Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate (17 page)

There was a moment of silence and then a very tiny, very wounded voice. “Are you mad at me?”

“Johnny,” I breathed. Not Depp, the other, much less appealing Johnny. “No, I just thought you were somebody else.”

“Nope, just me,” he said with a little more self-assurance. “Is someone giving you a hard time? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, I’ve got it covered. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s still early for me. Could we talk later?”

“Sure, sure, but the thing is I thought you might want to talk to Maggie today.”

“You got me an appointment?” That news was enough to get me into a sitting position. “Does she want to meet me in Pleasant Hill? When?”

“Actually, she can meet you in San Francisco. She and Rick are going to meet with Carl Pearson, you know, the guy who’s been on all those news shows speaking out against stem-cell research. They want him to endorse Fitzgerald, and I guess he lives in Sausalito or something, so they’re meeting in Frisco—”

“It’s
San Francisco,
” I said.

“That is so cute the way you defend the name of your city like that! I can just see you with your fists all clenched up and your nose wrinkled. Do you wrinkle your nose when you’re mad? You seem like the kind of girl who would. You have an adorable nose, did you know that?”

I give up.
“Johnny, when do I get to meet Maggie?”

“Rick wanted to take Maggie to Neiman’s to meet Mary Ann. All he does is talk about her, ‘Mary Ann this and Mary Ann that.’ She met him after work for drinks the other day—Mary Ann, that is. I ran into them in this little wine bar. I hung out with them for a while but I kind of felt like a third wheel so I split. Besides, Rick was so absorbed with Mary Ann he barely noticed that I was there at all. The guy’s seriously in love. So anyway, yesterday Maggie went up to Rick and said, ‘Hey, when am I going to meet this Mary Ann person?’ and Rick said, ‘Well, why don’t we meet her after our morning meeting with Carl Pearson?’ and Maggie thought that was a great idea so…”

I pulled up my knees so that I could use them to support my head. This conversation was going to kill me. Seriously, if I had to listen to Johnny go on like this for another hour I was going to f lat-out die.

Hey! Maybe Johnny killed Eugene! Surely someone capable of being this annoying was capable of all sorts of other sordid things. Maybe he killed him because…because Eugene wouldn’t chat with him at the watercooler?

I was pretty good at convincing myself of things but that one was a stretch.

“…so they called Mary Ann and they’re all going to have lunch together at the Rotunda. It’s supposed to be just social and Maggie doesn’t like to talk to media people when she’s trying to be social, but if you just show up coincidentally, you know, to see Mary Ann or something, then I bet they’d invite you to eat with them. You’re Mary Ann’s friend after all and so Maggie’s really nice and…”

“Johnny, what time should I show up at Neiman’s?”

“One o’clock, at the Lancôme counter. Can you make that? Because if you can’t maybe I could—”

“I can make it.”

“Good, because I know you wanted to talk to her and she’s not going to be able to attend my dinner party tonight. You’re still coming though, right?”

I brought my fingers to my temples. I had completely forgotten about the party. If I met Maggie for lunch, did I really need to go? Probably—there could be other people there who knew Eugene and had useful information.

“I’ll be there tonight,” I interjected as soon as he took a breath. “I appreciate your inviting me, since we’re
just friends.
”

“Of course I invited you. I always think it’s best for men and women to start as friends because then when the relationship grows into more they have a strong foundation. What do you think?”

“Goodbye, Johnny.” I hung up quickly. How did Fitzgerald deal with him?

I rolled out of bed, plodded into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, and that’s when I really woke up. I looked great! My skin, which I’ve always been reasonably content with, looked
incredible,
and with the new eyebrows…I mean
damn!
And I was going to see Anatoly! How often does one get to meet up with their ex when they’re looking their absolute best? The day was looking up—until I remembered Melanie. God, how could I have forgotten about her hysterical calls last night? I retrieved the phone and dialed her home.

Answering machine.

Melanie had once told me that she liked to get up early. She even claimed to take the occasional stroll at sunrise, a habit that I believed to be indicative of some kind of mental illness, but whatever. The point was that her not being home early in the morning didn’t mean anything.

So why didn’t it feel right?

