Murder After a Fashion (27 page)

“Well…”

It was clear she didn’t want me to come in, but unless she slammed the door in my face I wasn’t going to leave without at least taking a peek inside. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I knew what I’d love to see and that was the inside of that study with the gun cabinet, but that wasn’t going to happen. Even if I got to the second floor, the door to that room would be locked as it had been the day of the house and garden tour.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I said as I breezed by the poor woman, hoping she wouldn’t lose her job over this. “I really need to find my scarf. It’s a Hermes, you know.” I didn’t have a Hermes scarf, but I hoped I looked like the type who’d wear one. It was on my list of must-haves.

She frowned but she didn’t try to stop me; she just followed
me, clumping all the way through to the kitchen, past the softly lighted rooms with all the strikingly modern furniture I hadn’t noticed the first time I came here. But which I’d read about in the brochure they’d handed out at the open house. Everything was perfect today, just as it had been during the house and garden tour. I made a mental note to hire someone to clean up my place just as soon as I could afford it.

When we got to the kitchen, there was nothing out of place, no stains on the floor. Not a speck of dirt or dust. Not with a staff to mop up after spills. Over the massive chopping block in the center of the room hung a rack of knives, a collection a professional chef would be proud to use. Not at all like the ones we used to cut the leather that night. Those were just as sharp, but much smaller. Was that a blank space at the end? Was one missing? Or was I seeing things like missing guns and knives because I wanted to? I so wished that maid would go away so I could browse around, but that was not the way things were going. I was lucky to be in this room at all. I was thinking that the Van Sloats would be less than happy if they knew I or any other snoop was here.

“I guess it’s not here,” I said. Then I took a chance she wouldn’t stop me, and opened the pantry door. “Unless I left it in there.”

A phone rang somewhere. The maid looked startled. Why, didn’t they get many calls? She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She said something, then she backed away and left the pantry. I heard her speaking softly. I was alone in the pantry. The door was open but I couldn’t see her, so she couldn’t see me, right?

I reached behind the jars of imported Italian products,
pushing aside basil pesto, marinated mushrooms, artichoke hearts in vinaigrette and organic Tuscan white beans. All because of Guido’s influence?

I was looking for something. Anything. My fingers touched on a sharp edge, so sharp I felt a prick. I yanked my hand back, wiped a drop of blood from my finger and then reached in again for a small jewelry knife, which I recognized and quickly stuffed into my purse. I didn’t need a detective to tell me I had no right to lift anything from this house that wasn’t mine, but I couldn’t resist. In a way it was mine if it was the one I’d used to make my bracelet, and I thought it was. But why was it in the kitchen? Why hadn’t Armando taken it with him? I was elated.

When I stepped back into the kitchen, the maid was still on the phone, protesting that she was busy tonight and couldn’t help whoever needed her. I sidled up to the back door and with my hands behind my back, I flipped a metal knob that might be the lock. I hoped that I’d unlocked the door and that no one would notice.

Then I stood there trying to look innocent. She hung up and glared at me. I had the distinct impression that either she’d seen me take the knife or unlock the door, or she just wanted me out of there for general purposes. Yes, yes, I’m going, I thought but didn’t say.

I glanced at the door to the small walk-in freezer that Diana was so proud of, and I shivered. I’d seen too many movies where someone is locked inside. I couldn’t leave until I made sure that Diana wasn’t in there. Before the maid could stop me, I grabbed the handle and jerked it open. There were shelves full of labeled packages, but no Diana. No body. Suddenly the door closed behind me. Had that sullen,
resentful maid pushed it shut? Was she going to leave me here and go home simply because I’d annoyed her?

I gasped and turned the lever on the door. It spun around in my hand and nothing happened. I pounded on the door. The icy air sucked all the breath out of my lungs. I tried to call out, but my throat was too dry. Who would hear me anyway but the woman who’d locked me in here?

A few moments later, though it felt like hours, the woman opened the door and stared at me as if I were an alien who’d suddenly materialized.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, taking great gulps of warm air. “I couldn’t get out. Did you lock the door?”

“Of course not,” she said with a look that said I must be paranoid. The woman pointed at the hallway toward the living room. It was time to go.

I hated to leave, but what could I do? Ask to see the rest of the house, which was what I really wanted to do? She coughed nervously, and I finally, reluctantly, left the kitchen with her on my heels. Passing the circular staircase, I had a mad desire to run up to the locked study, but I restrained myself. The elevator, too, beckoned me, but I gave it only a passing glance.

“Please tell Mrs. Van Sloat that Rita came by to see her,” I said loudly just in case Diana was there and could hear me. If she did and all was well, surely she’d come running down the stairs calling, “Rita, I’m so glad to see you. Sorry I didn’t have time to talk at the zoo, but I was on duty with the primates. Let me make you an espresso in my state-of-the-art, restaurant-quality coffee machine.” But the house was eerily quiet.

The woman quickly and firmly closed the heavy front door the moment I stepped outside. If I’d hesitated, I might have lost a foot or had my hand crushed in the massive door frame. I was glad to have found the knife, even though I had no idea what to do with it. It looked like the one I’d used, but was it? And why was it in the pantry? I knew I was missing something else. Something important. And it wasn’t an arm or a leg.

It was some big clue to what had happened here. Maybe it was the knife. I hoped so. But if not, it was the gun. I just knew it. But how to put my hands on it? Was Diana really at home and just didn’t want to see me? Didn’t want to see anyone? Why? She’d been fine during our jewelry lesson. Then Armando had gotten hurt and Diana had disappeared from her usual shopping venue. If I hadn’t gone to the zoo, I wouldn’t have seen her because she didn’t answer my calls. If only I’d had a minute to check out that room with the guns. Though it was probably locked and I didn’t know how to pick locks even if I’d had time.

