Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate (7 page)

“No problem, it’ll be fun!” He looked down at his watch. “I guess I should let you go. I want to change before dinner. I want to look good for you, my new lady friend.” He winked at me before turning and heading off in the opposite direction.

Ew. I always attracted the winners.

I called Mary Ann on my way back to the city and she quickly agreed to dinner. I had a feeling that she was as interested in Rick as he was in her, which surprised me a little. Men were always asking Mary Ann out but she rarely said yes. Despite her naiveté she was pretty discerning when it came to the opposite sex.

Getting back to the city took far longer than I had anticipated. I was hit with a major Frappuccino craving but couldn’t find a Starbucks (a problem I hadn’t had since 1994). Then I hit rush-hour traffic, there was an accident on the Bay Bridge, yada, yada, yada.

When I finally arrived in my neighborhood I only had fifteen minutes to spare before getting to the restaurant. I thought about just going straight to dinner, but I needed to feed my cat and my feet were screaming to be freed from the designer torture devices I had confined them in.

I ran upstairs to my third-floor, two-bedroom f lat, and went straight to the bathroom, then rushed into the living room, where I pressed the play button on my answering machine and sat down on the arm of my sofa as I began to unbuckle my strappy sandals.

“I know what you’re really up to, Sophie,” a voice began. I did a quick double take. The voice wasn’t normal. It didn’t even sound fully human. Someone had left a message on my machine using a voice synthesizer.

“You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat,” the caller continued, “and that would be a shame…because I do…love…cats.”

And that was it. The whole message.

I looked down at the one shoe I still had on and tried to make sense of what I had just heard. “Curiosity killed the cat,” I repeated. Was that a death threat or a donation request from the SPCA?

Where was my cat?

My heart jumped to my throat. Where
was
Mr. Katz?

In a f lash I was on my feet, my gaze quickly moving from the window seat to the couch to the love seat. Not there. Not under the coffee table or under the dining table.

I opened my mouth to call out to him, but I was too scared to actually make a sound. He had to be here, he just had to be!

With one shoe still securely on my foot I hobbled into the kitchen. No Mr. Katz. Okay, no need to panic yet. He could be asleep in my bedroom, or in the guest room. I lived in a f lat, not a mansion. I just needed to check the other rooms.

But of course even that wasn’t necessary. If Mr. Katz was home and able to walk I could get him to come to me. I reached out and, after sending up a quick silent prayer, pressed down on the electric can opener.

I squeezed my eyes closed. “Give him to the count of ten, Sophie,” I whispered to myself. “One, two…”

I felt something soft against my ankles. I looked down at Mr. Katz, who was nuzzling me and swishing his tail in anticipation of his next meal.

“Oh, thank God!” I dropped to my knees and tried to scoop him up in my arms. He evaded me and jumped up on the counter instead. He cast one eager glance toward the can opener, then narrowed his kitty eyes and glared down at me accusingly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I really do have wet food,” I assured him, my voice shaky with relief.

Mr. Katz didn’t look convinced.

I got up and pulled a can of Fancy Feast from the cupboard and waved it in front of him. “See, it’s all good. I have food and you’re here, safe and gluttonous as always. No need to freak.”

I emptied half the can into his food bowl and then hurried back to my bedroom to change into a cute but much more comfortable pair of Munros, conscious of the fact that my car could be towed any minute.

The call had been a prank. That’s all. Although, the last time I had gotten a prank call it had been a serial killer playing the joke….

But this was different. Serious psychos killed cats, they didn’t love them. Everybody knew that the best way to identify which child was most likely to grow up to be a serial killer was to figure out which one liked to torture animals (which didn’t bode well for my nephew, but that was a different issue). The point was, I had nothing to worry about.

I just wish the caller hadn’t known my name.

5

When it comes to men I prefer the strong silent type. The ones who speak annoy me.

—C’est La Mort

BY THE TIME I GOT TO MAX’S, MARY ANN, JOHNNY AND RICK HAD
already arrived and were waiting at a table, Mary Ann and Rick enjoying a glass of cola and Johnny a glass of what looked like Scotch.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. I had to change and, um, feed my cat. My sweet, very
curious
cat.”

