Текст книги "The Lies That Bind"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 12

Outside the hospital, I said good-bye to Derek. He had heard from Gunther, who was insisting on exploring more wineries. Derek muttered something about conducting a more thorough vetting of clients next time; then he took off to join the demanding Gunther and head to points north.

Alice and I followed Mom back to Dharma for dinner. Because of Gabriel’s situation, the meal was a somber affair. I wanted to ask my dad about his trip to the Hindu Kush and find out how well he knew Gabriel, but again, it wasn’t the time or place. The rest of the family didn’t know Gabriel well, but the very thought of such a violent attack occurring in our peaceful little town was upsetting to all of us.

Sunday morning back in the city, I threw on jeans, a turtleneck, tennies, and a peacoat and walked three blocks to South Park, one of San Francisco’s hidden neighborhood treasures and my favorite place for a leisurely breakfast.

The park was a block-long patch of green grass with picnic tables and a small playground at one end. The green was an island surrounded by small storefront businesses, shops, restaurants, and Victorian-style apartments. Like many San Francisco neighborhoods, South Park was a mix of chic and charm with a hint of scruffiness around the edges. During the day, people strolled the sidewalks and parents pushed their kids on the swings. At night, the homeless skulked in with their bags and blankets and took over the park for their sleeping quarters.

My personal choice for best Sunday brunch was a little French bistro at the far end of the green, where I always ordered French toast with a slice of succulent Niman Ranch ham, lots of syrup and butter, and café au lait.

I sat outside, where the air was cold but the sun was shining. The Chronicle was spread across my table so I could read the latest news as I ate my breakfast and zoned out on the background hum of political discussions, French jazz, and children screaming for joy on the nearby swings.

Back home, the rest of the day passed in a quiet blur except for one highlight: a long Sunday-afternoon phone conversation with Derek. At times I felt like a teenager, smiling and sighing at what he said. Despite having seen him the day before, we had a lot to catch up on.

When I was young and received a phone call from a boy, there would always be those long lapses while we both searched desperately for something to say. There was none of that with Derek. It seemed as though we’d never run out of things to talk about. When we finally ended the call, I felt as though I’d spent an hour on a quiet tropical island of calm. Well, calm except for that little spark of sexual tension that ran through the conversation and caused my nerves to quiver nonstop.

Monday morning, I was pouring my first cup of coffee when I remembered I had a funeral to attend. Dismayed, I raced to get ready, dressed in my best black suit, grabbed my coat and headed out for Colma.

I didn’t berate myself too badly for forgetting Layla’s funeral. I’d had plenty of distractions over the weekend. I pumped up KFOG and drove onto the freeway. The drive was relatively painless since I was going against all the traffic streaming into the city.

Colma is a suburb south of San Francisco, located just beyond Daly City, and is where most San Franciscans go to be buried. It’s a pretty little town, but is known far and wide as the necropolis of San Francisco.

Essentially, a necropolis was exactly what Colma was established as. It all started back in 1900, when the geographically minuscule city of San Francisco began running out of space to bury its dead. Cemeteries were banned because the city needed room to house the living.

Nowadays, there are so many cemeteries in Colma that even the Chamber of Commerce admits that the dead outnumber the living. The citizens seem to take their reputation in stride since their official town motto is “It’s good to be alive in Colma.”

I followed directions to Holy Cross Mortuary and found the chapel where they were holding Layla’s memorial service. It was a good turnout, with close to three hundred people gathered in the modern glass-walled hall. Layla would be pleased at the turnout, I thought.

The sun poured in, lending the proceedings a natural lightness that Layla might not have earned were she still alive. I didn’t mean that to be harsh. It’s just that there were a lot more grins and handshakes and business being attended to than any tearful mourning of the dead.

Derek saw me drive up and park, so he left his men to deal with Gunther and he and I walked in together. I was grateful for that. As we took our seats, I glanced around and saw Inspectors Lee and Jaglom standing on the sidelines.

The service was blessedly short, with no sniffling, no sad moans emitted in moments of remembrance. Layla had no family except her niece, so other than Naomi, I didn’t see one person raise a tissue to wipe away a tear. Even the singing, which usually got to me no matter who was being memorialized, didn’t elicit any outward signs of grief. That is, until the small choir began to sing “You Are So Beautiful.” That’s when Tom Hardesty choked up audibly and had to pull the handkerchief from his pocket. He was sitting two rows in front of me, and I saw his wife, Cynthia, elbow him. He flinched and straightened up immediately.

