Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (12 page)

“Listen, I have to go to that strip club again tomorrow night. I know you have to work on Monday, but we can leave early. I really don’t want to go in there alone again.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to a strip joint!”

I gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re my friend. See you tomorrow.”

On board my boat I dropped my purse on the stateroom floor, and turned on the evening news. While I watched I stripped off my clothes, and crawled into bed. I slept for about twenty minutes before my subconscious woke me up. I found the notepad and pen I keep on the headboard and made a list.

1. Laura’s former fiancé’s reaction to her career choice
   
2. Derrick’s reaction to his daughter’s solicitation arrest
   
3. Who will inherit the Howard fortune, now that Laura’s dead?
   

Having exhausted my imagination, I nodded off again and slept soundly.

Chapter 16

O
n Sunday morning, after two cups of coffee and a warm shower, I felt pretty good. I moseyed up to the office, turned on the computer, and opened Laura’s file.

I called Kate and Derrick at home. Kate answered after three rings. I asked if I could stop by around 10:00. She checked with Derrick and said that would be fine.

I called Detective Anderson on his cell.

“Anderson.” He sounded annoyed.

“It’s Nikki Hunter. Do you have any off-duty time available?”

I could hear the wheels turning as he wondered why I was asking.

“I might be free tonight,” he finally said. His tone of voice had softened.

“I’m working until about 8:30,” I said. “Can you meet me at my office?”

“I should be able to do that.”

I was smiling when I hung up the phone.

I tried calling the
Fanny Pack
to find out if Frank and Candy were working that night, but there was no answer, so I dialed Sylvia in Los Angeles. She answered on the fourth ring, sounding groggy.

“Sylvia, it’s Nicoli Hunter. Did I wake you?”

She was silent until her memory kicked-in. “Oh yes, the private investigator. Any suspects yet, dear?”

“Not really. I’m going to see Kate and Derrick this morning and I wanted to talk to you first. I need to know about the family’s money.”

“You mean in relation to Laura?”

“And in general.”

“Well, Laura was about to inherit a substantial sum. When our parents died they left half of their money to Laura and the other half to her brother Rod. My husband and I never had children.”

What the fuck?
“I didn’t know there was a brother. Kate told me Laura was an only child.”

I was outraged that Kate had lied to me. Sometimes I’m incredibly gullible.

“Well, I suppose to Kate she
was
an only child. Rod is Derrick’s son from a previous marriage.”

“Oh. Can you tell me about the provisions of the will? How much money are we talking about?”

“Laura would have inherited five million dollars on her twenty-fifth birthday, plus the interest, of course. It’s been in a money market account for a few years. I guess now that she’s gone the money either reverts to Derrick and me, or to Rod.”

“Where does Rod live? Has he already collected his portion of the inheritance?”

“Yes, he received his shortly after their death, when he turned twenty-five. He lives in San Francisco. At least he used to. I haven’t spoken with him in years. We were never very close. Rod’s a strange one. Raised by his mother.”

Like that could be any worse than being raised by Derrick.

“Do you have an address and a phone number?”

“Just a minute, dear.” I heard a drawer open and close, then she came back on the line. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“He used to live in Diamond Heights,” she said. “I don’t know if this is current.”

She read me an address and telephone number, and I copied them down. I thanked Sylvia and ended the call.

I dug out the photocopy I’d made of Kate’s check and sent an e-mail to CIS requesting a financial background on the Howards. A checking account number is sufficient for this type of research.

Before I left for Atherton I totaled my hours and the running list of expenses, subtracted Kate’s initial deposit, and printed an invoice. I took the Ruger out of my purse and slid it back into the Velcro holster under my lap drawer. I still had the Glock in the fanny pack holster which was in my oversized purse. I probably didn’t even need to carry a gun, but because it was my first homicide investigation I was feeling insecure. Of course if I needed to draw the Glock in a hurry, getting it out of the fanny pack would slow me down. I had a Triple K pistol purse with a built in holster stowed somewhere on the boat. I decided I had enough time to switch bags before my meeting with the Howards.

I found the pistol purse in the stateroom locker and transferred the contents of my bag, securing the Glock in the holster compartment. If I wore the purse on my left hip with the shoulder strap across my chest, I could cross-draw with my right hand while holding the purse in place with my left. I tried it a couple of times and the action was smooth enough.

