Authors: Joanne Pence
Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4) (8 page)
“What connection do you have to any of the men in the article?” she asked.
“I’ve known Richie and Shig for years, Moss Brannigan slightly, but I have no connection to the others. And fortunately, no one has bothered me or my hotel.”
Courtney suddenly spoke up. “I’m really interested in how you became a hotel owner. I mean, running a hotel is usually kind of dull and staid. But from what I’ve read, you’re none of those things.”
He chuckled. “Actually, it’s not so interesting. I come from a long line of hoteliers. My father put up the money for this one. He knew San Francisco would be a good investment.”
“How fascinating,” Courtney gushed.
Really? Rebecca thought.
But Pierre obviously liked Courtney’s reaction. “Tell you what, since you are looking for a room, why don’t you enjoy the comforts of La Colombe d’Or tonight as my guest?”
“Oh!” Courtney all but squealed. “I’d love—”
“She’s staying at my place,” Rebecca said. “She was only joking about the room. But it was very nice of you to offer. We should be going now. I may have more questions, but if you can think of anything that might help, please don’t hesitate to call.” She handed Fontaine her card.
“And here’s mine,” Courtney gave him a knowing smile. “As my sister said, please don’t hesitate to call. Anytime.”
“Of course,” Pierre murmured.
Rebecca was mesmerized by the eye contact going on between the two. Fontaine looked at Courtney as if he was a cat and she was a canary. Little did he know that Courtney was much more of a hawk than a canary when prey was in sight. And he was definitely in her sights.
She hooked her arm in Courtney’s and turned towards the door. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fontaine. Good-bye.”
“Call me Pierre, please. Until we’ll meet again, ladies.
Au revoir.”
Was her sister really that naïve? Did she truly not know that anyone of the bachelors in the article, except Shig Tanaka, was not only a potential victim but also a suspect? Courtney might end up, not with a story, but dead.
The more Rebecca thought about it, the more worried she became and finally phoned her sister around ten last night. Courtney told her to stop being “an old nag” and then hung up on her! Old? Is that what she was? And a nag?
Rebecca was tempted to call Richie to find out more about Pierre Fontaine’s character, but had to admit that she was, very likely, overreacting. The two men were supposedly friends. And although Richie did seem to know some strange people, murderers didn’t seem to be among them.
As she tried to fall asleep last night, she realized that while patricide was the word for murdering one’s father, and matricide was murdering one’s mother, she didn’t know the term for murdering one’s sister. She probably should learn it; she could imagine it turning up in her future.
And then, all day today, while her sister was being wined, dined, and probably much more by Mr. Frenchie Extraordinaire, Rebecca had spent her time canvassing neighborhoods in search of a date with a headless corpse.
She and Sutter had also questioned employees, suppliers, and friends of Shig Tanaka. The tedium was broken up only by turning on the news to see Sutter’s interviews. The “head” came to be huge news, and the missing body ranked right up there with coverage of a missing Malaysian airliner some years back. It was sickening.
She even spent time with the Crime Scene Unit, hoping to prod them into finding some scrap of anything that might help. But, contrary to TV shows, it wasn’t happening.
The only good news, if one could call it that, was she did learn the identity of the homeless victim, Benjamin Arthur Larkin—a man with a drug and alcohol problem who’d lived on the streets for the past twenty of his forty-five years.
Finally, she went home.
She opened the door to find Courtney sitting on the sofa, staring at her smartphone. Spike was crouched down on his stomach, on the floor, glaring at Courtney. When he saw Rebecca, he bared his teeth one more time at Courtney, and then trotted over to Rebecca to be petted. “What’s up, Mister Spike?” Rebecca said, picking him up.
Courtney put down her phone. “That dog surely barks and growls a lot.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Rebecca said.
“I found out a lot about Pierre last night,” Courtney said with a smile. “But not necessarily anything that will help your case.”
Great, Rebecca thought. She could imagine Pierre Fontaine telling Richie all about it. She went outside with Spike.
She wished she hadn’t thought about Richie. How was it Courtney had such an easy time around men she found attractive, while she got all discombobulated about them? Not around men in general—she worked with enough of them, but around men she “liked.” But then she thought about several of the fellows she had dated and realized she had never been particularly ill at ease with any of them. It was just Richie. Not until she met Richie did she find herself irked and confused about her feelings in a way no man had caused her to be, ever.
What that meant, she had no idea. The one thing she did know was that it had nothing to do with undying love. You don’t love someone you’re tempted to shoot half the time.
She and Spike went back indoors so she could feed him his dinner.
“Are you going home today?” she asked Courtney as she dished out some Iams.