There was no graveside service, thanks be to Buddha.

Naomi had arranged for the after-service gathering to be held at BABA. By the time I got there it was two o’clock and the bar had a line three deep, snaking across the upper gallery. I noticed (because I notice these things) that the vigilant bartenders had set up several large trays of glasses already filled with white or red wine for the masses to grab as they passed. Grateful for their attention to detail, I obliged, taking a glass of red that turned out to be surprisingly good.

When I saw Naomi near the north hall entrance, deep in conversation with fellow staffers Karalee and Marky, I couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. She had changed her outfit in between the service and the wake and was now dressed to kill. She should pardon the expression.

It was a little creepy, seeing her in a spandex top and skintight black pants with stiletto heels. She looked like the Mini-Me version of Layla, right down—or up—to her hairdo, which was piled high on top of her head and spilled over in a sexy cascade.

Despite Naomi’s eerie similarity to her aunt, I had to give her kudos. She’d pulled this party together and the place was jumping with two open bars and rows of tables filled with hearty appetizers, finger foods, and desserts. The BABA board members seemed to be impressed and I’m sure that made Naomi happy.

There were current and former BABA students, teachers, artists, and book people from all over the Bay Area. Losing a luminary like Layla was a big deal to this community. Even if you didn’t like her, you had to acknowledge her power and influence on the business of books and fine art.

I greeted my friend Ian McCullough and his significant other, Jake, who were talking to Doris and Teddy Bondurant. I stopped to chat about books and Layla for a few minutes, then moved on to schmooze with others in the room.

Naomi was working it as she’d never done when Layla was alive. I figured she wanted the board to recognize that she was the one person capable of taking Layla’s place.

I scanned the room and finally picked Alice out of the crowd. A number of board members surrounded her by the south hall and they carried on an animated conversation. Alice was a real asset to BABA and I wondered if the board would consider her more capable than Naomi of filling Layla’s shoes.

Looking from one side of the room to the other, from Naomi to Alice, reminded me that the board of directors would have to make a decision soon. Who would run BABA in Layla’s absence? Taking in the current scenario, Naomi on one side, working the bar and hanging with her peeps, and Alice on the other, talking like a grown-up to the board members, I was beginning to realize where the power in the room lay. Despite the wardrobe change and the party planning, Naomi didn’t stand a chance. But that was just my opinion.

As I sipped my wine and soaked up the party atmosphere, I had another thought. Even though BABA was run as a nonprofit, that didn’t mean Layla hadn’t been paid handsomely, or that she didn’t have other income. Because of the way she had hobnobbed, the way she had dressed, the quality of her accessories—yes, even I could tell they were pricey—I’d always assumed she was somewhat wealthy in her own right. Would Naomi inherit everything, or did she have other relatives waiting in the woodwork?

Chances were, Naomi stood to inherit it all. And suddenly I smelled a motive. Not that she didn’t already have one, but it would have been nice to find out Naomi had killed her aunt Layla for good old-fashioned greed, rather than the simple fact that auntie had been an infuriating bitch.

Speaking of infuriating bitches, I spotted Minka at the buffet table, scarfing up the guacamole as she talked to Karalee, who gazed around the room, seeking a safe place to hide. I wanted to look away, but seeing Minka in her black cabbie hat that didn’t quite cover her still-bandaged head, I was reminded that Gabriel had been injured, as well. And I’d vowed to discover any possible connection between Gabriel, Minka, and Layla.

I drained my wineglass, because if I was going to have to talk to Minka, I needed fortification. On the way across the room I gave myself a pep talk to remind myself that if Minka could shed the slimmest ray of light on recent events, we—I mean, the police—might be able to track down the killer.

I straightened my shoulders and gritted my teeth. I could do this. I approached the buffet table. Karalee saw me first and her eyes lit up. I grabbed hold of her arm in a show of fondness, sure, but really I just wanted to keep her from running away. It wasn’t easy. She was ready to escape Minka, but I was even more determined to keep her here. I needed a shield.

“Hey, Minka,” I said jovially, like a complete fraud. “How’s your head feeling?”

She whipped around and her mouth gaped. Not a pretty sight. I would never eat guacamole again.