I was still angry with Kate for not telling me about Laura’s half brother Rod so I broke the speed limit all the way to Atherton. It’s a short drive, but I generally avoid breaking the law because I hate the humiliation of getting caught. While I was driving I went over what I would say to Kate and Derrick, imagining how they might react to being reprimanded by the hired help.

There were two late model 5 Series BMWs in the driveway when I arrived. My little Bimmer is over twenty years old, but I take good care of it. I parked behind one of the sedans, patted my dashboard affectionately, and got out of the car.

I knocked on the front door, which was promptly answered by a middle-aged woman wearing a black dress and a white apron.

“I’m Nicoli Hunter,” I said. “I have an appointment with the Howards.”

She was looking right at me, but I had the feeling she didn’t understand what I had said. After an awkward moment, Kate walked up behind the woman and said something in Spanish. The woman nodded and walked away.

“Sorry about that. Celia’s English isn’t very good. Please, come in.”

Kate escorted me into the living room, where Derrick was reading the Wall Street Journal. I admire people who can read the Wall Street Journal and not fall asleep after the first paragraph.

“Ms. Hunter.” Derrick stood up and offered his hand. I shook it reluctantly. “Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to the elegant sectional on which he had been seated. “What can we do for you?”

“You can start by telling me about Rod and his relationship with Laura.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Then you can tell me about the inheritance.”

Derrick glanced at Kate. “Rod and Laura didn’t see much of each other,” he said. “There’s really nothing to tell about their relationship. How did you find out about the inheritance?”

“That doesn’t matter. What
does
matter is the fact that neither of you mentioned it to me. Surely you must know that five million dollars plus interest provides a significant motive. Who gets all that money now that Laura’s out of the picture?”

Kate visibly cringed at my choice of words before responding. “Half of the money will go to Rod, and the other half will be divided between Derrick and his sister, Sylvia.”

“And the reason neither of you chose to mention this to me?”

Kate fielded that one as well. “I didn’t think it was pertinent. Rod has already inherited five million, so he can’t possibly need the money enough to harm Laura, and we would never hurt our own daughter.”

I considered what she had said about Rod.
He can’t possibly need the money enough to harm Laura
. What if he
did
need the money enough? She also didn’t say anything about whether she and Derrick, or Sylvia for that matter, could use the money.

“I’d like to get a copy of the will,” I said. “And I’d like to speak with your attorney. I’ll need his name and phone number.”

They were both silent for a moment, then Kate said, “Of course,” and left the room.

When she was gone I turned to Derrick who was looking at me as though I was a bug under a microscope. His eyes seemed empty and at the same time calculating, disconnected from what was going on around him, but observing everything with detached interest. That visible indifference pissed me off, since his daughter had so recently been butchered.

“I understand Laura was arrested for solicitation,” I said, watching for a change in those emotionless eyes.

He darted a glance in the direction Kate had gone. “Who told you that?” he asked, still watching for Kate.

“I ran a background check,” I lied, not wanting to get Anderson in trouble for showing me the file.

“Kate doesn’t know anything about that, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Okay. I’ll come by your office tomorrow and we can discuss it in private.”

Derrick crossed his legs and gently shook the wrinkles out of his newspaper.

Kate returned a moment later and handed me a slip of paper on which she had written the name Gerald Kuhlman and a phone number with a 415 area code. The name meant nothing to me.

“Did Laura date anyone special while she was in college?” I asked. Sylvia had told me Laura was engaged, but I didn’t want to tip my hand. They had intentionally hidden Rod and the inheritance from me and I wanted to see if I could catch them in another lie.

Kate and Derrick looked at each other. “Only Charles,” she said.

“Last name?”

“Spencer. Charles Spencer. We were very disappointed when Laura broke off their engagement. He was such a nice boy.”

“Did she tell you why she stopped seeing him?”

“She said he was predictable, whatever that means.”

“Do you know where Charles is living now?”

“He used to live in Palo Alto,” Kate answered. She glanced at Derrick. “We haven’t seen him recently.”

“Do you have any of Laura’s college yearbooks, or a picture of Charles?”

“Laura never bought the yearbooks.” Kate looked down at her hands, clearly ashamed that her daughter hadn’t purchased her college annuals, as if that decision alone reflected all her failings as a mother.