“Home? Why should I do that? I’ve made some great connections.”
“Yes, Fontaine. So I’ve heard.”
“Not to mention Moss Brannigan, Logan Travis, and the magazine editor, Liv Wong.” Courtney wandered over to the kitchen area and watched Spike eat.
Rebecca froze, unable to process what she’d just heard. “Wait … you expect me to believe that you met all those people today? Including Logan Travis? How did you do that?”
“Believe it or not, it’s true. About Logan, I read a magazine article that said he liked to go to a deli in the Ingleside almost every day for a tuna salad sandwich on rye, so I went around the area until I found the right one and then offered twenty dollars to the deli clerk to shoot me a text the instant Travis showed up. I got the text, and I went. There he was, and we talked.”
“But there are a lot of delis in the Ingleside.”
“Not really. And even fewer that make a tuna salad sandwich on rye. It’s called Raymond’s New York Deli.”
Rebecca sat down on one end of the sofa, Courtney on the other. “So, what did Travis say?”
“Well, he is definitely good looking, but he’s also kind of nuts.”
“But about the murders …”
“He’s worried about them, but other than that, he claimed to know nothing. It was really quite disappointing, especially after I wasted twenty bucks. But I did get a selfie with him, so that might be worth something.”
“How did you get him to talk to you?” Rebecca asked.
“I ordered a tuna salad on rye myself, and started in saying I was surprised anyone else ate them.”
Rebecca shook her head. Courtney was beyond unbelievable. “And Moss Brannigan? You saw him?”
“Yeah. Down at his tour boat company. The man glommed onto me when I told him I’m connected to TV in LA. Oh, my God, what a publicity hound! He’s the opposite of Logan Travis. I couldn’t get him to shut up. But I did get a lot of good photos of him and his boat. It seems his business has picked up quite a bit lately. They say all publicity is good in one way or another. I guess he’s living proof.”
“So I’ve heard,” Rebecca murmured.
“Pierre’s finding the same thing. His hotel is handling more reservations than ever.” Courtney shook her head. “Poor Pierre. All this has him rather spooked. He’s got bodyguards, you know.”
“That’s good. If this case doesn’t get resolved soon, I may have to do a proper interview with him.”
Courtney smiled. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get to know him better. He’d be a real prize.”
“I’m sure. But as far as I’m concerned, he’s all yours.”
“Maybe. Keep in mind there’s another bachelor I haven’t met,” Courtney said. “Pierre told me Richie Amalfi’s nightclub is re-opening tonight. I’ve can’t wait to meet him! Why don’t you come with me, Rebecca?”
“I really don’t think—”
“Please! You must! Pierre hinted that he might show up tonight as well, and it might be awkward for me trying to juggle the two of them.”
Rebecca’s mouth dropped open.
“After all, I wouldn’t mind spending time with Pierre again if things with Richie don’t work out. Say you’ll come with me.”
Rebecca stared at her a moment, shut her mouth, and said, “Fine. I’ll come with you.”
Once Rebecca agreed to go to Big Caesar’s, Courtney insisted they make a quick run to Nordstrom’s. There, Courtney bought a new, low-cut silver dress that complemented her long auburn hair, and talked Rebecca into splurging on a slinky black number.
“We’re looking pretty good, sister,” Courtney said, now standing in front of the mirror in Rebecca’s bedroom. She spritzed some of the perfume in the air above Rebecca’s head.
“Oh, that smells good!” Rebecca said. “What is it?”
“Don’t you recognize it? L’Air du Temps. You used to wear it when you lived at home, and I’d steal some when you weren’t looking. I spotted it when I was downtown today, and bought it just for you.”
“I do remember.” She held out her wrist and got a little more. “I wonder if old Eddie was more in love with this perfume than me. He certainly found someone else to marry soon after I left the state.”
“He was such a jerk,” Courtney said. “I’m really glad you didn’t marry him.”
“Now you tell me!”
The two continued to laugh over old times as Rebecca drove them to Big Caesar’s.
But as soon as she stepped into the nightclub and contemplated facing Richie after the way they’d parted, she actually felt nervous. The band was playing “I Got It Bad and That Ain’t Good.” She felt as if she should make it her theme song.
The club was packed with people. Clearly, the publicity had also helped Richie. “Come this way,” she said to Courtney as she headed towards the bar area.
“Oh, I like this music! What a neat place. I can’t wait to meet Richie!” Courtney all but danced her way across the room as they squeezed through the crowded dance floor.