I gauged Rick’s and Johnny’s reaction. I couldn’t think of a single reason why either of them would have left that message on my answering machine, but then again I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone else would, either.

Rick barely even seemed to hear me. He was too busy ogling Mary Ann. Johnny, on the other hand, reacted the way he always did, eagerly. “You’re a cat person! I should have guessed, you
look
like a cat person. I mean not like a crazy old cat lady or anything, but like you have it in you to provide an animal with care and affection. I’ve always wanted a pet but I’m allergic. But I can always take a Claritin if you want to introduce me to your pussy.”

As soon as he said it his eyes widened with embarrassment and Rick burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean your—I would
never
say that! That’s the word my last girlfriend used. For her cat! I really am talking about cats!” He dropped his head in his hands. “I’m seriously messing this up, aren’t I?”

“You’re just a little nervous,” Mary Ann said, giving him a kindly pat on his shoulder. “I think it’s sweet. Don’t you, Sophie?” She shot me a pleading look. Mary Ann was a little more sympathetic to the embarrassment of others than I was.

“It’s sweet,” I said grudgingly as I took my place at the round table between Johnny and Rick. “But you don’t need to be nervous, after all we’re all
just friends here,
remember?”

Johnny removed his head from his hands and f lashed me a relieved smile. “Thanks for understanding. I get a little tongue-tied around beautiful women, and when that beautiful woman happens to be my favorite author, well, I’m done for.”

A young waitress approached our table and handed me a menu. “Would you like another Scotch?” she asked, looking down at Johnny’s now-empty glass.

Johnny nodded eagerly. “That’d be great. It was the Macallan 18.” He pushed his chair back and smiled down at me. “I need to use the boy’s room. Be back in a minute.”

I watched his back retreat and shook my head in wonder. “Is he
always
like this?”

“Not quite this bad,” Rick said with a laugh. “He honestly is very nervous. He’s a huge fan of your work so he’s star-struck. Plus, what he said was true, he has a habit of getting tongue-tied in the company of a woman he’s become interested in. Give him a chance, he’ll calm down.”

“Without the help of medication?”

“Yes, without medication. He’s a little naive and inexperienced, but he’s a good guy and he’s sort of like a little brother to me. I’m trying to be a mentor to him at work.”

“How nice of you to take him under your wing!” Mary Ann said. “And taking him out for his birthday was nice, too.”

“A whole bunch of people from the office took him out for drinks on his real birthday yesterday but I had other plans. This is my way of making it up to him and apparently I’m being rewarded for my good deed.” He leaned in a little closer to Mary Ann. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t think it was right to ask for your phone number at a funeral, but I’ll admit that I wanted to.”

Mary Ann blushed prettily and took a sip of her cola. She really did like him, which was understandable since he was kind of likable. Unlike…

“I’m back!” Johnny sat down at my side. “Miss me?”

I bit my lip to prevent myself from answering honestly.

After I consumed two chocolate martinis Johnny went from being insufferable to being vaguely annoying.

I had been hoping that Rick would switch to alcohol at some point, since I needed his lips loose, but he and Mary Ann steadfastly stuck to soda. He did seem a little drunk, though, but it was Mary Ann that was causing the intoxication. When one of the singing waiters (all the waiters at Max’s Opera Café sing, thus the name) approached the mike in order to perform a rendition of a Broadway show tune, Rick would turn his eyes to them politely, but the rest of the time he kept his focus on my friend as she devoured Max’s signature Meaty Lasagna. I had hoped to discreetly control the conversation so that I could get everyone talking about Eugene without having to ask pointed questions. I realized that discretion would not be mine when we got to the point of ordering dessert without a single word about Eugene.

I waited for Mary Ann to finish telling us all about the features, advantages and benefits of Lancôme’s Juicy Tubes before asking pointed question number one. “How long ago did you two first meet Eugene?”

“Huh?” Rick was preoccupied with Mary Ann’s juicy lips. “I’ve known him most of my life. He worked with my father when they were in the FBI.”

