Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (20 page)

He scooted carefully out from under the car and sat up, shining the flashlight beam on what was in his handkerchief.

“This is the little culprit right here,” he said.

It was no bigger than a dime. In fact it looked like a dime; a smooth, matte black dime.

“It’s tiny,” I said.
Brilliant, Nicoli
.

“Yup. Mind if I check it for prints?” he asked.

“No. Please.”

Bill stood up, gently wrapped the bug in his handkerchief, and slipped it into his pocket. He reached under the car and retrieved the wand, then handed me the flashlight and kissed me on the lips.

“Take care of yourself, Nikki,” he said. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

I was still trying to get my brain to generate a response as his car disappeared around the corner of the building. Definitely some chemistry there. I couldn’t stop smiling, and I couldn’t help comparing the experience to kissing Fred the other night. Bill’s kiss didn’t make me feel threatened, and it definitely left me wanting more.

I lowered the jack, folded up the towel, and tossed everything in the trunk. I collected my purse and my doggy bag, locked the car, patted the hood affectionately, and wandered through the gate and down the companionway. I was feeling a little dazed and I didn’t hear Elizabeth’s door slide open.

“Hey, how’d it go?” she asked, stepping outside.

“What?”

“Your dinner with Detective Anderson. Where did you eat?”

“Oh. Gypsy Cellar. Stuffed chicken.” I held up the bag.

“Are you okay? You look kind of stupid.”

“I’m fine. I think I’m falling in lust.”

“
Outstanding
. Tell me everything.”

We sat on Elizabeth’s steps and I confessed to her that I’d begun to suspect Bill. I explained my thought process, gave her the whole story, so she’d understand and not think me a complete imbecile.

She said, “You’re kidding.”

I flushed with embarrassment. It was ridiculous after all. I told her about the bug under the car, the red-haired man I’d seen outside my office, and the Volvo that had been following me.

“Clearly, someone thinks you know something,” she said.

“I just wish I knew what they think I know. Did you read the file?”

“Of course. I think you should focus on Fred and Charles.”

“I think so too. But tell me why.”

“Because Laura had sex with whoever killed her. I know you think she was into risk taking, and she may have been kinky, but I don’t think she would willingly have sex with her own father no matter what happened when she was a kid.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Maybe she was conditioned by her childhood experiences to behave like a victim. You know some people become addicted to chemicals produced in the brain by recurring emotional trauma. Laura may have become addicted to the experience of being abused, or victimized.”

“We don’t know Rod was telling the truth about Laura being molested.”

“What about Rod?” I asked. “He really needs the money, and he’ll inherit a bundle now.”

“Yeah, and he
was
only her half-brother, but you’ve described Rod to me. He doesn’t sound very attractive.”

“What’s your point?”

“If you were Laura and you were seeing someone who looked like Fred, would you meet your unattractive half-brother behind a dumpster to have sex with him?”

“Probably not, but lust is in the eye of the beholder. What about Frank?” I asked.

“You said Frank told you Laura wasn’t into sex, so I think we can assume that Laura wasn’t into sex with Frank,” Elizabeth answered. “No accounting for taste. I think he’s yummy.”

“I noticed. Maybe he found a way to spice it up. What about Candy? Maybe Laura was bi.”

“What are you thinking? That she used a strap-on or something?”

“It would explain the absence of foreign pubic hair,” I said. “Some of those dancers shave everything. But if you used a strap-on, why would you also use a condom?”

“I don’t know. To keep it clean?”

You have to be really good friends with someone to have this kind of conversation.

“I can see Charles had a motive,” I said. “He was jealous, and maybe afraid his wife would find out he’d been stalking Laura, but why would she have sex with a guy who was too tame for her in college?”

Elizabeth thought for a minute. “Maybe she got interested again when he got married. It would increase the risk factor.”

“For him, not for her. What would Fred’s motive be?” I asked.

