away if you need me,” she told me. “And I sure hope you don’t need me.”

  I hoped so too. Fervently. I would have preferred that Sara be closer at hand, just in case, but once again I recognized that I had promised to leave Sara out of the actual burglary, and I didn’t feel right insisting she be at or near the scene. Besides, if this plan went awry, I wasn’t really sure what Sara could do to save it.

  Probably nothing except bail us out of jail.

  Chapter 28

  Whistling to himself while driving, Aaron seemed to be in a good mood, neither nervous nor worried. I remarked on this, and Aaron told me, “Heck, this is the best adventure I can ever remember having. You know, I’ve led a pretty sheltered life. I was one of those child prodigies on the violin, and since I was about six or seven my whole life has revolved around concerts and recitals and interviews and practicing and…well, you get the idea.”

  “Still sounds like a pretty good life to me,” I said. “I mean, you’ve been well compensated, wined and dined and made a fuss over. What’s not to like?”

  “Oh, I’m not complaining. Not at all. While it’s not all glamour and champagne—it’s really a helluva lot of work, day in and day out—I still enjoy playing, and the lifestyle. It’s just that there isn’t much time for some of the other things that make life exciting.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well…” Aaron hesitated, choosing his words. “Well, like the opposite sex, for one thing.”

  I laughed. “Don’t tell me you can’t get a date. Rich, famous, reasonably good-looking…”

  Aaron looked over at me with a hurt expression. “Only reasonably?”

  “Never mind that. I’m right about the women, aren’t I?”

  “Well, yes and no. Yes, I don’t have any shortage of opportunities to take a woman out, or I suppose to spend the night with her, if I wanted.”

  “What do you mean, ‘if’?”

  “Never mind that too. The point is that there’s really no chance to build any kind of relationship, to really get to know someone, when you’re constantly on the move and in the public eye. At least that’s what I’ve found. In fact, you’re the first woman—you and Sara, I mean—that I’ve spent more than a day or two with since…well, since my mother, I guess.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “I guess I should be flattered, except this is more business than pleasure.”

  Aaron did not respond immediately, then said, “Well, I’m having fun, anyway.”

  I guess that beat being miserable or nervous, and that was a good thing. After a minute I continued: “Okay, being a famous violinist cramps your style when it comes to romance. Any other downside?”

  “Well, I don’t have much time for myself, when I’m not performing or traveling."

  “Don’t you take vacations? Go skiing, that sort of thing?”

  “Sure, though not very often. But that’s pretty tame compared to, well, to this kind of adventure. And besides, I don’t particularly like skiing. I always have to be thinking that I can’t afford to break something that will affect my playing.”

  “You do realize,” I said, “that this so-called ‘adventure’ could result in your breaking a lot more than an arm or leg. We could end up dead, or at least in jail.”

  Aaron grinned. “Yeah, exciting, isn’t it?”

  I gave up.

  ****

  We checked into a small hotel, the Terrace Inn, on the outskirts of Los Altos that I had noticed when Sara and I were on our reconnaissance mission. Aaron signed us in as “Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Levy.” I was pretty sure that this time the instant betrothal was to avoid appearing to be, well, unmarried. I actually appreciated that he was a bit old-fashioned that way.

  We unloaded our overnight bags and “special equipment” from the car, and Aaron then suggested we go into town to find a place for dinner.

  “Uh-uh, no can do,” I said. “We don’t want to take any chances on one of the Sanders bunch spotting us before tomorrow. We’ll order in, and then we’ll take a drive so I can show you the layout around Sanders’ house before it gets dark.”

  Aaron looked disappointed, but he just said, “Okay. You want me to order? I guess there’s a pizza place in town.”

  “Sure, thanks. I like pepperoni and mushrooms, but anything you order is fine.”

  “No, that sounds good.” He looked up pizza delivery in the phone book he found in a nightstand drawer, then picked up the phone and dialed. Soon he had placed our order and we were watching television, waiting for the pizza to arrive.

