Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) (18 page)

“He’s much too cute for the pound! I hate to leave him.”

He stood back up. “I’m sure he belongs to someone, Angie.
He’ll most likely go back home without the distraction of a bunch of people
holding a séance. He probably came here to have a good laugh.” At that, Angie
watched his mouth slowly spread into a grin. “When I walked in,” he said, “you
can’t imagine!” Paavo started with only a small chuckle, but soon he laughed
hard.

Hands on hips, Angie shuddered at the memory of Maria
smacking everyone with holy water, Cat and Connie furiously lighting candles
that kept dying, the oversized seer bellowing for everyone to sit back down,
and Stan looking like a newscaster reporting on a hurricane. When she opened
the front door for Paavo, her sisters and Connie had gawked and cowered as if
they expected someone to walk in with his head tucked underneath his arm.

Lifting her chin high, she announced, “I don’t see what’s in
the least bit funny!”

Chapter 19

ON THE PHONE, Gillian from Wedding
Vows had been the most unperturbed, placid person Angie had ever spoken with.
Excited about meeting her face-to-face, she invited her to her apartment to
talk, and now, a cherubic, fifty-something woman sat comfortably on her living
room sofa.

“I want a traditional wedding—white dress, veil, five
bridesmaids and bridegrooms, one flower girl—but I also want something unique
and memorable,” Angie said.

“That’s a lovely idea.” Gillian put on her reading glasses.
“I brought my spreadsheet so you can see what we need to do and by when. Now, when
is the wedding scheduled?”

“In four months, Saturday the 25
^th
, at
Sts
. Peter and Paul’s Church in North Beach.”

“Four months? You said four months?” She looked over the top
of her glasses. “Goodness gracious! And you’re only now contacting me? Well, don’t
worry about it, we’ll manage. That’s why my spreadsheet is so valuable. Have
you done anything at all, as yet?”

“Yes, quite a few things,” Angie said. It seemed to her that
four months was plenty of time.

“Let’s go through this.” Gillian slid her finger down her
spread sheet as she read. “You’ll need to decide on flowers for the reception
and the church, corsages, boutonnieres, and whatever you want to give to the
parents of the bride and groom.
Next, the photographer.
Do you want video or stills? Invitations—have you sent out invitations yet? I
hope you’ve at least ordered decent looking ones already. The reception
location—you must have that by now as well or it’ll be a complete disaster! But
if you haven’t chosen a good place it’ll be a disaster anyway. How will you get
from the church to the reception, by the way? And how many people will you be
responsible for moving? How will your guests get there? Have you chosen your
rings yet?
Tuxedos for the men?
Bridesmaids dresses?
Your dress?
What about shoes?
Your menu?
The cake?
Favors? Wine or hard
liquor,
or both? Champagne? And we can’t forget music—music for the church, pre- and
post-ceremony, a band for the reception. Do you want a cocktail hour? What
about music for that? And we need to think about linens for the reception, and
then there’s—”

“Stop!
You’re making me so nervous,
I can’t stand it! I’ve done a lot of that, I think. Well, at least the menu and
the cake. And I’ve booked the reception hall and church. But I haven’t sent out
invitations yet. And I haven’t chosen my dress yet because…well, because. And
I’m still trying to decide on the bridesmaids’ dresses since they shouldn’t
clash with the style of my dress. And I haven’t decided yet on the colors for
them.”

“Goodness gracious! That’s as much as you’ve done?
And the wedding in four months?
No, no,
noooo
.”
Gillian brayed like a dying cow as she shook her head, all her previous
placidity gone.
“Such a disaster!
All I can say is to
do this
right,
we really should have twelve months.
Minimum.
These things take time, and much careful thought.”
She took in a deep breath, and then announced, “You really must delay the
wedding.”

Angie was struck mute. When she found her voice again, she
could scarcely contain her outrage. “Twelve months? I don’t want to wait
another year to get married! I’ve waited quite long enough already!” She felt
her arms start to itch. Then the itchiness spread to her neck. Was she going to
break out in hives on top of everything else?