The bar area had become a bit of an upscale pick-up spot for the over thirty set, and Courtney’s appearance didn’t go unnoticed. Rebecca knew she was usually eyed as she headed towards the bar, but it was nothing compared to the way she felt now as she walked beside her saucy, red-haired sister who, as an actress, certainly had learned how to draw plenty of attention to herself.
They ordered drinks and four men instantly surrounded them, all asking to pay. Courtney was eating up the attention, and greeting each fellow while Rebecca kept watch for the one she wanted to see. He usually showed up almost immediately. She planned to apologize. Nothing more; but she owed him that.
Courtney was willing to let someone buy their drinks, but Rebecca refused and put her money on the bar. The bartender took it … and still no Richie.
After making some inane conversation with a lawyer, and refusing his suggestion that they dance, Rebecca asked the bartender if Richie was in the club that evening. He was.
o0o
Richie could scarcely believe that Rebecca had actually come into his club tonight. At first, he was elated to see her—maybe she’d come to bury the hatchet, to wish him well after his post-arson renovation. But then he saw what he assumed was the real reason she’d ventured into his lair.
The family resemblance was there, but nothing more. Her somewhat famous sister, Courtney Mays, was what Rebecca would be if she “went Hollywood.” Courtney was beautiful, he had to admit, but carefully put together—stylized to near-perfection—while Rebecca’s beauty was more natural and far more subtle. He wondered what it meant that he normally was drawn to women with Courtney’s dazzle, but now it meant little to him.
He was tempted to go back into his office, but his “grand reopening” meant he had to meet-and-greet. Fortunately, Big Caesar’s was a big club. He carefully made his way to the opposite end of the club, far from the bar, and stayed near the door, where—as one of the city’s infamous enticing bachelors—he could welcome his customers in style.
o0o
It didn’t take long for Pierre Fontaine to show up. He got a table for them. He and Courtney were acting like turtledoves, to Rebecca’s disgust, while she sat there feeling like a fifth wheel.
“I guess Richie Amalfi is busy,” Rebecca said. “I don’t think you’ll be meeting him tonight, Courtney.”
“You didn’t meet him yet?” Pierre said, surprised. “Why not? He was at the door when I arrived and directed me towards you.”
Rebecca was speechless.
“He knows me?” Courtney said. “How exciting! I can’t wait to meet him. Find him for us, Pierre, please.”
“Maybe I should be jealous?” he said with a wink.
Rebecca couldn’t take it. She picked up her handbag and then rose to her feet. “I’m leaving. You’re clearly in good hands, Courtney. I’ll see you later.”
“Ah!” Pierre said looking past her. “He’s coming now.”
Rebecca turned around and saw Richie heading towards them. Her breath caught. His gaze was on her, but his brows were crossed, his mouth firm.
“Be still my heart,” Courtney murmured.
Richie’s eyes didn’t leave Rebecca’s until he reached their table. Then he nodded at Pierre and faced Courtney.
“Richie Amalfi!” she said. “I’ve so wanted to meet you.”
“My sister,” Rebecca told him. “Courtney Mays.”
He shook Courtney’s hand. “The famous Courtney Mays,” he said, with a warm smile. “I’ve heard much about you. It’s nice to finally meet.” He turned to Pierre. “How are you so lucky, my friend, as to be with two such beautiful women?” he said as they, too, shook hands.
“Please join us,” Courtney said.
He grabbed an empty chair and put it close to Rebecca. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said as he sat.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “And Big Caesar’s looks great, too.”
“That’s good of you to say,” he told her.
Rebecca could see Courtney taking in every word, looking curiously at the two of them. She felt awkward under her sister’s scrutiny.
A waitress brought Richie a drink that looked like a gin and tonic with lime. Rebecca knew it had no gin, since he almost never drank when working.
Richie put his hand on the back of Rebecca’s chair as he faced Courtney. “Pierre tells me you’re looking into the arsons and murder.”
“He did?” She glanced at Pierre with surprise. Clearly, Rebecca thought, her sister knew nothing about Richie’s network of sources. “Pierre’s right. I’m here to do a TV news story with Rebecca’s help, but”—she widened her eyes innocently—“so far, she doesn’t seem to want me involved. I’ve had to take things into my own hands as much as possible.”
“And I suspect Rebecca doesn’t like you doing that,” he said.
“No.” Courtney grimaced. “She can be pretty bossy.”
He glanced at Rebecca and she could see how very much he wanted to grin. He kept looking at her even as he spoke to Courtney. “Maybe she’s just worried about you, and wants to keep you safe.”
Again, Courtney studied the two of them. Rebecca couldn’t help but suspect that not even self-centered Courtney could miss that something was going on between them. “You two know each other pretty well, don’t you?” Courtney asked.