“Why does there have to be a motive? Maybe he and Laura were having kinky sex and he got a little carried away and accidentally killed her.”

“And then he stabbed her three times to cover up his mistake?”

“You are so sarcastic sometimes. You might be right, though. Fred is compulsively neat, and Laura’s murder was messy, wasn’t it?”

“Very.” I grimaced, remembering the crime scene photos. “What about the other murders? There are similarities between Laura’s murder and the murders of Andrew the hairdresser and Barbara the librarian. Then somebody hired that PI Hearn to follow and assault me, and now he’s dead. And I’m convinced Kurt was killed because he could identify the man Andrew was dating.”

“Maybe the question is, can we picture Charles or Fred dating Andrew.”

I tried to imagine it. “I don’t know. They both seem straight to me.”

“Fred could have an alter ego who isn’t compulsively neat,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Wait a minute. What if he
isn’t
compulsively neat? What if he’s just compulsive about having things in order, you know, because he likes to be in control. Even though the killings were messy, the crime scenes were controlled. There was almost no evidence. Just a few partial prints. Also, the rubber band holding the plastic bag over Laura’s head had the word
organic
printed on it. When I was in Fred’s house I searched his fridge. All his veggies are organic.
And
Bill told me they got an anonymous phone call after Barbara Herbert was murdered. Someone saw a man matching Fred’s description leaving the alley where she was killed.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Oh my
God
. What are they doing about that?”

“Nothing. Bill says there isn’t enough evidence to justify a search warrant.”

“I guess that makes sense, if the tip was anonymous. Tell me about Charles’s office. What did his desk look like?”

I tried to remember if everything on his desk had been lined up, but all I could think of was how his face had changed color.

“I don’t remember. I guess I could pay him another visit, but I’m not sure he’d invite me back to his office again. We didn’t exactly hit it off.”

“What about me? I could pretend I have some money to invest, ask him for advice, get a look at the office, and then tell him I’ll get back to him.”

“What if he’s the killer?”

“People ask for advice before investing all the time. I think a stock broker would be more than happy to meet with a potential client.”

“But you work in Sunnyvale. He’s in Palo Alto. When would you have time?”

“I don’t start work until nine. Didn’t you say he goes in early?”

“He went in early the day I followed him. That doesn’t mean he’s there early every day.”

“So I’ll drop by his office tomorrow morning and if he’s not there, he’s not there. If he is, I’ll tell him the Howards recommended him.”

“I don’t know about that. What if he checks with them?”

“He’s not going to call them while I’m waiting in the lobby. You worry too much.”

“Okay. Just be careful.”

I hugged Elizabeth goodnight and shuffled off to my boat.

I undressed, leaving my clothes in a heap on the floor, and climbed into bed. As I was drifting off I heard a familiar scratching noise on the pilothouse door, followed by a high-pitched whine. D’Artagnon. I struggled out of bed, located the doggy bag with the leftover chicken, and climbed the steps. I opened the door and he wiggled inside, his nose elevated toward the bag. He must have smelled the chicken when I walked past his boat.

I fed it to him one bite at a time and he swallowed each mouthful without chewing. When all the scraps had been devoured he licked my hands and gave a full body wag as he leaned against my legs. I scratched above his tail and around his ears, and then I sent him home.

I sank back into bed with a smile on my face and was almost instantly asleep.

Chapter 29

T
he Dream Machine woke me at 6:00 on Friday morning, the acoustic guitar CD reminding me of Bill Anderson’s guitars. My wine headache wasn’t as bad as I’d expected it to be.

While the coffee was brewing I dialed my office number and checked my messages. Fred had called to confirm our dinner date, saying he would meet me at my office at 7:45. He’d made a reservation at Castaway out at Coyote Point instead of the Garden Grill. He said he thought it would be more romantic. I love Castaway. They always have fresh salmon, and the view of the coast is spectacular. I was a little creeped out by the romance part. The evidence was pointing to him and, even if he wasn’t the killer, there was something disturbing about Frederick Marcus Wulf.

