The Gossiping Gourmet: (A Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 1) (Murder in Marin Mysteries) (22 page)

Eddie’s curiosity was
heightened when another photo revealed a boy maybe four to five years younger,
sitting in the back of a rowboat, tied to a crumbling wooden dock. He slipped
both photos into his pocket.

Rob’s search focused on an
antique mahogany bedroom dresser, and the battered old Queen Anne desk in the
bedroom nook. He took out each of the desk’s two narrow and deep side drawers,
and its one shallow and wide center drawer. One by one, he turned them over,
and emptied their contents onto the floor. He quickly looked at every scrap of
paper, hoping to find something that placed Warren somewhere other than
Sausalito.

He found nothing.

He piled the papers back into
what he hoped was the drawer they came out of, and then realized that it was
highly unlikely anyone alive today would know what papers originally went
where. Just knowing that he was a few feet from where Warren may have been suffocated
and later mutilated sent a shiver up his spine.

Rob had just pulled out the
third drawer—the widest and flattest one, in the center, below the desk
top—when his hand felt something strange on the drawer’s backside. It was tape,
or perhaps plastic. It was enough to make him catch his breath. Excitedly, he
flipped over the drawer.

A blank white plastic card
was taped to it.

“Eddie, get in here! I think
I found something important.”

Eddie came running. When he
saw what Rob was holding, he took the small penknife that was attached to his
house keys and carefully cut the tape around the card’s edges. On the flipside
of the card was a photo of a man they both vaguely recognized as Warren
Bradley, probably in his mid-thirties. Younger Warren had no gray hair, no
bushy salt and pepper mustache, and no tired eyes, but after a few moments of
careful consideration, they were both quite certain that it was him.

The card was an ID badge from
the department of biomedical research at Northern Arizona University. There was
no date of issuance on the card, but there was a name:

William Benedict.

They both stood and stared in
silence for a few moments.

Finally, Eddie put his arm
around Rob’s shoulder and pulled him in close. “Rob, say hello to William
Benedict. He must have had some shirts he liked with “WB” on the cuffs. I guess
he didn’t want to give up the old initials.”

“Take a look at these; you’re
not the only one to come away with a prize.”

Eddie handed his find to Rob:
the photos of the two young boys.

“You think they might be
Bradley’s kids?”

“Could be,” Eddie said.
“Hopefully, William Benedict will be able to tell us who he was, and who these
boys are as well.”

“Eddie, let’s get the hell
out of here.”

“Just what I was about to
say.”

      Carefully, they relocked
the door, then slipped off their surgical shoe covers and gloves, which Eddie
slipped back into his pocket.

      “Remember when I told
you, Rob, that you have to just keep pulling at all the different threads until
you find the one string that causes the whole thing to unravel? I’m guessing
that Mr. Benedict is going to be that string.”    

When Rob got home, he quickly
shaved, showered, and then hurried down to the office.

“First a break of dawn jog,
then you hustle down to office before nine? My God, you’re a new man!” Karin
was teasing, but from her tone he could tell she was curious about what he
might be up to.

He shrugged and waved as he
went out the door. In truth, he was bursting to tell her about the breakthrough
he and Eddie had made just two hours before, but he knew that no one could know
about the discovery—not even her, at least not yet.

As usual, Holly was in the
office before Rob arrived. She greeted him with the question: “What did you
decide to do on the Bradley retrospective?”

“I have to punt. We’ll pull
together file photos and story clips of Warren doing his cooking and serving
bit for every volunteer group in town. Other than that, as far as I can tell,
the guy was dropped here one night by an alien spacecraft.”

“That’s a plausible theory.”

“All I’ve got now is a
seventy-two-year old who was born less than 30 years ago.” Rob felt a little
guilty holding back on Holly as well, particularly with news that would have
delighted her.

With that university ID badge
in hand, Eddie was all the more confident that Warren’s real identity—and his
killer’s—was perhaps within reach. Finding William Benedict in Northern Arizona
University’s data bank clinched it. Even better was when he found information
on Benedict’s arrest on a charge of homicide…all of which he kept from Rob,
which was, of course, difficult for him to do.

Eddie regularly had to remind
himself that Rob’s livelihood made it that much more difficult to share
potentially explosive information. No matter what else he turned up, Eddie knew
that the very knowledge that Warren Bradley, the dogged persecutor of Grant
Randolph, Carrie Kahn, and so many others, was himself tried for homicide,
would set Rob’s head spinning.

