But all the night owls swore that Kelley had not come back to her apartment Tuesday night. Things had been quiet. And hardly anyone ever saw crazy Gary anymore at all, unless he was off to rent another stack of movies at some Red Box or video store.
It simply wasn’t logical that Grant could have beaten and strangled his wife to death in that little apartment with its wafer-thin walls and then managed to carry her body down three flights of stairs to the street outside. Even if he had, what would he have done next, call a taxi?
So on a beautifully crisp autumn Friday morning, John Kinsella found himself with yet another homicide to solve, a lovely young woman dead, and no suspects, or clues. Only one gigantic stomachache to torture him while he figured out what to do next and wished he were, at that moment, anywhere else but in San Francisco.
CHAPTER SIX
LATER THAT SAME DAY
Late on Friday afternoon, while updating her flight manual, Christine found the message slip with Luther Ross-Wilkerson’s number, caught among the pages she had stored in her tote bag before the Honolulu flight. She’d totally forgotten about the strange call, but decided to find out who Mr. Wilkerson was and what he wanted. Using her land-line, she punched in the numbers and waited while the number rang five times. She was just about to hang up when someone finally answered.
“European Pacific Imports. May I help you?” A woman’s voice, crisp and professional.
“I do hope so. Is there a Mr. Wilkerson there?” Christine asked.
“Yes, Mr. Wilkerson is our owner and manager. But I’m afraid he has left for the day.” Christine glanced at the clock. It was past five. “Could anyone else help you? Is this about an order?”
“No, it’s not an order. I am returning a call I received from Mr. Wilkerson. He didn’t leave a reason for the call, so I have no idea what he wanted to talk to me about. He did indicate it was urgent.”
“I see. Well, if you will give me your name and number, I’ll have him call you tomorrow. He always comes in on Saturday,” the woman replied.
Christine hesitated. Why did the name still sound so familiar? And should she leave her number not knowing what this was about?
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Let me see. All right, perhaps you could have Mr. Wilkerson call me back. My name is Christine Lindsey, and I’m with International World Airlines. Just let him know I’m returning his call.” For safety sake, she gave only the land-line number and not her cell.
“You are not a customer, Miss Lindsey?” The polite woman asked.
“No, I’m not.”
“Very well, then. Mr. Wilkerson will get your message when he comes in tomorrow morning. Thank you, and goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” Christine hung up and went to her laptop where she Googled European Pacific Imports. Yes, there it was. The website informed her the company specialized in imports of fine and rare British, French, and Asian china, linens, antiques, and jewelry. A photo showed a very fancy showroom on Union Street, with a selection of many of the items for sale. Mr. Wilkerson’s name was mentioned but there was no photo of him.
Still puzzled but a bit more convinced that perhaps Mr. Wilkerson was trying to sell her something – or maybe Ted had purchased another expensive gift for her, which didn’t exactly bring her much joy – Christine crumbled the message slip and dropped it into a wastebasket.
She didn’t want anything else from Ted, and whether Mr. Wilkerson called her again or not really made no difference at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SATURDAY - OCTOBER 8
th
Saturday morning dawned gray and chilly, the city softly shrouded in fog. With luck, the fog would burn off as the morning progressed, and Christine, up earlier than usual, fed the cat and made a cup of tea. She had a morning’s worth of chores ahead of her. She was about to step into the shower when she heard someone knocking on her front door.
She wrapped herself in a robe and marched to the door, calling out, “Who’s there?” No one should have been at her door unless it was a neighbor, perhaps Laura needing something. “Laura, is that you?”
“Good morning, Chris. No, it’s Ted. I thought I’d surprise you.”
She should have known. Ted and his surprises. No matter she had told him that they were finished, that she didn’t want to see him anymore. Ted MacIntyre didn’t take no for an answer very easily. Christine found herself wondering if she should be angry or just feel sorry for him.
Reluctantly, she opened the door half way. “Ted, in case you’ve forgotten, this is a security building. Why didn’t you phone from downstairs? And what are you doing here anyway, at this hour?”
Ted smiled sheepishly. “A nice older woman let me in. I’ve gotten in like that any number of times before. And I wanted to catch you, before you’d gone out somewhere.”
“Ted, really . . .”
He held up both hands. “No, please, Chris, let me come in. I know you told me you didn’t want to see me again, but please. It’s going to be a gorgeous day once this fog burns off. Couldn’t we have one more picnic out on the bay? It’s going to be a great day for sailing. I only want to talk over some things with you. At least let me do that.”
“What things? What more is there to say, Ted?”
“Let’s just say closure, okay? And may I please come in? I’d feel better not standing out here in the hallway.” Reluctantly, Christine opened the door fully and allowed him to come in. “Ted, I’ve got all sorts of things to do this morning, chores I’ve put off and just have to take care of today before I’m working again.”
“Well, they won’t take all day, will they? While you do what you have to do, I’ll put a lunch together and we can go when you get back. The weather will be fine then. What do you say?” He held up a large grocery bag filled to the top. “I even stopped and got what we would need.”
Christine looked at him, thinking about how most women would give anything to have his attention. Why could she no longer feel that way?
“Okay, let me get my shower and get dressed. While I’m gone, you can stay here and keep Tommy company.” Maybe this would be a good idea. She would talk firmly with him this afternoon, bring everything up this time and make him face facts.
Ted grimaced, casting a wary eye at the large red cat, who had finished his meal and was now sitting in the doorway watching both of them, his pink tongue rhythmically washing his mouth. He wasn’t comfortable with cats or dogs, but he knew Chris could never be happy with anyone who didn’t love animals as much as she did.
