Sex, Murder and a Double Latte (16 page)

“No, the recent movies have been taken from modern interpretations of the legend,” Dena said. “I’m pretty sure the whole proving-yourself-worthy crap came from the medieval stuff.”

“I’ll get the encyclopedia.” I started to go to my office but stopped myself. “Oh, this is stupid. Who cares which supernatural creature did what in which book? The point is, your boyfriend is completely insane. You just started dating him, you don’t know what he’s capable of,
and
he’s from Southern California.”

“Having the bad taste to wear L.A. Gear and inject yourself with silicone doesn’t make you more capable of murder than the rest of the population. Besides, Jason doesn’t do either of those things. His worst offense is an overly amorous attachment to his cell phone.”

“You’re missing my point, Dena. Tolsky was from Los Angeles. As in Southern California.”

“So? L.A. County is bigger than most countries! Besides, JJ Money lived and died in New York City and Jason didn’t live in New York. But I can think of someone who has.”

“Who?” Mary Ann’s voice was muffled by all the popcorn.

Dena sat down and rested her elbows on her knees. “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps a cocktail will help jog my memory. Anybody else in the mood for a…White Russian?”

“Oh, no!” I put my hand out, as if that would somehow block the accusation. “It’s not Anatoly. He’s one of the good guys. He saved my life. He’s a perfectly stable, normal, sane guy.”

“What does he do?” Mary Ann asked.

“He’s a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Dena pressed her palms into her forehead. “Sophie, everyone knows contractors are some of the most unethical people on the planet.”

“Oh, goody.” I put my arm around Mary Ann. “It’s Morality 101 taught by Dena Lopiano, the woman who sells us edible undies.”

“Knock it off and just think about it. A contractor might know how to break into this place.”

“Anyone could break into my place, Dena. My fucking window won’t close! The man is not a killer. I would know.”

“The way you knew about Andy?”

“That was a little different. I never really knew Andy. My only contact with him was when he was bagging my groceries.”

“Yeah, Anatoly, on the other hand, is bagging you. And we all know that men never hurt the women they sleep with, right?”

“I would know if I was dating a murderer. Do you really think I’m such a poor judge of character that I’d miss something like that?”

“Well, that’s obviously what you think of me.”

“No, I think you’re an excellent judge of character. You like to date weirdos and you never fail to find men whose personalities fit the profile.”

“That’s it. I’m out of here. Mary Ann, are you coming or what?”

“But we haven’t even watched the movie.” Mary Ann was the only one in the room who remembered there was a movie.

“They all live happily ever after. Come on, if you want a ride home you’d better get your stuff together.”

Mary Ann gave a little squeak of protest but tucked the video under her arm anyway. She took my hand firmly in hers. “I think your new boyfriend sounds nice. Not psychotic at all.”

“Thank you.”

“Can we go now?”

Mary Ann collected her bag and coat with exaggerated slowness in a deliberate attempt to tick Dena off. “Does he live nearby?”

“Just three blocks away.”

Dena froze with one arm in her leather jacket. “Sophie, you said Anatoly went to the police station with you when you reported the car break-in. Did he meet you at the apartment?”

“No, he met me at the car. It was parked in front of his place.” I shouldn’t have said that. Now I had demonstrated that Anatoly had opportunity.

“Jesus, Sophie. I’m serious…”

“Just keep your boyfriend away from me and I’ll be fine.”

“I guess it’s true what they say. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.” Dena held the door open for Mary Ann. “Just be sure to lock this after we leave and keep the phone by your bed. Oh, and if you plan on having Anatoly over, you might want to take a tip from Sharon Stone and keep an ice pick there as well.”

I hurled a pillow from the couch at her and it landed quietly against the just-closed door, leaving me with a burning desire to throw something of greater substance. Something breakable would be good.

Mr. Katz cowered under the coffee table.

“Don’t worry. I’ll restrain myself. No more throwing.” I gently coaxed the cat out into the open before picking him up and cuddling him in my arms.