If she wasn’t on the premises, then where was Diana now? Having drinks and dinner with her husband? What was wrong with that? Nothing. Just because he gave me the creeps didn’t mean he wasn’t a decent person underneath. What I knew for sure was that Diana was at the zoo today
and she was not in the freezer. Other than that, her whereabouts was anybody’s guess.

It wasn’t like she was a missing person. I’d just seen her. She was fine. Well, not really fine. She’d looked nervous to say the least. Right now she could be anywhere. She wasn’t my problem. I felt stupid for worrying.

I walked slowly down the front walk past the lighted, well-tended gardens. I should have been bounding along, excited about what I’d found, but somehow I could hear Jack’s voice in my ear throwing cold water on my enthusiasm.

“You did what?” he’d say. “You stole a knife? I ought to arrest you. You’ve done some crazy things, Rita, but this is beyond the pale.”

I was mulling over what I’d say in my defense besides, “I just had a funny feeling it would be important.” That kind of remark has Jack seeing red. Not just seeing red but turning red and warning me to cool it.

Then he’d tell me what he always tells me. “Stop playing detective, Rita, and stick to accessories. Something you’re good at.”

I could remind him that I’d helped solve two previous mysteries, but he wouldn’t want to be reminded. But what if I showed him the knife and he sent it to the lab and we found out something important? Like blood on the blade and fingerprints on the handle. Yeah, like he was going to do that because I suggested it.

As I reached the end of the walkway, I turned and looked back at the house. I couldn’t leave yet. I just couldn’t. I circled back toward the four-car, ivy-covered brick garage. I’d peek in the window and see if Diana’s car was there. Of course, its absence or presence wouldn’t prove anything.

But when I looked in the window, the garage was so dark I could see only the outline of several cars. I didn’t even know what kind of car Diana drove.

Out on the street they called Billionaire’s Row, I felt nervous. Not that there were criminals lurking behind the stately houses or the carefully tended hedges. The only people out this evening were rich residents walking their pampered pets. But the stillness on the ground and the sound of the wind in the leafy acacias and the needled redwoods bothered me. I kept looking behind me to see if someone was following me.

My legs felt rubbery as I turned and walked as fast as I could down the hill to Cow Hollow where I knew I’d find bars and restaurants full of young professionals like me as well as a bus to take me home. I couldn’t go home yet. I needed a shot of normalcy among people like me. Not rich. Not poor. Working people. People out having a good time. People who weren’t worried about a murderer in their midst.

I decided I needed a drink to calm my nerves even though I’d already had dinner with wine. Even more, I needed to mingle with warm bodies. I didn’t want to be alone. I walked into a bar after checking it out from the outside to make sure Meera wasn’t lurking there at a table. As much as I needed company, I couldn’t deal with her now.

I squeezed between several men in casual designer jeans and button-down shirts who were with women in tight pencil skirts or voluminous pants and clingy tops, until I reached the bar where I ordered the special, a tequila cocktail advertised on a blackboard. It was a tasty blend of grapefruit juice, amaro, vermouth and maraschino. I helped myself to some local, organic bar finger food. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to eat something anyway to calm my nervous
stomach. It was good to be in this convivial atmosphere, alone but not alone at the same time.

Proving once and for all that San Francisco is a small town, the next time I looked around I saw Jonathan in the back with a drink in his hand surrounded by a crowd of friends. All this time I thought the reason I hadn’t heard from him was because he had to work nights. But here he was. Out on the town. Now I felt worse than I had when I first walked into the bar.

A moment later, as if he’d felt my eyes on him, he turned and saw me. His eyes widened, he waved and started across the room toward me.

“Rita,” he said. “I can’t believe this. I’m here with my medical team. It’s somebody’s birthday. Do you come here often?”

I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of barfly who hung out by myself picking up men at bars.

“First time,” I said. “How are you?

“I’m feeling good,” he said. He saw me looking at his drink. “Don’t worry, this isn’t alcohol. I’m back on the wagon. I’m drinking some fruit juices mixed together like they serve to Mormons and gallbladder sufferers like me.”

“But I thought you were cured,” I said. “You seemed fine the last time I saw you.”

“I am fine, but I’m not really completely cured. The stones are still there. My doctor is watching them so I don’t have to.” He grinned and he looked so healthy and gorgeous I couldn’t believe he was interested in little old me. I knew by his flirtatious manner that he was his same normal self, stones or not. I instantly forgave him for hanging out and socializing without me. “Come on back and meet everyone,” he said.

I didn’t feel like talking to strangers, but what could I say? “I have to go home now even though it’s not even nine o’clock, because I have a knife in my purse that may have been used to attack someone”?

What I did say was, “Can I show you something?”

He said, “Sure.”

I beckoned him to follow me out to the sidewalk where I asked him to hold my drink while I pulled the knife out of my purse, holding the handle with a tissue.

“You know the Italian guy with knife wounds who you treated in the ER? Could this be the knife?”

He studied it carefully, then he looked at me. “Where did you get this?”

“You don’t want to know,” I said.

“It could be the knife. But I see knife wounds and other wounds every day. I can’t remember your friend’s case very well. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I just wondered.”

“I do remember that he wasn’t badly hurt, if that helps. He said it was an accident. It was, wasn’t it?”

I felt foolish. But foolish was better than scared. Now that I was with Jonathan, I didn’t feel so scared anymore. He was so big, so smart and so reassuring. Unless someone like the maid or one of the Van Sloats reported the knife they’d hidden in the pantry missing. That’s what would send those shivers up my spine. I wanted to leave, but Jonathan insisted I meet his colleagues, since I was a previous visitor to the ER. I followed him to his group, my drink back in my hand, my purse over my shoulder.