“Richie and I are just friends,” Rebecca said quickly.
Pierre leaned close to Courtney and in a stage whisper said, “They know each other well. Believe me.”
Richie scowled at him, then glanced again at Rebecca. “I like to think we’re good friends.”
That was the last thing she expected him to say after the way they’d parted. But he couldn’t possibly mean anything by it. “We’ve worked a number of cases together,” she further explained.
Richie looked into her eyes. “We did well. A good team.”
Pierre chuckled. “See what I mean?” he asked Courtney.
Courtney nearly choked on her whiskey sour. “I had no idea! Are you two like that TV show with the lady cop and the writer who goes around working cases with her?”
Rebecca was horrified. “No. Not at all.”
“I kind of like that,” Richie said with a grin. “Maybe I should start coming along on all your cases.”
“It’s bad enough having you around when there’s a reason for you to be there!” Rebecca said.
“Oh, I’ve always got a reason to be there.” He then called over a cocktail waitress. “Bring us a platter of appetizers, please.”
In very little time, a generous platter of hot appetizers appeared. Rebecca figured someone else’s order was diverted to the nightclub owner’s table.
As they ate, Courtney questioned him, although her questions quickly went from asking about the murders, about which he gave very little information, to asking how he and Rebecca met. She was particularly interested in the case where they got to know each other fairly well—the one where Richie was accused of murder and had the chutzpah to ask Rebecca, the homicide detective handling the case, to help him.
“Are you crazy?” Courtney asked. “I know my sister. I don’t understand how she didn’t arrest you on sight.”
“She did. And the things she can do with handcuffs!”
Rebecca glared. “No! It was you who …” She stopped when she saw him trying hard not to laugh. She faced Courtney. “He’s right. I did arrest him.”
“But my air of innocence,” he added, “saved the day.”
Courtney was finding Rebecca’s discomfort hilarious when “It Had to be You” started to play. Richie faced her. “I know this is one of your favorite songs. What do you say? For friendship?”
She hesitated. “Oh, I don’t think—”
“Yeah,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. “You do.”
She glanced over at Courtney and realized she didn’t want to make a scene. Before she knew it, she was in his arms. She liked being there again; liked it a lot. “Before you say anything else,” she told him, “I’m sorry for the way I talked to you at the steak house. It was uncalled for.”
“Maybe you were right.”
“No. I know you better than that.”
“About the connection with the article.”
She didn’t say a word because his arms tightened and all she could think about was his nearness. She’d never known anyone who both intrigued and confused her so completely. She shut her eyes as she held him, letting the music and the words fill her.
When the song ended, they dropped their arms and simply faced each other a long moment before returning to the table.
“Your phone was making strange noises,” Courtney said.
Rebecca took it out of her purse. The missed call was from Homicide Inspector Luis Calderon. He never called unless it was really important. “I’d better take this.”
She stepped out of the ballroom to the hall and phoned him back. “Luis, what’s up?”
She felt as if ice water had been poured down her back as she listened to his words.
Back at the table, her face must have shown her distress because Richie offered her his hand as she sat. She took it, one hand tightening on his, and her other hand reached for Pierre’s.
“They found Diego Bosque.” She swallowed hard looking at the two men with her and wondering how much danger they were in. “He was garroted in his car.”
“Garroted?
Qu'est-ce que c'est ça?
” Pierre asked.
“A wire, around his neck,” Rebecca said. “I’m so sorry.”
Richie and Pierre looked at each other, disbelief and worry in their eyes. “Damn,” Richie said. “Call your security before you leave here.”
Pierre nodded.
“You, too,” Rebecca told Richie. “This is nothing to take chances with.” She squeezed both their hands. “Stay safe. I’ve got to go to the crime scene. I’ll drop Courtney off at home. I’d better do a quick change of clothes. It’s going to be a long night.”
Courtney glanced at Pierre who seemed lost in thought, then nodded at Rebecca.
“We’ll walk you out to your car,” Richie said as they all stood.
“No. We’re fine. You two need to do what’s necessary to take care of yourselves. I’ll talk to you when I learn more.”
Richie sat back down, as did Pierre. Rebecca realized it was one of the few times he’d ever done what she asked. Strangely, she didn’t feel good about it.
o0o
The Crime Scene Unit was at work. The medical examiner had come and gone, and Luis Calderon and his partner, Bo Benson, were just finishing up. They would complete their canvass of the area and then share their information with Rebecca and Sutter. This case had just gotten big enough that Lt. Eastwood ordered all four detectives to stay on it.