“What about a photograph?”

She looked at Derrick again. When he ignored her, she looked back at me and shook her head.

“Anything else you’d like to tell me?”

Kate said nothing and Derrick didn’t look up from his paper.

“Okay. Thank you for your time.” I fumbled in my purse for the bill I’d printed up and handed it to Kate. “You can mail me a check. I’ll show myself out.”

I left, satisfied that I’d made my displeasure known in every possible way. Since I was already in Atherton I decided to swing by Stanford University, just a few miles further south, to see if the library was open on Sunday. After driving around the campus, lost, for twenty minutes, I accidentally happened upon the library. It was a large ornate building and, luckily, it was open.

I located the reference desk and asked to see the annuals for the years when Laura had attended. The young man behind the counter looked put out, but he went and got them for me and plunked them down on the desk.

“These can’t leave the library,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied grudgingly.

I took the yearbooks to a table and opened the most recent one. Charles Spencer wasn’t hard to find. He was the class valedictorian, for one thing. He was also in the chess club, on the football team, and was heavily involved in theater arts. His picture was all over the place. I even found a shot of Charles and Laura seated on a hillside. The caption read
most likely to get married
. Ouch. He was a good-looking guy with a muscular build. I wondered when Laura had decided he was predictable.

I made photocopies of three of the better pictures of Charles, including the one with Laura in it, then I carried the books back to the reference desk and asked the clerk where I could get a mailing list of alumni.

“You’ll have to talk to Administration about that,” he said.

I thanked him again and walked out to my car. I managed to find my way out of the campus maze without getting lost this time, and drove north to the 1-Hour-Photo. I collected my pictures of Fred and looked them over before driving back to the office. He was very photogenic, and I had a good shot of his license plate from the InSight parking lot. Feeling pleased with myself, I took out my little notebook and wrote myself a reminder to have CIS run a criminal background on Fred. I should have done that already. I’d had his social security number since Friday night.

All of a sudden I had suspects coming out of my ears. When I got back to the office I listed them all in Laura’s file, just in case I developed amnesia. When the list was complete I considered taking a drive to San Francisco and surprising Derrick’s son, Rod, but I didn’t feel like making the trip for nothing, so I called. The phone rang four times before the voice-mail kicked in.

“You’ve reached the home of Rod Howard. If you leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”

I waited for the beep, then left my name and number, not mentioning why I was calling. No sense tipping him off if Derrick hadn’t already done that.

I was feeling tired, irritable, and hungry. I walked across the marina to The Diving Pelican and ordered the roast turkey special. I finished most of it, then went down to Elizabeth’s trawler to see if she was home. She wasn’t. I shuffled the rest of the way to my boat and collapsed. Turkey always makes me sleepy.

An hour later I woke up, called my office machine, and retrieved my messages. Rod had returned my call. His father had told him who I was. He said he’d be home until 6:00 p.m. It was 2:00. He hadn’t left his phone number.

I dug through my purse looking for my notebook, but after emptying everything out onto the bunk I remembered I’d left it on my desk. I put on sunglasses and made the trek back up to the office.

All the marina dogs were inside hiding from the heat. As I passed Elizabeth’s boat I noticed her door was still closed. Probably shopping.

When I reached the office I listened to Rod’s message again. He sounded impatient. A family trait? I located my notebook and found the number, dialed it, and waited while the phone rang four times.

“Rod Howard.”

“This is Nicoli Hunter,” I said. “I got your voice-mail message. If you’re going to be home for a while I’d like to speak with you in person. I can be there in about forty-five minutes.” If traffic was light I could make it in thirty.

“You mean today? Can’t we just talk on the phone?”

It’s easier to tell if someone is lying in person.

“I have some pictures I need to show you.” I anticipated his next suggestion. “They’re too dark to fax.”

“Oh, I suppose,” he sighed. “Do you know how to get to Diamond Heights?”

“Two-eighty to San Jose Avenue, left on Dolores, and left on Twenty-ninth?”

“Yes. Then turn right on Diamond and park. I’m at the corner of Twenty-eighth and Diamond, on the right. You have the address?”

I read him the address Sylvia had given me and he confirmed that it was correct.

“I’ll see you in forty-five minutes,” he huffed, and hung up.

I could picture him glaring at the phone with his father’s eyes.