Murder After a Fashion (26 page)

“Nick, are you all right?” I asked. “You can’t say your life is like that of a penguin, can you?”

“Of course not. I am not a penguin. I know that. I can find a new girlfriend. Maybe I have found her already.” He gave me a sideways look and a half smile that made me think he meant me. What if he did? Could I handle a Romanian boyfriend, or was I jumping to conclusions a little too soon? I wasn’t
ready to settle on one man. I wanted a choice, and I wanted Nick to be in my life as someone I cared about. Who else would go to the zoo with me and take me to the Cliff House afterward?

But what about Diana? As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. The story of the homosexual penguin couples and the female who broke them up had clearly affected her. Why? Had she broken up some gay couple’s affair? Was her husband gay? I couldn’t ask her, but at least I could try again to talk to her. As a friend who wanted to help. But when I glanced up, she was gone. Never mind. The zoo was not the place to talk over personal matters unless they pertained to the animal kingdom.

“What about you, Rita?” Nick said. “Any plans for getting married?”

“Married? No.” Me, married, when I didn’t even have a steady boyfriend? I was glad I didn’t live in Romania where I might be forced into an arranged marriage. “I’m not ready to get married at this moment. In America women don’t need to marry young anymore. We can wait until our thirties or later and no one says a thing about it. You’re the first person in ages who’s asked me if I have any plans. Maybe others have thought about it, but never said anything.” If anyone would bring it up, you’d think Dolce would, but being single herself, she hadn’t said a word.

“I have heard this custom of older people marrying late in your country,” he said. “But in my country marriage is very important for happiness and prosperity. We must ask three times of the girl, and she doesn’t accept until the third time. Then is the discussion of the dowry. But this is not interesting to you,” he said. “Let us move ahead to see some
more monkeys. They are always amusing and will make us smile.”

“Maybe we should move on,” I said.

The next exhibit we came to was the chimpanzees.

“These chimps are our closest living relatives,” I read aloud from the sign on the fence.

We watched the playful chimps climb the fence, eat bananas, toss the skins aside and chase each other around the cage.

“I understand they are very intelligent animals,” Nick said, leaning forward to watch their antics. “See the one in the back of the cage throwing something at the other one, who is perhaps his rival.”

I leaned forward for a better look just as the chimp came racing toward the moat and threw something smelly and rotten right at me.

I stumbled backward. “Ow, oh no,” I shouted as I was sprayed with smelly monkey poop from head to toe.

Other visitors jumped back, shocked and astounded. I couldn’t believe it. My outfit was ruined.

Nick stood and stared. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought he was going to laugh. But this was no laughing matter. I sputtered, I choked and I gagged.

“Chimps are the only species besides humans who throw things at a target. That is what I have read,” Nick said with a shrug, as if it was no surprise to have a chimp toss his feces at a visitor. “Now what will you do?” he asked, shaking his head “We must go home.”

What, and miss dinner at the Cliff House? No way! I shook my head. “I will just change in the restroom,” I said, thankful I’d brought a new outfit. It was a good reminder
never to leave home without a change of clothes, even if you aren’t going to the zoo.

“But you must have a bathe,” Nick said.

I grabbed my tote bag, which he’d been toting around for me, and headed for the ladies’ room in the green building. There I stripped off my smelly outfit and wrapped it all, including the shoes, in a plastic bag I kept in my tote. Ignoring the curious looks from women who came and went, I focused on washing my hands, arms and even my legs with the dispenser soap and drying off with wads of paper towels. Then I slipped into my new dress, my vest and my shoes. I ran a comb through my hair, reapplied my makeup and gave myself a pep talk.

“Look at you. You’re fine. No one would ever know you’d been attacked by a primate.”

A woman came out of the stall behind me and gave me a funny look.

“I’m not crazy,” I said.

“Of course not,” she said, then she hurried outside.