Her upper lip twisted in a snarl. “You’re joking, right? Am I supposed to believe you care?”

Today, in honor of the dearly departed, she wore her favorite clothing mash-up: pleather, spandex, and animal prints. Her pants were black and brown cougar spots and her short shiny jacket was a bold zebra print. But the most disturbing part of her outfit was what it didn’t cover up. Two wide inches of pale belly fat were exposed between the jacket and the pants.

“Of course I care,” I said, swallowing my distaste. “I saved your life, remember?”

“No, you didn’t. You’re so full of shit.”

What could I say? She was right. “But I just hate the idea that anyone might be attacked here at BABA. And then poor Layla was killed two days later. I mean, don’t you think that’s scary? That could’ve been you.”

“Whatever.” She glanced at Karalee and rolled her eyes.

“I’ve got to go,” Karalee said quickly, and tried to break away.

“No,” I said, jerking her back to my side. I exhaled from the exertion. “So, Minka, here’s what I was wondering about the other night. Do you remember hearing anything right before you were hit? Like heavy footsteps, maybe. Or somebody humming or whistling. Were there any sounds coming from any of the offices?”

Did I sound as big an idiot as I felt? Probably.

She wrinkled her nose. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I didn’t hear anything besides the usual crap-ass chamber music coming from Layla’s office.”

Crap-ass? Layla had played pretty classical music. Figures Minka would hate that.

“What about odors?” I persisted. “Do you remember smelling anything unusual? You know, like perfume? Men’s cologne? Minty fresh breath? Sweat, maybe? Garlic?”

“God, you’re so bizarre.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” I said.

“That’s a go-fuck-yourself.”

“Minka, that’s rude,” Karalee said.

“Yeah, well, fuck you, too.”

I gave up on the niceties. “What the hell were you doing in the hall, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be teaching a class?”

“Screw you,” she said with a sneer. “I’ve had it with the third degree. I might owe you my life, but that doesn’t mean I have to put up with your crap.”

“Look, I just—”

She flipped me the finger and stomped off.

So, maybe it was a little bizarre, asking her about sounds and odors. After all, she probably couldn’t get past her own overwhelming sulfur scent. Or was that brimstone? Whatever it was, she reeked like the spawn of Beelzebub that she was.

“Hey, I remember smelling something that night,” Karalee said, her forehead creased in thought. “It was like, I don’t know, incense or something. Huh. I didn’t think about it until you asked that question. Huh.”

She was starting to sound like Ned with the huh and the huh. She shrugged and walked away.

“That seemed to go well,” Derek said, approaching me on my blind side. He handed me another glass of red wine.

“Thanks,” I said and took a big sip. The perfect remedy for a Minka-induced headache. “I didn’t realize you were watching. I’m so glad I had a witness.”

“I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you walk over and talk to her.”

“Were you hoping to break up a catfight?”

“I only dreamed,” he said sardonically.

I shook my head and took another sip of wine. “She’s so stupid. What was I thinking?”

His eyes narrowed in on me. “Yes, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t like that look you’re giving me,” I said, and tried to stare him down. But his gaze was unyielding. He was, after all, a professional. “Okay, fine. I thought she might have some clue about the night she was attacked.”

“Have we not had this conversation before?”

My shoulders slumped, but I snapped back to attention. “Look, I just want to make sure that BABA is safe. You can’t blame me. First Minka, then Layla. And then Gabriel over the weekend, not that he had anything to do with the attacks here. But it just makes me worry that I’m—oh, I don’t know—something like a murder magnet.”

There, I’d said it.

He shook his head. “Darling Brooklyn, you can’t tell a lie to save your life. But I must hand it to you. You never give up trying.”

My jaw dropped. “You think I’m lying?”

“Yes, I think you’re lying,” he said easily, and sipped his wine. “Because you are.”

“I’m not—”

“My love, I’ll say it again: You’re the world’s worst liar.” He took hold of my arm and led me away to a quieter spot. “The fact is, you simply can’t help sticking your pretty little nose into places it doesn’t belong. I understand the appeal of investigating a murder, but you could get yourself hurt. So I’m inclined to advise you against it.”

“But—”

“You appear to have a short-term memory problem, so let me remind you of a certain psychopathic killer who had you trapped in St. Margaret’s Chapel in Edinburgh not so very long ago.”

I shuddered, then glanced around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. “Of course I remember that.”