“Well, it’s up to you, of course,” Gillian said. “If that’s
what you insist on, somehow, we’ll manage. I’ll collect a bunch of things from
weddings I’ve put together and you can choose what you want. That’ll help speed
us up.”

Had Angie heard her right? “You’ll choose ‘things’ from
other people’s weddings?”

“That would be best,” Gillian said firmly. “We can’t have a
disaster, now, can we? In fact, I’m thinking already of one especially nice
wedding I planned. We worked on it for sixteen months! I can simply import what
I did onto your spreadsheet, and that’ll take care of most of the
decision-making so we can concentrate on those items we have no choice but to
change.”

Angie stood, walked to her apartment door, opened it, and
said, “Goodness gracious! I think it’s time for you to leave.”

o0o

Paavo tried his best not to think of the bizarre scene on
Clover Street the night
before,
and instead to
concentrate instead on why
Wyndom
and Bedford had
been murdered. Was it, as Marilee suggested, a matter of mistaken identity that
caused Gaia’s death?

Listening to Angie talk about housing prices reminded him of
something the twins’ elderly aunt had said to him—that they came into a lot of
money when they sold their parents’ home. Gaia’s bank account and investments
were substantial, but not for someone who sold a home in ritzy Kentfield. He
wondered how much money she received and what had happened to it.

He looked for her financial papers and found she kept income
tax forms and supporting documents going back to her early twenties. He had
never seen anyone, not even accountants, with such neat and complete records.
The sale of her parents’ Kentfield home took place ten years earlier. After
paying all costs, taxes, and dividing the money with her sister, she had
grossed over a half a million dollars. Three months later, she wrote out a
check to Thomas Greenburg for $300,000. He could find no evidence that she
received anything in return for that money. So why had she given it to him?

He went back to the paperwork he’d collected on Greenburg,
and found, as he remembered, a statement that an anonymous “angel” had given
Greenburg $300,000 to start his business.

Now he knew the angel’s name. But why had she done it?

Paavo headed to South San Francisco and Zygog Software.

A half hour later, he entered Thomas Greenburg’s office.

Greenburg hunched over his computer, every bit as sloppily
dressed and unwashed as the first time Paavo saw him.

Greenburg glanced up, but as soon as he saw the fierce scowl
on Paavo’s face his demeanor changed. He took his fingers off the keyboard and
leaned back in his chair. “You’re the cop who came here before.”

“That’s right.”

“I told you, I didn’t know the dead people. Why are you
back?”

“At least I have your attention this time,” Paavo said. “So
you won’t have any excuses.”

“Excuses?”
Greenburg’s eyes darted
from side to side, and he adjusted his glasses higher on his nose. “What do you
mean?”

“Why did you say you didn’t recognize Gaia
Wyndom’s
photo?”

“Gaia
Wyndom
?
I don’t know.
Maybe because I didn’t.”

“It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t recognize the person who
was so important to you ten years ago.”

Greenburg rubbed his chin. A few long whiskers showed it had
been a while since he shaved. “People change in ten years. Anyway, I didn’t
deny she gave me start-up money.”

“No, but you didn’t offer it, either.”

“Why should I? It doesn’t mean anything. It has nothing to
do with her death.”

Paavo leaned on Greenburg’s desk. “How do you know that?”

Greenburg scooted his chair back from the desk, but it
bumped into the wall and he could go no further. “Why should it? That was a
lifetime ago!”

“Why did she give you the money?”

“She was generous.
And knew genius when
she saw it.”

“Sure she was. Now answer the question.”

“How should I know?”

“Gaia
Wyndom
wasn’t the type of
person who gave away that kind of money for no reason.”

Greenburg stood. “I don’t like what you’re saying to me! I
want to talk to my lawyer.”

Paavo stepped directly in front of him. “In other words, you
did something illegal. Something to do with hacking, I suppose.”