Nick gave me a thumbs-up when he saw me, and I felt much better. We walked past the anteaters, who, according to the sign outside their area, were solitary animals except for the mothers and babies. They were usually eating or relaxing. It seemed that the relaxing part took up about fifteen hours a day. What a life, I thought. And no predatory females to steal your mate, I hoped. Some people found them to be very cute with their three-foot-long tongue, but I didn’t, so we didn’t spend much time with them. I was ready to leave the zoo, and Nick was looking forward to eating at the Cliff House. I kept my eyes open for a glimpse of Diana, hoping we might catch her on the way out, but I didn’t see her.

I wondered if Nick was aware that the Cliff House was an expensive, upscale restaurant. I’d been there with Jonathan, but he was a well-paid doctor. Nick was a gymnastics teacher. How much money did he have? I decided to relax and enjoy it.

I realized Nick was happiest when he was playing the role of tour guide for his adopted city. Maybe he was that way in Romania too. Some day I’d go there and see. First he’d explained about the penguins at the zoo, then he’d explained primate behavior, now at the Cliff House he was anxious to tell me the history of the place, which had been a San Francisco landmark since the Civil War.

The restaurant was quiet at this time of night. Too early for dinner for most people, but the bar was already crowded. We got a table at the window where we could watch the waves crashing against the rocks below and see the sleek shiny seals swimming and cavorting in the sea.

“The first Cliff House was built in 1863,” Nick said, putting the menu aside while he filled me in. “Naturally, since this is such a place for a beautiful scene. But perhaps you already know its story.”

I shook my head. I would have said no anyway because he took such pleasure in telling stories about the past. That’s where he resembled his aunt. Only he didn’t claim to have lived through the times he was describing.

“Well, if we could look at the guest list, we would see three U.S. presidents who came here to the Cliff House, but sadly the guest book was destroyed in a dynamite explosion. But many big names of San Francisco, like Crocker, Stanford and Hearst, would drive out in their carriages on Sunday to watch horse races and have recreation.”

Nick waved to the waiter, and since we weren’t driving,
he ordered a bottle of a certain California white wine I hadn’t heard of. The waiter complimented him on his good taste, then he continued.

“I will skip forward past other happenings to the time of the Sutro Baths,” he said.

“I’ve heard of them,” I said. “And seen the pictures of the men in one-piece bathing suits and women in bloomers and long black stockings.”

“Six large swimming pools,” Nick said, seeming almost as proud of this accomplishment as if he’d built them himself. “Plus a museum and skating rink. Not only the rich ones but also so many ordinary San Franciscans came out on steam trains or bicycles to enjoy a day at the beach. Then came the earthquake of 1906, which you know about.”

I nodded. I was no history buff, but that date stuck in the mind of everyone who’d ever lived in the city.

“But you know, by some miracle the Cliff House didn’t get any damage then, until one year later when it burned to the ground. Sad, yes?”

I agreed. I was wondering how much of the story was left for Nick to tell when he suddenly glanced over at the wall behind us. He said he’d continue the fascinating history later.

“Notice the photographs,” Nick said. “I like that one of Judy Garland, famous movie star.”

Judy seemed to be watching us from the wall. The autograph under her picture said she was sending her best wishes.

After studying the menu, we ordered crab and shrimp salad with Louis dressing. Served with warm sourdough bread, it was delicious. We followed that with clam chowder rich with cream and huge chunks of clams.

“Nick, this is wonderful. You are so kind to take me to dinner. I must make dinner for you some time soon.”

“You told me you studied Italian cooking.”

“Oh, I did. But then the chef died.”

“Before the class was over?”

“No, much later. It was mysterious. The police think it was murder.

“As for cooking,” I added, “you’re not bad yourself.” He’d supplied me with a few choice dishes when I was recuperating from my sprained ankle.

For dessert we had roasted banana bread pudding instead of the crème caramel. I sighed contentedly. Nick seemed as happy as I was. Even though I had a tote bag full of smelly, dirty clothes and I had a mystery to solve and a new job to contemplate, I was able to put myself in the moment and savor the experience of dining in a famous San Francisco landmark with an attractive Romanian gymnast.

I knew I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but I couldn’t resist talking about my possible part-time job as a mystery shopper to such a sympathetic listener. His eyes lit up.

“This is very exciting,” he said. “You are good at this. Catching criminals. Like the woman who killed your worker. That was you who found out the murderer.”