I was in my office when Bill called at 9:00, asking if I’d contacted any of the bodyguards he’d recommended yet. I said I hadn’t, and he made me promise that I would do so by the end of the day.

I spent my morning scheduling bar and restaurant surveys with my regular clients.

At noon I got a call from Elizabeth.

“Nikki, the guy has almost nothing on his desk. Just a pen and pencil set, a picture of his wife, and two empty trays. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his suit, tie, or shirt, and every hair was gelled into place. I can’t believe you didn’t notice! I would have called you sooner, but I’ve been on a conference call all morning. Anyway, he is totally obsessive-compulsive, and he nearly broke my fingers when I shook his hand. What an asshole.”

“Did he seem suspicious about your reason for being there?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Thanks, Elizabeth. I owe you another pair of shoes.”

I had a Cobb Salad at a client’s restaurant in Palo Alto, jotted down survey notes in the car,
and then drove to Nordstrom where I bought Elizabeth a hundred-dollar gift card. I didn’t spot the blue Volvo until I was leaving the Nordstrom lot. It was parked in a remote corner, under a tree.

Driving back to Redwood City, watching my rearview mirror, I figured out why I hadn’t spotted the Volvo earlier. It was nowhere in sight. There had to be another transmitter somewhere on my car. Why should that surprise me? He would have noticed the original bug was no longer tracking me, and simply attached a new one.

Back at the office I left a voice-mail message for Bill, telling him there was another transmitter on my car, then I typed up an invoice for Kate. I edited out the molestation and prostitution details from the file, as well as the notes from my conversation with Frank regarding Laura’s apparent lack of sex drive, and then printed it. Since I couldn’t verify what Rod had told me about Derrick molesting Laura, I didn’t want to destroy Kate’s faith in her husband unnecessarily, much as I disliked him. I couldn’t see what difference it would make if Kate learned now of Laura’s arrest for propositioning a Vice cop, and she certainly didn’t need to know that Laura hadn’t enjoyed sex with Frank.

I enclosed a note telling Kate I was getting close to something, and that I’d keep her posted. Hope springs eternal.

I gave the package to the mail carrier when she delivered my mail, then I re-locked the office door behind her and called one of the numbers Bill had given me for a bodyguard.

“Lieutenant Quinn,” said a husky female voice.

“Lieutenant, my name is Nicoli Hunter. I’m thinking about hiring a bodyguard and Bill Anderson recommended you.”

“Oh yeah, he said you might be calling.”

“How much do you charge?”

“Sixty an hour plus mileage.”

I thought about it. I could afford this.

“That sounds reasonable,” I said. “What hours are you available?”

“From six p.m. until two a.m. I have to get
some
sleep to do this job, but not much.”

I liked her instantly.

“How much notice do you need?”

“Twenty-four hours would be good, but if it’s an emergency I can make do with an hour’s notice.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Before we hung up she gave me her cell phone and pager numbers. I felt better just having spoken with her. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. Even if it didn’t keep me alive, I’d feel more secure and sleep better at night.

At 6:00 p.m., I walked down to Elizabeth’s boat. She was on her dock steps sipping a cocktail and cuddling K.C.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said.

I handed her the gift card.

“Oooh, Nordstrom!
Thank
you.”

“You earned it.”

“I’ve been thinking about Fred,” she said. “How neat his house was. Even his garage was organized. Where would someone like that keep things he didn’t want anyone to find?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What about a safe deposit box or a storage locker? Is there any way to find out about things like that?”

“I could ask Michael to do a little hacking for me.”

Michael Burke and I had been sweethearts from kindergarten through the second grade. I used to beat him up on the playground every day. He proposed to me, and I accepted, when we were five years old. We had the top two IQs in our first grade class. His was four points higher than mine. We don’t see much of each other anymore, but we stay in touch. He lives in the Santa Cruz mountains and is something of a recluse. He’s also a computer guru, earning his living as a white hat hacker, testing network security systems, and repairing computers that have been virus-damaged.