Expecting Rob to sit quietly
on that information would have been like dropping a boulder on top of a volcano
in the hope that it would not erupt. 

Rob, meanwhile, couldn’t
imagine how big a story he was sitting on. Warren’s buried past had Rob
imagining all sorts of amazing scenarios. At the same time, he had complete
confidence in Eddie that, whatever the outcome of this strange case, he and his
readers would be the first to know the whole story; hopefully in time for the
next edition of
The Sausalito Standard
.

Four days after they searched
Warren’s home, Eddie got his department’s approval for out of state travel
expenses. After landing in Phoenix, he’d pick up a rental car and drive the
three hours north on Interstate 17 to Flagstaff—home of NAU, Northern Arizona
University.

Rob would have happily paid
his own expenses to go along, but he was faced with putting another week’s
edition of the
Standard
on press. With a limited staff of two, the paper
endlessly demanded his attention. The only break for both he and Holly was a
week off every August and another week near the end of December. For that
reason, the
Standard
was published fifty, as opposed to fifty-two, weeks
every year.

All day that Friday, Rob had
an edge in his voice.

“Maybe you should head over
to Smitty’s for an early end of week happy hour,” Holly groused, after Rob
snapped at her one too many times over something she’d already told him she’d
done.

“You’re probably right, but
I’m skipping it this week altogether. Eddie had to go out of town on some work
thing. I’m going straight home after work.”

“Why don’t you join me at the
No Name for a drink?”

As grumpy as he’d been all
day, he owed her at least a drink. But, then he remembered the rest of this
weekend’s itinerary. He shook his head. “Thanks, Holly, but Karin and I are
going to try to leave by noon tomorrow for an overnight at her folks’ place up
in Calistoga. We’ve got a dozen errands to run before that, so we’ll have to
get a real early start.”

“Okay, suit yourself. Maybe
I’ll get lucky and meet Mr. Right tonight.”

That’s not too likely, Rob
thought, considering that the same gang can be found at the No Name Bar just
about every night of the year.

“The first round is on me,”
he said, as he handed her a ten-dollar bill.

She snatched it up. “I should
bitch about your moodiness more often,” she giggled and sashayed out the door.

It was nearly six when Holly
made the three-block walk up Bridgeway from the
Standard
’s Princess
Street location. When she walked into the No Name and looked around, her first
thought was, same old crowd.

As busy as it already was,
Holly was lucky to find a seat at the bar. She caught the bartender’s
attention—Alberto, a handsome 30-something guy who worked behind the bar and
made a point of knowing all his customers.

“Hangar 1 martini, two
olives, one onion—right, Holly?”

Holly gave Alberto a
seductive wink. “I guess you know me, huh?”

As she waited a few moments
for him to work his magic, her eye caught a face she had seen a couple of times
before, but she had difficulty placing. When Alberto put her drink down in
front of her and asked with a warm smile if she needed anything else, Holly
said, “Yeah the name of that cute guy over there, blue shirt, blond hair.”

“Oh, that’s Chris Harding,
the new guy with the Sausalito police.”

She smiled. “Do you think I
can get him to lock me up?”

“I guess that depends on how
badly you’re going to behave,” Alberto responded with a laugh and a wink. He
hurried off to serve another customer.

Holly absentmindedly stirred
her martini. Where had she seen Hottie Harding? Oh yes, she’d met him at the
reception after Bradley’s memorial service. 

Eventually, Holly caught
Chris’s eye. They exchanged smiles and an air toast.

A few minutes later, Chris
walked over to her side of the bar and stuck out his hand.

He had a firm, but deliberately
gentle, grip. Holly liked it, along with the rest of him.

“I feel certain we’ve met
before” Chris said.

“Well, Sausalito is such a
small town that—”

“Wait a minute; I know
where…it was at the reception after Warren Bradley’s service” He shrugged at
the realization. “Sad day. He was such a talented guy.”

“Yes, so they say.” Holly
took it as a good sign that she didn’t have to remind him exactly where and
when they first met. 

After a few minutes of
What
do you do
small talk, Holly’s mating mind clicked into gear. It confirmed
her initial interest. Chris was probably mid-thirties, which made him a little
younger—or a little older than her, depending on whether she lied about her
age—check. He had great features: blond hair, blue eyes, handsome face, and
adorable dimples whenever he smiled—double check. And clearly, he had an
impressive build underneath that soft blue cotton shirt he was wearing.