“I didn’t meet him until I got the job with Fitzgerald,” Johnny said. “He was always nice to everyone on Fitzgerald’s team, just a really swell guy.” He laughed. “Did you hear that? I just used the word
swell
. Does anyone use that word anymore? Well, I guess I do, don’t I? Let’s see if I can use it again. These bread sticks sure are swell.”

It took everything in me not to use one of the swell bread sticks to whack him on the head. “What did he do between leaving the FBI and joining Fitzgerald’s team?” I asked, angling my body away from Johnny and toward Rick.

Rick fiddled with his fork. “Aren’t you friends with Melanie?”

“We’re like family,” I confirmed.

“Then how come she never told you any of this?”

A damn good question. “When I say
family
I mean she’s like a favorite aunt. I love her to death but I don’t see her all the time. For the most part Melanie and I have been out of touch since she moved and married Eugene. I never got the full scoop and asking her now feels a bit insensitive.”

“Poor Melanie,” Johnny sighed. “I think she just wants some company. She’s such a nice lady. Kind of reminds me of my mom.”

“I bet she’d like your mom,” Rick mused. “They’re both religious and passionate about reading. Maybe you should introduce them.”

“Great idea! I take my mom out to lunch all the time,” Johnny explained. “I think I’ll ask Melanie if she wants to come with us next time. She could probably use some more friends. Don’t you think so, Sophie?”

“Yeah, sure, great idea.” I tried to imagine the kind of parents that would have produced a man like Johnny. No, better not go there. I turned back to Rick. “So, anyway, you were telling me about Eugene’s work.”

“Yes.” Rick f lashed Johnny a sympathetic smile. I think it was pretty obvious that he was striking out. “Eugene worked on a lot of political campaigns,” he explained. “He had so many areas of expertise, but I personally think his greatest strength lay in his research ability.” He smiled fondly. “The man should have been a librarian.”

“Wait a minute. What kind of research?” I sat back in my chair as a new realization hit me. “He dug up the dirt.”

“Excuse me?” Rick dropped his eyes to his food. Johnny just looked confused.

“Fitzgerald hired him to be an operative of sorts,” I said, “to get the goods on the competition. In this case the competition would be Anne Brooke.”

“Eugene and everyone else working for Fitzgerald have the same basic job,” Rick said a bit too sharply. “To convince the voters to put their faith in our candidate…no, more than that, our job is to make them
love
Fitzgerald. Tearing down the opposing candidate isn’t going to do that.”

“Are you telling me that Fitzgerald
didn’t
hire Eugene to dig up dirt?” I asked incredulously. “Because while dissing Brooke may not, in and of itself, score Fitzgerald enough votes to win, it does seem to be enough to keep things in a dead heat.”

“Eugene may have stumbled onto a few details regarding Brooke’s personal life,” Rick hedged, “but I don’t think any of Brooke’s past indiscretions are important enough to seriously affect the polls. Fitzgerald is managing to give Brooke a run for her money because of his proposed policies and positions on the issues. I know that people in San Francisco see him as a conservative extremist, but you have to remember that people in Contra Costa County see San Francisco as a beacon of
liberal
extremism. Fitzgerald’s family-values platform strikes a chord with the folks he wants to represent.”

“Fitzgerald really does have a lot of great things to say about family,” Johnny piped in. “He knows God and family are the most important things, but he’s not one of those dowdy politicians who thinks the only way to have fun is to take the wife to a church picnic in the beige family Oldsmobile. He drives her there in a green Sportrac! It’s like he’s the
cool
evangelical husband who knows how to live it up!”

“Give me a break,” I scoffed. “Brooke’s personal reputation is so bad it’s even made the
San Francisco
papers. If voters liked Fitzgerald so much he’d have a huge lead on Brooke, but as it stands now he’s never been ahead by more than three points, which is within the margin of error for most of those polls. Brooke may be more liberal than what the people of Contra Costa are used to, but they’re more comfortable with her love of labor unions than they are with Fitzgerald’s hatred of contraceptives. Based on his positions he should be
losing
this race. The only way he’s going to win is if Brooke self-destructs, which she seems to be doing,”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s self-destructing,” Rick mumbled.