“I’m glad.”

“But that was a completely different situation. This time I’m not involved. I’m not a suspect. I’m just concerned about being the common factor among three attacks in less than a week.”

“You?” He shook his head as if to rearrange his brain cells. “You think you’re the cause of these attacks?”

“No, not the cause. But don’t you think it’s strange that I’m the one who found all three victims?”

“Strange, yes. Connected, no.” He pointed toward the small cluster of cops who’d just walked into the party. “There’s Inspector Lee. Let’s go see if she can be charmed into sharing her latest findings with us.”

“That’s why I keep you around, sport,” I said.

“Music to my ears, my dear.”

I stared at him. “Music.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Yes, let’s go see the inspector,” I said. I placed my empty glass on a nearby tray and took off across the room.

He caught up with me in two strides. “You’re in a hurry all of a sudden.”

“I just put something together.”

“So you did get something out of Minka.”

“Maybe.”

Taking hold of my arm, he took a detour, pulling me down the hall and into an empty classroom. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Minka said she heard music coming from Layla’s office just before she was attacked. But I just remembered that by the time I came down the hall and found her, there was no music playing. So someone turned off Layla’s stereo in the interim.”

“The person who attacked Minka.”

“It’s a long shot, but if the power button is a smooth surface, they might’ve left a fingerprint.”

He gave me a mind-blowing kiss. “That’s why I keep you around, sport.”

I laughed and took his hand. “Let’s go talk to the police.”

After Inspector Lee assured us that the fingerprint crew would be here shortly, Derek went off to make a phone call and I joined the party, entering the upper gallery as Naomi, at the central podium, introduced Gunther to the crowd.

He took the microphone and in his thick Austrian accent told everyone that he intended to keep his word and conduct the lithograph classes Layla had announced last week. He added, “Layla would insist. She would probably haunt me if I did not stay.”

That got a big laugh, but Gunther looked disgruntled. I wondered if Naomi had threatened him with her aunt’s poltergeist. More than likely, he’d signed a contract and she’d threatened him with a lawsuit.

I was happy he was staying because I planned to sit in on one of his classes and learn his techniques. And more important, if Gunther stayed, then Derek would stay.

Naomi took her place back at the podium. After several calming breaths, the room hushed and she spoke. “My aunt was a woman to be reckoned with.”

There was respectful applause.

“If there’s one thing Aunt Layla would’ve insisted on, it was that the Twisted festival must carry on as scheduled.”

This was met by thunderous cheers. It seemed to feed her as she continued, “And if there’s one thing I insist on, it’s that the gala culminating the Twisted festival be even bigger than Layla planned. And Charles Dickens is going to have to share the evening’s honors with Layla Fontaine.”

Now along with the enthusiastic clapping, I could see tears glistening in the eyes of many. Who knew Naomi could rock a crowd like this? Maybe she was channeling her aunt Layla. Minus the sexual innuendo, thank God.

“Now, please enjoy yourselves as we celebrate the life of a wonderful woman and the work she did for the Bay Area Book Arts.” Naomi wore a satisfied grin as she took in the cheers and applause. She signaled the crowd to settle down so she could add, “I’ve been told that the bartenders just opened a case of 2007 Kosta Browne pinot noir. For all you wine snobs in the room, this is your moment.”

“That’s all of us,” somebody shouted.

True enough. This was San Francisco, where nine out of ten of us were inveterate wine snobs. There were laughs and cheers as the thundering hordes raced to one of the two bars in the gallery.

“That was a smart move,” Alice said from inches away.

I jumped a little, then laughed at myself. “You snuck up on me.”

“Sorry.” She linked arms with me. “I was just saying it was smart of Naomi to order all that great wine. It’ll endear her to everyone.”

I looked around, then murmured, “Everyone but the board of directors. They seem firmly in your camp.”

“So you noticed the two camps?”

I nodded and she sighed. “I hate the idea, but Naomi is determined to turn this into a competition. I just want to work together to keep things going at a professional level.”

“That speaks to your higher level of experience and understanding of business. The board will surely recognize that in you.”

“Thank you, Brooklyn.” She squeezed my arm. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

Like Naomi, Alice was dressed completely in black, though her look was more sedate. A simple long-sleeved black knit dress skimmed her calves. Black boots and her usual black velvet headband completed the look.