I shook my head in an effort to expel my budding concerns. It was good that Melanie was out, better that than hiding under the covers attempting to treat her anxiety with bon-bons and Montel Williams. I could talk to her later.

Shortly after trying to reach Melanie I called Mary Ann, who quickly agreed to include me in her lunch plans. So far so good. I strolled into Starbucks at twenty minutes after eleven and discovered, to my immense irritation, that Anatoly hadn’t arrived yet.

I walked outside and looked up and down the street, then stood outside the door to wait. Eventually he came walking around the corner at a pace that suggested he was in no major rush to get anywhere.

“You’re late!” I snarled as we both walked into the café.

“You can’t convince me that you’ve been here for more than five minutes.”

“That’s not the point I…you’re glowing.”

Anatoly looked away quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your skin looks great! It’s almost as smooth as mine and…Tiff gave you a facial last night, didn’t she? You were her last client!”

“Grab that table over there,” Anatoly said, steadfastly avoiding my eyes, “and I’ll get us some coffee….”

“Don’t change the subject!” I reached out and stroked his cheek. “Damn, Anatoly, it’s like a baby’s butt!”

“Shh!”

“So did she apply a mud mask?” I said, raising my voice so those around us could hear. “Or did you just ask her to exfoliate? Oh, my God, she waxed your eyebrows, too, didn’t she! Look how pretty they are!”

“Go sit down at that table before someone else takes it,” Anatoly growled.

“Aren’t his eyebrows pretty?” I asked a blond man sitting by the window.

“Fabulicious,” the man agreed with a rather pronounced and undoubtedly cultivated lisp. “Who do you go to?”

“He goes to Mojo,” I answered before Anatoly had a chance. I nudged Anatoly in the ribs and said in a stage whisper, “See, I told you the guys would be into it.”

“Sophie, sit down at the table now or I’ll tell the barista to pour you a decaf.”

I skipped to the table knowing I had achieved my goal; now there were three guys in the place actively checking Anatoly out.

“So what did Tiff tell you?” Anatoly asked when he returned with our drinks. He had been thoughtful enough to get me a Frappuccino without my having to ask for it, but nonetheless I tasted it carefully.

“It’s not decaf, just regular,” Anatoly said, reading my mind. “At least it’s as regular as a Light Espresso White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino with extra whipped cream can get.”

I gasped. “This has been my new favorite drink for the past month! How did you know?”

“Deduction. I figured out what was the most complicated thing I could order and got you that.”

I smiled. He was so not over me. The specialty Frappuccino was a token of his affection.

“You never answered my question,” Anatoly said as he sat opposite me. “What did Tiff tell you?”

“Basically she told me that her brother was a freak but in a nonoffensive kind of way.” I recounted Tiff’s tales about her brother’s previous passion for being a mascot, his frequent vacations to conspicuously nonexotic locales, his interest in politics and the way he championed the rights of ugly people. I also told him about my impending lunch date and dinner party. Anatoly took notes the whole time.

“So now I’ve given you the rundown,” I said after taking a long sip of my drink. “What kind of dirt did she share with you?”

Anatoly shrugged. “Basically the same thing.”

“If that was true you wouldn’t have had to take notes just now. Seriously, tell me what she said to you.”

“Not much.”

“Damn it, Anatoly, will you stop holding out on me?”

“Sophie, she didn’t tell me anything. I had planned on getting her to talk by making up a story about losing a parent to suicide, but as soon as I tried that she started going on and on about how amazing it was that she had met two different people who had lost a family member to suicide in one day. Every time I tried to get her to talk about Peter she would bring the conversation back to how incredible the coincidence was. I couldn’t get her off the subject.”

“Oh.” I leaned back in my seat. “So I got more information out of her than you.”

“You could say that, yes.”

“In fact, of the two of us I’m the only one who got any information at all.”

Anatoly scowled into his coffee.

“One might say this proves I’m a better investigator than you.”

“One might say that,” Anatoly snapped. “But then that ‘one’ would be wrong. You undermined my interview by showing up two hours before me.”

“Excuse me, but you held out on me first.”