Yep, he was a hottie
trifecta.

Chris told her why he had
made the move up from San Jose, and Holly told him that she worked at the
Standard
.

“I’ve heard of it, but I
haven’t read it, I’m sorry to say.” 

It was after Holly’s second
martini, and Chris’s third Jack Daniels and soda that he leaned into her and
said, “You know, my place would be a lot quieter than here.”

Holly thought for a moment,
and then said with a smile, “So would my place.” 

“Where is it?” Chris asked,
as he moved in close to her ear so he could be heard.

“I’m on Caledonia Street, but
I’ve got nosy neighbors.”

“I’m renting a small guest
cottage behind a house on Easterby, that’s just a couple of minutes away—and
from what I hear, the local police are always on the lookout for DUI’s.”

“I guess you’d know, huh?”
Holly snickered, as she gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

She grabbed her purse. He was
right on her heels, and they were out the door.

Saturday was another
beautiful day, as most are during Northern California’s dry season. Shortly
before one, as Rob and Karin were finally getting together what they and the
kids would need for their overnight in Calistoga, the phone rang. It was Eddie.

“Hey man,” Rob said. “You
sound a little tired.”

“Long night. But I’m at my
departure gate, in Phoenix.”

“Wow! That was fast.”

“Saw all the folks I needed
to see, first at NAU, and then Flagstaff PD, and even social services. The late
Mr. Benedict had a very interesting back story.”

“Tell me more.”

“I will, when you pick me up
outside of Oakland airport.”

“But Karin and I are going
with the kids up to her folks place in Calistoga for the night,” Rob explained.
Still, he was desperate to hear about Eddie’s trip.

“Hate to spoil your plans,
pal, but we’re going to make an arrest—probably Sunday night, or early
Monday—of a suspect in the killing of Warren Bradley. I think that after all
the work you’ve done on this story, you’ll certainly want be there at the end.”

“What time do you land?”

“Should be on the ground by
three-forty-five. Southwest flight eight-oh-two.”

“Sure, okay. I’ll be on my
cell. Just ring me when you’re heading out of the terminal, and I’ll pick you
up on the curb at arrivals.”

“Okay, see you there, bro.”

“Eddie?”

“Yes?”

“Want to give me a hint?”

“Rob, there’s no way I’m
going to miss the expression on your face when you hear all this. No way!”

Chris and Holly slept in
until just past noon. They kissed, first gently, and then passionately. Chris
suggested that they go out for breakfast, but Holly insisted that he let her
cook for him.

He agreed, and she dressed
quickly and then took a brisk fifteen-minute walk down to the Marinship, and into
Mollie Stone’s Grocery, where she bought eggs, sausage, white cheddar cheese,
and a Rustic Bakery
sourdough polenta bread
. She wasn’t sure about Chris’s taste in coffee, so she went for
the top of the line, picking up a small bag of Kona coffee beans.

On her way back to Chris’s
snug cottage, she walked close to the waterfront. Whereas, in the 1940s, it was
teeming with ship builders readying America for its war in the Pacific, now it
was a quiet home for sailboats and houseboats.

She stopped herself from
thinking how happy it made her to wake up next to a handsome man who seemed to
adore her. 

Holly loved his little place,
and she was impressed at how neat he kept it. Chris was just stepping out of
the shower when she walked back in. Wearing nothing but a rather small yellow
towel that was wrapped tightly around his waist, in the bright light of day,
Holly could more fully appreciate the sculpted quality of his physique: flat
abs, broad shoulders, and obviously powerful arms.

She put down her groceries and
wrapped her arms around her new-found love. “Where have you been all my life?”

“I was thinking the very same
thing about you.”

“To hell with breakfast,”
Holly said, as the two held each other, kissed passionately, and fell back into
bed.

Karin insisted that Rob not
feel guilty about the last-minute change of plans. “Don’t worry; I’ll take the
kids up to Calistoga. They had their hearts set on seeing Grandpop and Nanna,
and I don’t want to disappoint them. Besides, it sounds as if you’re going to
be busy working on your story for most of the weekend.”

“Thanks, sweetie. What a
break for us if Eddie has cracked the case and we’re the first with the whole
story—it’s going to put the
Standard
in a whole different light. The
dailies will all be quoting our reporting for once, instead of the other way
around.”