Alice shivered as she glanced around. “I can’t help wondering if Layla’s killer is here in this crowd.”

I followed her gaze and saw Cynthia and Tom Hardesty with their heads close together. They looked as though they were arguing about something, which was not unusual. Tom looked shaken but Cynthia appeared resolute. Then Tom peeked timidly around the room.

Alice and I both looked away.

I glanced back in time to see Tom give Cynthia a peck on the cheek, almost like a son would kiss his mother. It was a little peculiar, but that pretty much described their relationship.

“Do you think he was having an affair with Layla?” Alice whispered.

I stared at Tom, considering, then shook my head. “He might’ve wanted to, but do you really think Layla would stoop that low?”

“Oh, never. But I wonder if she spurned him and . . .” She covered her mouth, unable to finish the alarming thought.

A spurned man might be more than capable of murder, I thought, watching the Hardestys for a few more seconds. Then I shook my head. “Tom wouldn’t have the guts. But Cynthia is a different story.”

Alice gasped. “She’s just ballsy enough to do it. She seems so contemptuous of people.”

I nodded. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

“I’m going to confess something,” Alice said, and took a deep breath. “Cynthia scares me more than anyone else in this room.”

“She is awfully big-boned,” I allowed.

“I know. She could smash me like a bug.”

I chuckled, then sobered as Naomi walked past, followed by three board members, one of whom signaled Tom and Cynthia to join them. The group walked down the hall into Naomi’s office and closed the door.

“What was that all about?” I wondered, then exchanged looks with Alice. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Not a clue. But I’m going to find out.”

I followed Alice as she threaded her way through the crowd. She could be determined when she wanted to be. We made it to the closed office door in record time. But it wasn’t necessary to get that close. Through the door we could hear Naomi from halfway down the hall.

“I deserve that position,” Naomi cried. “I do everything around here. She means nothing to this place—do you hear me? Nothing.”

“But Layla had confidence in her.” That was Cynthia’s voice. “I’m sorry, Naomi, but she didn’t feel the same way about you.”

“Well, Layla’s dead now,” Naomi said pointedly. “And I’m the only one who knows how to run this place.”

“And we agree, dear,” Tom said gently, trying to placate her. “That’s why we’re giving you a raise and a more prestigious position. What more do you want?”

“I want the executive director position,” she snapped.

“Naomi, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“I’m not the one making it harder. You are. Why shouldn’t I fight for what I want?”

“Because we’ve made our decision.”

“But it’s not the right decision,” she said, her voice rising. “I’m the one who does all the work and some new-comer gets the job? Not fair!”

“Naomi, please,” said Cynthia. “We’re only doing what we think Layla would want us to do.”

“For God’s sake, stop kowtowing to Layla,” she cried. “I know what you thought of her. How can I be sure you didn’t kill her?”

There was silence.

“Whoa,” Alice whispered.

I had to agree—that was harsh. Even if I’d had the same thought five minutes ago.

“I’m sorry, dear, but the board has made its decision.”

“You’ll be sorry, all right. You’ll all be sorry.”

The door flew open and Naomi ran out, then stopped when she saw Alice.

“You!” she cried, pointing. “You knew all along. Are you happy now?”

“I didn’t. Naomi, I—”

“Stay out of my way, you troublemaker.”

“You’re upset,” Alice said softly, “so I’m going to let that go. Maybe we can talk later and work things out between us.”

“Oh, buzz off, all of you.” Then Naomi marched down the hall and disappeared into the crowd.

I turned and looked at Alice, who was holding her stomach and swaying back and forth.

“Are you going to be sick?”

She nodded her head vigorously.

“Go.” I pointed and she raced off down the hall.

So, I thought. The formerly dowdy young Naomi has inherited a spine after all. Along with her aunt’s temper.

Cynthia walked over, looking shell-shocked. “Did you hear any of that?”

“Some of it,” I confessed. “She was pretty upset.”

“It was worse up close. I’m worried she’ll quit because, unfortunately, she’s right. She knows how this place runs.”

“She won’t quit,” I said with certainty. “This job is her life. Give her a few days to calm down.”

“I feel so bad,” Cynthia said. “Her aunt just died and now this.”

“You had to make a decision quickly,” I said, touching her shoulder in understanding. “They’ll just have to learn to work together.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cynthia said, shaking her head in apprehension. “Naomi looked like she wanted to kill us all.”