“I won’t be looking for criminals,” I explained, always glad to hear a compliment. “I’m only interested in clerks who are not doing their jobs, that’s all. But I appreciate your confidence in me.”

“Will you get a discounted price on merchandise?” he asked, looking more enthusiastic than he had all day.

“I think so. If I do, I can buy anything you want. Just tell me.”

He took out a notepad from his shoulder bag and jotted
down a few items, like Italian men’s boots and Zanella slacks, a Prada belt and some Gucci sunglasses. Yes, Nick had good taste all right. But where did he, a gymnastics coach, get the money for high-ticket items like these? How could he afford to take me to this restaurant? Did he have a secret source of money? Maybe his family was secretly rich and he received an allowance.

“How will you have time for this new job?” he asked as he handed me his shopping list. “You work many hours.”

“Yes, but I have two whole days off a week and evenings too. I think it will be useful for me to see how the other half lives. The women who shop at Dolce’s are not average citizens. Maybe that’s why I need to get out of my comfortable rut and do something different.”

“Then you won’t be able to join me for trips such as this?” he asked.

I looked around the posh setting and wondered if I was doing the right thing. “I’d hate to miss our outings,” I said. He’d taken me on a vampire tour of the city once and I owed him. Was I plunging into yet another venture I couldn’t follow up on?

On the way out of the restaurant we walked through the bar, and who did I see sitting by himself but Diana’s husband Weldon. Being the friendly person I am, I automatically opened my mouth to say hello, then I realized he probably wouldn’t recognize me and even if he did, I was a nobody and not worth acknowledging. I wondered if he was expecting his wife to join him after her tour at the zoo. Maybe that’s why he was here on the outskirts of the city.

I looked around outside before we walked to a nearby bus stop, but I didn’t see Diana. It occurred to me I could stop by her house and see her, since I now knew her husband wasn’t home
and there’d be no danger of any conflict. Maybe she’d be more able to speak freely without him around. Although she hadn’t seemed willing to talk to me at the zoo today. Still, she’d been on duty and I hadn’t been alone. I should give her another chance because I was worried about her.

Nick and I took the bus from the Cliff House back to town. He apologized for not seeing me to my door, but I told him I wasn’t going home. I had an errand to do in Pacific Heights. Which was, of course, to stop off at Diana’s house to see if she was there. I had a feeling she wouldn’t answer the phone if I called her, but if I was actually on her front steps, she couldn’t turn me away, could she?

When I arrived, there were no lights on in any windows though it was dusk. I knocked on her massive front door and rang the bell. When a woman came to the door, I thought I recognized her from the night we had our class as someone who had slipped in for a moment to speak to Diana.

“Hello,” I said brightly. “I’m Rita, Diana’s friend. I don’t know if I met you the night of the jewelry design class…” I knew I hadn’t met her, but I’d seen her just for a moment. I’d said to myself, That’s what I need, someone to help me around the house.

“I’m sorry,” she said curtly. “Mrs. Van Sloat isn’t home.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I just wanted to see if I left my scarf here yesterday during the house and garden tour.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “If you did, all lost items were collected after the tour was over. But I don’t know where they were taken. You’ll have to ask Mrs. Van Sloat.”

“I will. I definitely will. The thing is, I checked with the tour people. They didn’t have it, so I thought—”

“Then it isn’t here.”

“But it might be. Behind something perhaps,” I said, knowing I sounded lame. “Maybe in the craft room. I was there yesterday.”

“I don’t think you’ll find it there,” she said. “I didn’t see anything like a scarf.”

“Were you here when the jewelry designer cut himself the night of our get-together?” I asked. Not that I expected her to give any secrets away. And I was sure whatever happened after our class was supposed to be kept quiet.

“I don’t know,” she said, glancing around as if she was afraid someone might overhear her. Of course she’d been there that night. I’d seen her cleaning the kitchen before we left. “I mean, I didn’t see anything.”

What about now? Was she really alone? Was Diana really not there? Or did she just not want to see me or anyone?

“Could I check and see if I left my scarf maybe in the kitchen or the craft room or in the front closet?”