“What do we do if he has a storage locker?” I asked. “Cut off the lock and search for evidence?”

“Maybe. Where else would you hide a knife?”

“I’d like to get a look in the trunk of his car.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“I don’t know yet. Can I have a glass of water?”

“Help yourself,” said Elizabeth.

I got up and went inside the trawler, took a glass from the rack, and located a jug of spring water in the fridge. I filled my glass and went back outside.

“Maybe I can slip out during dinner and pick the lock on his trunk.”

“Where are you going for dinner?”

“Castaway.”

“Valet parking,” she said. “You’d have to find the car first, in the dark.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

“I have an idea.” Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “Spend the night with him, and when he’s asleep get his keys and search his trunk.”

“Very funny.”

“You could slip the valet a twenty and ask him to bring it around.”

“That would take too long. I need a shower.”

I gave her the empty water glass, kissed her on the cheek, and trudged down the dock to my boat.

After showering I put on a black western-style dress with a silver belt buckle. I decided to go the whole nine yards and pulled on a pair of black cowboy boots with silver tips on the toes. They hurt my feet, but they looked great. My image in the mirror looked amused.

At 7:30 I was ready to go. As I approached the companionway I noticed Elizabeth’s door was open. I reached across the deck and knocked on a window. She came outside and whistled at me.

“Wow! Why are you wasting this on Fred?” she asked.

“You think it’s too much?”

“No. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you got your gun?” she whispered.

I patted my purse. “You need to close and lock your door and windows until this case is resolved, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. Have fun, Nikki, and be careful.” She shook her index finger at me.

“I’m always careful. I’ll stop by after dinner if you’re still up.”

“I’ll be up,” she said.

I walked to the office and let myself in, locking the door behind me. I turned on my desk lamp, leaving the rest of the office dark. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Fred being in my office, so I planned to scoot him out as quickly as possible.

While I was waiting I booted up the computer and sent Michael Burke an e-mail asking him to research Frederick Marcus Wulf. I included Fred’s social security number from the paycheck stub I’d lifted, and asked him to look for any information on banking, safe deposit boxes, and storage locker rentals. I also asked if he’d like to get together for dinner.

I was turning off the computer when there was a knock on my door. I looked up and saw a tall masculine silhouette. As I approached the door I could see it was Fred, nicely dressed, as usual, in charcoal slacks, a dove gray shirt, and a slate gray cashmere pullover. His eyes seemed to glow in the dim light.

I unlocked and opened the door, then went back to my desk to get my purse and switch off the lamp.

“What time is our reservation?” I asked.

“You look nice,” he said. “Eight-fifteen.”

I turned back toward the door and saw that Fred was now halfway inside my dark office, blocking my path to the exit.

“Thank you,” I said. I looked him in the eye and smiled. “Shall we go?”

He hesitated for a moment and then stepped aside.

Fred’s Jag was parked near my office and I wondered if he’d been here before. The car was unlocked and Fred opened the passenger side door for me, waited until my dress and I were safely inside, and closed it gently. During the drive to Castaway, he asked me how my week had been.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Oh?”

“First this PI from San Mateo who was following me got killed. Then I got my hair cut by a guy named Kurt who knew Andrew McConnell, that hairdresser who was murdered? You probably heard about it on the news. Anyway, I asked Kurt some questions about Andrew, and that night
he
was killed.”

I watched his face for a reaction. There was none.

“I was pressuring the PI to tell me who his client was, and I think he was going to, but someone killed him first. Kurt had seen the man Andrew was dating and might have been able to identify him. I was going to show him some pictures, but I never got the chance.”

“Were you going to show him a picture of me?” Fred asked.

My heart skipped a beat. “Of course,” I said.

He turned his head away from the road long enough to make eye contact. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a happy, carefree kind of a smile. It was feral. I felt an involuntary shudder run the length of my body.