“Look, I’ll be back here in two hours at most, maybe less. There’ll be plenty of time to go sailing. So put what you bought together and if you need anything else, there’s plenty in my refrigerator to add. All right?” She had to talk with him, tell him how she felt and make him understand. There was nothing left between them. Starting a relationship with Ted had been a mistake from the start, but she had allowed herself to be dazzled by who he was, the only son of the richest family in San Francisco. She had been flattered to receive attention from him, not realizing how immature he was.
Ted sighed and nodded, stroking her hair. “All right, hon, maybe that’ll work out okay. Unless you want me to come with you?”
“No, I’d rather you didn’t. It’s only chores and I can get everything done faster myself. You stay and see to the picnic lunch. Use my basket.” She started toward the bathroom. “The faster I get out, the sooner I’ll be back.”
Not giving him time to argue further, Christine ran into the bathroom and jumped under the sharp hot jets of water, lathering her body vigorously with soap, angry with herself for giving in to Ted once again. But then she decided it might be the best course. This would be the day she would make the final break with him.
***
Left with little choice after Christine’s departure, Ted began a half-hearted appraisal of what he had bought. Maybe he shouldn’t have come barging in here this morning the way he had. She had told him already that she didn’t want to see him anymore. But he couldn’t get the past out of his mind, how happy she once used to be with him. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing her. If there were any chance that he could help her recapture her earlier feelings for him, he would do it. So now he’d prepare a fine picnic, stop along the way to buy some good wine, and hope for the best. He began a search of the hall closets for Christine’s picnic basket.
The telephone rang while he was looking. He walked back to the kitchen, hesitated a moment before picking up the call, and finally decided there was no harm in doing so. He grabbed up the receiver. “Hello?”
Silence. Ted was sure, however, that he could hear someone on the other end. “Hello? Anyone there?” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “Speak, or I’m hanging up.”
Hesitantly, a man spoke up. “Christine Lindsey, please? Or have I dialed incorrectly?”
“No, this is her number. Miss Lindsey is out for a few hours. Can I have her call you later?” Who was this guy, Ted wondered?
“Who exactly are you?” the caller answered, mirroring Ted’s own thoughts. “Mr. Lindsey?”
What the hell? . . . “No, there isn’t any Mr. Lindsey. Who are you?”
“Never mind. It’s really not necessary to leave any message now. I’ll call back again later. Thank you.”
He was gone. Ted put the receiver down, briefly wondering if Chris was seeing someone new already. He was British and sounded very formal. The thought of her being with anyone else really pained him.
He sighed and tried to shake off the feeling. Concentrate on today and the time they would have together, he told himself. Maybe there was still hope for him. She was older than he was and so much smarter. But he was crazy about Christine, ever since he’d met her on a flight to Paris. He hated the thought of losing her before they’d really had time to try to make their relationship work.
He went back to the closet and resumed his search for the basket, finding it just in time for Tommy, who had been watching him, to leap into it and snuggle down inside, forcing Ted to carry the basket with him in it back to the kitchen. “Damn cat,” he said out loud. Tommy gave him a baleful look in reply.
Deciding to really make the best of whatever happened today, Ted put the phone call and the British guy out of mind and started preparing a lunch. Then he called and ordered some flowers and candy to be delivered here later this afternoon. They would be waiting for Chris after the sail.
Once again he attempted to remove Tommy from the picnic basket, but decided to leave well enough alone after the cat smacked him soundly with a large paw. He would have to wait and let him get out by himself when he was ready to do so.
So, opening Christine’s mini-bar, Ted made himself a stiff Bloody Mary, in spite of the early hour. Polishing it off much too quickly, he mixed a second, frowning as he thought what Christine would say if she saw him. Several times she had reminded him that he tended to drink to excess – as had his parents and sisters, constantly.
But never mind about that. He finished up the last touches on his salads and sandwiches. He wanted everything to be perfect today.
He thought no more of Christine’s strange phone call.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Luther arrived at his office early Saturday morning, his normal weekend routine. He no longer had many interests outside of his business, and few if any friends who bothered with him anymore, so he was accustomed to spending most Saturdays and even Sundays at his desk.
He especially liked working on weekends, because he could be completely alone. His showroom below would open for business in an hour or two, but in his office he knew he could expect privacy on the weekends. Nobody would ever come up to bother him. He could pop on a CD and settle down into the large, comfortable chair behind the polished old mahogany desk. The office was sparsely, although expensively, furnished. There were no photographs or any items of a personal nature anywhere.
Surveying his elegant and efficient work space, and proud of the success of his business venture in San Francisco, Luther often wondered just what his father would say if he could see how successful his only son had become in the United States. Of course, Ross-Wilkerson, Ltd. in London, with which Luther was still marginally affiliated, was well aware of how profitable the American interest had become, all thanks solely to Luther. In the years since he had come to the United States, he had taken full control of the California holdings and managed to reap ever-increasing profits. He had even become an American citizen. San Francisco’s innate style and elegance fit his patrician tastes perfectly.
Luther turned his attention to the two folders left on his desk by his assistant, Shirley Lao. She had clipped a note to the top folder, a note which started his heart pounding and his hands trembling.
Christine Lindsey had returned his call!
Briefly, he allowed his mind to wander to the girl on Geary Street, the girl in the deli who he thought had been Christine. But she said her name was Kelley. Kelley something. Grant . . . yes, Kelley Grant. He had not wanted to hurt her, but the voices told him he had to.
Kelley had been a mistake, a terrible mistake. He had allowed himself to be carried away, thinking she was Christine. He had been so sure it was Christine when he walked into that deli, after wandering around near Union Square all evening.