It wasn’t Anatoly. I would know. I would feel it. Yes, there were a lot of coincidences, but that’s all they were. Lots of people moved to Russian Hill. It was a beautiful place to live. The fact that my car was vandalized while parked in front of his apartment made him even less of a suspect. Why would anyone with half a brain be that obvious? So there were a few chance encounters: Starbucks, the art opening…it was the night of the art opening that I had found the broken glass. Anatoly had arrived at the opening late, later than I had. What the hell did he do with his days, anyway? He wasn’t really working, and he was so vague about his business. And then there was his friend in L.A. whom he had spoken of, the one who wasn’t there anymore. I flashed back to my first encounter with Anatoly. What had he said about the Times article concerning J.J. Money’s death?

The basic premise is the same, reaping what you sow and all that.

It took me a moment to realize that the pain in my chest was at least partially the result of Mr. Katz’s claws digging in. I dropped him to the floor and checked the damage to my shirt. Anatoly was innocent. I was sure of it. Dena was just trying to deflect attention away from the whacko she was dating.

Mr. Katz purred and nuzzled my feet.

“Oh sure, try to sweet-talk me now. Come on, let’s get ready for bed.” I ushered him into the bedroom.

But not before checking the locks and taking the phone with me.

CHAPTER 10

“There was a con artist amongst her acquaintances. The challenge was going to be figuring out who that person was.”

—
Sex, Drugs and Murder

“S
he just wouldn’t let up,” I said. Marcus massaged a mango-scented creamy substance into my scalp. “I mean, she’s dating a creature of the night and she accuses the guy I’m dating of being suspicious?”

“Head back.”

I raised my voice so it could be heard over the stream of water working through my hair. “She’s never even met Anatoly. I
have
met Jason, and let me tell you something, of the two of them Jason is definitely the more likely suspect.”

“Up.”

I relocated to a chair in front of a mirror. “I look like a drowned rat.”

“Uh-oh, that sounds like an attempted murder charge ready to happen.”

“Not funny.”

“No, what’s funny is you and Dena getting all worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing?” I whipped around to confront him. “My life could be in danger and you call that nothing?”

“Do you want me to massacre your hair?”

“No.”

“Then you’d best be turning that sassy little head of yours back around and stay still.”

I pushed my lower lip out but did as I was told. After all, how would it look if I was murdered with a bad haircut?

“Honey, I’d die if anything ever happened to my favorite client.” He blew me a kiss in the mirror. “But could you run the part about the misplaced book equating to a sinister death threat by me again, ’cause that’s where I get lost.”

“It’s not just the book, it’s—”

“The vandalized car, and Andy couldn’t have done that, right? The man just tried to kill you, why would he want to hurt your car? Oh, oh, wait, you were talking about the glass your cat—I’m sorry—your psycho-killer-maniac man knocked over.”

“There was the note too,” I reminded him. “Or do you think that Mr. Katz has suddenly become literate.”

“Okay, the note’s kinda creepy, but honey, let’s be real. Six months ago, JJ Money was shot in New York, and I do believe that homeboy they’ve arrested has been convicted by a jury.”

“Juries have been known to be wrong.”

“Uh-huh, and you never are. Now let’s look at Mr. Hollywood. Slit wrists in the bathtub. No sign of struggle, no sign of forced entry, long history of alcoholism and depression, okay?”

“It wasn’t suicide, Marcus.”

“Mmm, well the L.A.P.D., those would be the boys in the cute uniforms who are actually
trained
to solve crimes, they have a different line. I’m your number-one fan, Soph, but writing about fictional criminals does not make you an expert on the real thing.”

“What’s your point, Marcus?”

“My point is that the real experts have found nothing to connect Tolsky and JJ Money’s deaths, and certainly nothing to connect them to your messed-up car. So isn’t it possible that you’re overreacting just a smidge, sweetie? Not that I blame you. After what happened with Andy you’re entitled to be more paranoid than McCarthy, but you need to be thinking about the possibility that neither of the men that you and Dena are dating, is a serial killer.”

“But, Marcus, my car was vandalized in the exact same way Kittie’s car was vandalized in—”

“In
Sex, Drugs and Murder.
Okay, I know the man had brain damage, but Andy did know how to read, didn’t he?”