  Once dinner had been delivered and enjoyed—it turned out Los Altos, like many upscale communities, had upscale “gourmet” pizza parlors—we got back into the car and headed for La Paloma Road.

  I drove, and I took Aaron around to the various vantage points that Sara and I had found, showed him the driveway and explained the difficulty of access. By the time it began to get dark, Aaron felt that he knew the lay of the land. It made the rest of the plan easier for him to understand, as it now could be placed in a real setting, and not just in the abstract.

  We returned to the Terrace Inn about eight p.m. Both of us were tired and Aaron, despite his earlier bravado, was now feeling a little nervous. He seldom suffered stage fright when he was performing, he told me, but this next performance was going to be a lot more daunting, with much higher stakes, than any previous one.

  “I guess it’s only natural to be a bit uneasy,” he said. “But I bet you’re cool as a cucumber, having been through this many times in your, uh, job.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I’m probably just as nervous as you are, only I may not show it. I know only too well that totally unexpected things can happen on my job, especially when you don’t have all the information you’d like about the place you’re going to be doing it. Been there; had that happen.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “Meaning I’ve had my share of little, and not so little surprises. Not so little and not so pleasant.”

  “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

  I figured it just might make Aaron feel better if he knew even a so-called “professional” faces the unexpected, and we just have to deal with it when and if it happens.

  “Okay, a little bedtime story from Auntie Flo. Once upon a time—actually about six months ago—Sara and I were sitting in a little café in Seattle when we overheard the women at the next table discussing a friend of theirs, the next-door neighbor of the older one of them, who had gone away for the weekend leaving what they referred to as ‘her precious jewels’ in her house. Not only that, but the house’s alarm system was on the fritz. These ladies were tsk-tsking about how careless this was, saying their friend, whose name I believe was Marge, was foolish to leave her precious jewels in the empty house like that. I, on the other hand, thought it was just peachy. Here I was being handed a simple, no-risk jewel heist in an empty house with no alarm system.”

  “It sure sounds like an easy job,” Aaron said. “If you’re s
o inclined that way, of course.”

  “Of course. And yes, I was so inclined. When the ladies left, I told Sara I wanted to follow them, to see where they lived. Sara caught on right away—she knows me pretty well by now—and said she didn’t want anything to do with it. Fair enough, so she went home and I followed the ladies.”

  “And did you find out where they lived?”

  “Oh, yes, that was easy. And there was only one house next to the older lady’s, so I had my target. All I had to do the next day was to wait for dark, pick the lock on the back door, and help myself. Couldn’t be simpler.”

  “Hmm. But you said this was an example of unexpected problems, so I assume it didn’t turn out to be quite that simple.”

  “Not quite. In fact, not even a little bit. Oh, I got into the house all right, and it was deserted and alarmless, like the women said.”

  “But no jewels?”

  “Well, yes and no. I found jewels. It just wasn’t the kind of jewels I expected.”

  “I don’t understand. What kind was it?”

  “The four-legged kind. Turns out ‘precious jewels’ was Marge’s vicious little dog, ‘Jules.’ You know, J-U-L-E-S. Said so right on his collar. And as soon as I got into the house, the little bastard attacked me like I was a piece of raw steak.”

  Aaron laughed, which I guess was good for his mental state, if not for his opinion of his mentor.

  “That’s great,” he said. “I’ll bet you were surprised. And did you escape unscathed?”

  “Well, sort of. Actually, little yappy dogs terrify me—don’t ask, it goes back to my childhood—and I ended up standing on the kitchen table, just out of reach of those snapping jaws and sharp teeth. And what a racket!”

  More laughter. I was beginning to think telling Aaron this story wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Since I don’t see any ugly scars on your ankles, I assume you somehow escaped? What happened? Did the monster finally get tired of trying to kill you?”