Anatoly looked liked he was about to argue, but then stopped himself. His expression softened considerably. “Sophie, I never said you were bad at getting information out of people, but you’re not careful. You have a habit of making everything worse right before you make it better. That may work in your day-to-day life, but not when you’re dealing with murderers. I have no idea why I care about you, but I do.”

“Seriously?” I felt a rush of warmth that filled up every inch of my body. “You care about me?”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You said you didn’t want to be my boyfriend.”

“I’m not comfortable with that title.”

So much for the warmth. “How about commitment-phobic rat bastard?” I asked. “Are you comfortable with that title?”

The spark of amusement lit up Anatoly’s eyes. “I also worry about your temper.”

“Humph.”

“Let me at least go with you to this party,” Anatoly said. “Together we’ll be able to get more information out of more of the guests.”

“You can’t come to the party.”

“Sophie, I’ve agreed to work with you, but you can’t keep me out of the loop.”

“I’m not trying to.”

Anatoly gave me a withering stare.

“Okay, I
was
trying to, but not anymore. You’re looking at the new and improved Sophie Katz. This model is more cooperative and has better skin. But as I said before, Johnny has a crush on me and so far that’s worked in my favor. If I show up with a guy on my arm he might stop being so helpful.”

Anatoly’s jaw stiffened at the mention of Johnny’s infatuation, so I laid a reassuring hand over his. “You’re being silly, Anatoly. It’s a party, not an intimate night alone. I’m not going to agree to one of those until I’ve gotten to know him a lot better.”

Anatoly muttered something in Russian that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

“Was that a curse?” I asked.

He just glared at me.

“Tell you what, why don’t you come to lunch at Neiman’s?”

“I can’t. I’ve been looking into Eugene’s FBI days. David Espinoza was one of the men he put away. Thanks to Eugene the guy did ten years. He has a history of violence and he’s been working for his brother’s construction company in South San Francisco for the past six months. He’s agreed to meet me in an hour.”

Now it was my turn to glare. “You weren’t going to tell me about this, were you.”

“If I wasn’t going to tell you, I wouldn’t have told you. I’d even invite you to come with me, but you have another appointment.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll give you that. But I want to know what you find out from this guy.”

“What time is your lunch at the Rotunda?”

“One o’clock. It won’t be more than an hour because it’s during Mary Ann’s lunch break.”

“I should be able to get back to San Francisco by two. Why don’t I meet you at Neiman’s and we’ll compare notes.”

“Yeah, okay. Meet me at the Lancôme counter. Maybe we could find you an eyebrow pencil to help emphasize your new look.”

“Let’s talk about Tiff,” Anatoly said, ignoring my last comment. “Do you think you established enough of a bond to arrange to meet her socially, or do you need to make another appointment?”

My playful mood flew out the picture-glass window. “I could probably get her to have lunch with me, but I’d rather not.”

“Why’s that?”

“I feel bad about lying to her during my appointment, but at least in that context I was just a client. You’re asking me to pretend to be a friend.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Anatoly suggested. “You could actually be her friend if that would make it easier on you.”

“I don’t lie to my friends.”

“You lie to me all the time.”

“Again, I don’t lie to my
friends.
That would be morally wrong. Lying to an ex-boyfriend is totally within the confines of acceptable behavior.”

“I was never really your boyfriend.”

“Like hell.”

Anatoly chuckled and shook his head. “I would like to know if Tiff’s brother left her anything or if she had a chance to go through his apartment. I would also like to know a little more about these trips of his. Did he say anything about these animal-lover conventions? Was there a political tie to either Brooke or Fitzgerald? You’ve obviously established a rapport with her, but if you don’t want to meet her outside of Mojo, then make another appointment with her. Surely you can think of something else she could wax.” His eyes fell to my lap, and I smacked him on the arm.

“Get your mind out of my pants. I’ll find a way to talk to Tiff, but in the meantime you need to explain to me what this letter Melanie found is all about.”

Anatoly’s expression became more serious and he rested his forearms on the table. “I haven’t seen the original, but Melanie scanned it and e-mailed it to me. It’s a little cryptic. Peter simply wrote that people had a right to privacy, even public figures. He implored Eugene not to expose his secret, claiming that doing so would not only ruin political careers but families as well.”