When we arrived at Castaway a college age cutie dressed in black trousers, a white shirt, and a red vest opened my door and helped me out of the car, then accepted Fred’s keys and issued a receipt.

As we walked to the front of the restaurant, Fred took my arm. I wanted to jerk away from him, but I steeled myself and went on with the charade.

We were seated at a window table with a panoramic view of San Francisco Bay. A busboy served us ice water and warm French bread, and a few minutes later our waiter approached. He introduced himself as David
and handed us menus. Fred ordered a double Glenlivet up, and I ordered coffee. David told us about the evening’s specials, and then left us alone to look over our menus.

When our drinks were served we ordered dinner. I asked for the steamed clams, the salad bar, and the grilled swordfish. Fred smiled sardonically at my appetite, and ordered the Caesar salad with grilled shrimp. David collected the menus and departed.

I looked across the table at Fred. “Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions about Laura?”

“Ask away.” He took a generous sip of his scotch.

“You were sleeping with her, right?”

“Yes.” The look on his face was beyond condescending. It was arrogant.

“Did she ever ask you to put your hands around her throat while you were having sex?”

Fred abruptly stopped smiling and moved his intense gaze toward the Bay. He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he slowly turned back to me. His eyes had lost their glow and there was something else, maybe fear.

“I told you she was bored,” he said. “She was looking for excitement.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said quietly.

Fred silently took another sip of his drink. Just when the tension was getting palpable, David arrived with my clams. He told me I could help myself to the salad bar anytime I was ready, and pointed it out to me. Before he could get away, Fred ordered another double Scotch.

The clams were served in a butter and garlic broth, and they were tender and juicy. When I’d finished them Fred was still giving me the silent treatment, so I decided to step outside and grab a smoke.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I said, rising from my seat.

Unless I missed my guess, our entrees wouldn’t be served until I returned. I walked past the restrooms, slipped out the front door, and lit up. I stood beside a small waterfall in the courtyard and looked out at the deep blue sky above the parking lot. The sun was setting and it was an unusually still evening. A peripheral flash of color caught my attention. I turned to get a better look, and couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a petite, strawberry blonde person bending over the open trunk of a silver-blue Jaguar XJS that was parked up the hill. I watched as she switched on a penlight.

“
Jesus Christ
,” I whispered.

I glanced quickly at the parking valet. He was leaning against the booth, contemplating the boats in the harbor. I tossed my cigarette in the fountain and, taking out another, sashayed over to the booth and asked him for a light. The kid responded with all the requisite hormones, his hand shaking as he held a plastic lighter to my cigarette. I stood with my back to the Bay, keeping him turned away from the uphill parking area and Fred’s Jag.

“Been working here long?” I asked.

“Two weeks.” His voice cracked.

“You’re very good at your job.” I smiled. “How are the tips?”

“They’re great!” he said, with enthusiasm.

He was adorable, but it took tremendous self-control for me not to look past him at Elizabeth. As I made small talk I remembered the night she had broken into Fred’s house. She’d given me back the Glock, the phone, and the camera, but not the lock picks. I mentally slapped myself on the forehead.

When I didn’t think I could wait any longer without arousing Fred’s suspicions and the valet’s expectations, I thanked him for the light and went back inside. As I passed the waterfall I glanced up the hill. The Jag’s trunk was closed, and Elizabeth was nowhere in sight. I blew out a sigh of relief as I hurried back into the restaurant.

Fred looked annoyed as I approached the table and sat down.

“Sorry that took so long,” I said, with a self-deprecating smile. “Irritable bowel syndrome.”

Fred grimaced and waved an impatient hand in the air. David must have been watching, because our entrees were served immediately.

The swordfish was moist and firm with a subtle garlic and lemon flavor. On the side were rice, carrots, and green beans. I ate half of the fish and watched Fred nibble at his shrimp salad and guzzle his scotch.