Greenburg backed up until he reached the wall, then folded
his arms and jutted out his bottom lip. “I’m not saying.”

Paavo looked over the man and saw someone much more immature
than his years warranted. He decided to back off. He walked over to a small
table, pulled out a chair and sat, hands folded, and waited a moment before
saying, “Look, Thomas. I really don’t care about what you did ten years ago as
a hacker as long as it didn’t involve murder, treason, or something equally
weighty.” He paused and let his words sink in. “If you pulled some goofy stunt,
I’m not going to waste my time doing anything about it. I simply want to get
this murder solved. And I think you can help me.”

Greenburg scrunched his lips. “How do I know I can I trust
you?”

“Did you commit a major crime, such as murder?”

“No, not at all!
Of course not! I’d
never do that!”

“What then?”

He gave no response.

“Just between us,” Paavo urged. “You have my word.”

Greenburg put a finger in his ear and wriggled it around as
he pondered what to do. After a while of this, he dropped his hand.
“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Greenburg bit his bottom lip a moment before speaking. “Just
between us, Gaia told me she once had a twin sister,
Urda
Lee
Wyndom
.
Urda
died, and
Gaia was constantly getting
Urda’s
social security
and other data mixed up with her own. She asked me to go into Federal and
California records and remove all trace of
Urda
. I
didn’t think it was anything particularly wrong. After all, poor
Urda
was dead.”

Paavo rarely heard a bigger bunch of
B.S..
“You’re saying she offered you $300,000 to do something you thought wasn’t
illegal or in any way wrong? You expect me to believe that?”

“Why shouldn’t you? It’s true. She was a nice woman. Honest.
Just like me. If she had money to burn, so be it.”

“How did Gaia find you to offer you this windfall?”

“I’m not naïve. I checked around. She read about me online,
and tracked me down to offer me money. Actually, I thought that was pretty nice
of her.”

“What else did she say about
Urda
?”

“Nothing!
I swear. Only that
Urda
had died.”

“Why did you give her a job at Zygog?” Paavo asked.

“She said life bored her and she wanted to work.”

“And?”
Paavo asked.

Greenburg shrugged. “After a while of listening to her, I realized
she wasn’t as rich as I originally thought, and a whole lot crazier. I even
considered that
Urda
might not be dead. Bottom line,
I wanted to keep an eye on her. Anyway, it was just a job.”

Paavo couldn’t take any more of Greenburg. He got up and left
the office.

Chapter 20

AFTER GETTING RID of her latest
disastrous wedding planner, Angie pondered the prior evening’s fiasco. She had
had it with goofy ideas about the spirit world. Séances, Stan playing a
demented Wizard of Oz hiding in the backyard, the whole nine yards.
With friends like those…

Her phone rang. It was Connie, who said as she drove
Hermione home, the seer insisted she felt a real presence in the house, even
though she had never felt a presence anywhere before. Madame Hermione had
Connie so
scared,
Connie believed her and now sided
with Maria. Angie needed to forget about buying that house.

Angie hung up the phone without saying some very bad words.

When it rang again, she thought Connie might have come to
her senses, but instead it was
Cat.
Cat informed her
if she wanted that house she would have to find a new realtor because Maria
threatened to kill or at least maim her if she didn’t get Angie to walk away
from the deal.

Angie hung up on her as well, wondering if you could divorce
your family.

What was with these people sticking their noses into her
life? She, who was not in the least bit nosey and never got involved in other
people’s lives, didn’t deserve such treatment!

She sat down to ponder what to do next.

She had learned a lot about Eric and Natalie Fleming’s
murder reading the
Chronicle
, but little about the two of them as
people—little about what made them ‘tick’ so to speak.

If she understood them better, maybe then she could figure
out why they died. Whether the two were “stuck” here as her mother suggested,
or not, Angie wanted to know what had happened to them. Why had two young
people with so much to live for had their lives taken away so horribly? She
remembered their pictures, so alive, so vibrant. For them to have died that way
was wrong, and terribly sad.