“It wasn’t Andy.”

Marcus sighed and swiveled the chair to the right. “Honey, you’ve been through hell, but now your little writer’s mind has gotten carried away. Even if Andy wasn’t responsible for all the weird stuff you’ve been going through, and I personally think that he was, a prank call, a broken glass and a vandalized car do not a murder plot make. Particularly if that car was vandalized while parked overnight on the streets of San Francisco by some chick too cheap to pay for a spot in a garage two blocks away.”

“Do I give you shit about your parking tickets?”

“All the time, but I think you’re missing my point.”

I chewed on my lip as Marcus continued to snip away. His arguments did have a certain undeniable logic to them.

He ran his fingers through my dark brown mop. “Here’s the thing, you may have had the opportunity to converse with her latest stud muffin, but Dena’s the one who’s been doing the pillow talk with him and she’s in a better position to say what he is or is not capable of. On the other hand, Dena’s never met your new plaything. All she knows is what you told her, and some of that does make him sound a little sketchy.”

“He didn’t do it, Marcus.”

“Down, girl, I didn’t say he did. Like Dena, I’m sure you know what your man would or wouldn’t do, but what I’m getting at here is that Dena’s biggest offense is acting like an overly concerned friend.”

“So you’re saying I may have been a tad hard on her.”

“Gold star.”

“I guess I should call her?”

“I guess you should.”

I scrunched up my face. I hated admitting I was wrong. I started to bend forward so I could get my cell phone out of my purse, but Marcus pulled me back. “Make amends later, now we blow-dry. If we wait, you’ll frizz.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to frizz.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes getting my head decorated with curlers of various shades and sizes and the following forty sweating under the dryer. When I was done, Marcus held up a hand mirror in back of me so I could examine all angles. “Tell me I’m brilliant.”

“You’re brilliant, Marcus.” I shook my head from side to side… God, I love it when it moves. “It looks beautiful, as it always does after you’re through with it.” Tomorrow I would spend two hours in front of the mirror in a fruitless effort to recreate the look he had just given me, but for the next two hours I would be gorgeous. “Stay with me while I call Dena?”

“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t stand by and hold your hand while you grovel?”

“You’re just so sweet.” I pulled my phone out and pressed five to speed dial the number to Dena’s store.

“Guilty Pleasures, how can we make you smile?”

“Dena, it’s me.” I looked up at Marcus, who had become distracted. Donato had just walked in.

“Hi…I…I’m surprised you called.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about last night.” I tried to grab at Marcus’s shirt to hold him back, but he smacked my hand away and went to meet Donato. So much for watching me grovel.

“I’ve been thinking about it too. I’m…” Dena hesitated before continuing. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who was wrong! I totally attacked your boyfriend. I accused him of being a psychopath.”

“And I accused Anatoly of the same thing, but you had reason to be paranoid and irrational—you’re the one that was almost killed. I just got defensive because, well, because that’s what I do. You know me, I can never just let things slide.”

“I’m not sure anyone would have let that one slide.” I tried to give Marcus a thumbs-up sign but he was all the way across the room running his hands through Donato’s hair. Somehow his interest seemed more than professional.

“So we’re good?”

I relaxed back into the swivel chair. “We’re good.”

“Great, because we have some celebrating to do.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Your not being killed, for one.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good one.” I brushed a stray hair off my jeans. “Nothing too wild, though. I’ve had enough excitement in the last week to hold me over for the rest of the decade. Although…Marcus did just do my hair, so I should probably be seen in public before I destroy it.”

“How about a little private bitch session in the park followed by dinner out?”

“You mean…”

“Yep, Bitches’ Circle. I can be there by four. I’ll bring the wine.”

“God, we haven’t been there in forever.” I went over to the coatrack to grab my jacket. “Maybe afterward we could get a bite to eat at P.J.’s Oyster Bed?”

“Oysters Rockefeller for everybody. So did Marcus do that cool curly style again?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I pressed a curl against my head and watched it spring back to life.

“I think if I ever grow my hair out I’m going to get a perm. Jason’s standing next to me and he’s nodding his head in agreement.”