The Hammett Hex (10 page)

“Tomorrow will be our gelato day,” I said, leaning in. The thing was I still felt the tingle of attraction to my grouchy police officer. He didn't have the lean handsome face of the man who had robbed me of my college fund and maxed out my credit cards before leaving me high and dry. And he didn't have Lance's kooky charm and movie star looks. He was committed to being a police officer although that was the worst possible match for me given my family. He didn't always do what I wanted, but in the long run he was there for me. He'd changed jobs for me. He was ridiculously neat and organized and believed in the rules and
doing his duty, but he'd still taken unpaid leave from the new job for this special vacation, to make a new start for us. No question that he was the guy for me. And eventually, I'd learn why he was being such a pain in the behind during that new start.

A silent but not unpleasant twenty minutes downhill and we were strolling along the boardwalk by the edge of the bay, along with a gazillion other starry-eyed visitors. We found a convenient bench and sat down to stare happily until we lost ourselves in the images of the glittering water.

Just as the evening chill was starting to sink in, he said. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh well, people get in bad moods. Too bad it was during our free, no-strings-attached dinner.”

“It's a good thing you spotted that device . . .”

I stopped myself from saying, “I know.” No one likes an “I-know-it-all.”

“Because I was about to tell you something.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I was keeping it from you.”

As if I didn't know. I squeezed his hand.

“I think I know what they were looking for.”

I waited. I felt a knot in my stomach that had nothing to do with two desserts and a Spanish coffee.

“It's something I had in the room.”

I took a breath and thought, as Vera might have said out loud, “In our lifetime.” Really, he was too much sometimes.

“I hid it under the mattress in the bed by the window. I guess you interrupted him before he got that far.”

I couldn't stop myself. “And what was it? The Hope Diamond?”

“Don't laugh. It was a photo album.”

“What?”

“A photo album.”

That came as a surprise. “What photo album? You
carried an album with you? What for? Why didn't you mention it?”

“Which question do you want me to answer?”

“Pick one.”

“My grandmother gave me the album.”

“She did? When?”

“My first visit when I went without you. You were on your hunt for vintage stuff, I went to see her on my own. I'm sorry. I didn't mention the album. Don't know why.”

“I know not a single person from the Bingham family. If I was given an album, I would want some time alone with it. I get it and you don't need to apologize.”

“Thanks. I wasn't sure what was going on in my head.”

“No worries. Tell me about the album.”

“It was just an old family album, pictures of my dad when he was a kid, pictures of his father. Pictures of Gram. Some of me as a baby and as a kid with Gram before the family got . . . messed up.”

“But that must have been wonderful.”

“It was. Gram said some of these pictures were the only ones left. So, yeah, it's great. I intended to show it to you . . .”

“It's okay.”

“I just needed some time with it.”

“I get it.”

“Alone. I guess that's stupid. I feel like a jerk about tonight. I get tied up in knots sometimes.”

“Not stupid. Look, Tyler, there's nothing at all surprising in you wanting to look at this album alone. It's a big emotional load and of course you needed to keep it to yourself for a while. If someday you want to share it, I'd love to look at it, but you don't need to worry about that. Just get your head around this newfound relationship and enjoy it.”

“Thanks.”

“I'm glad they didn't find it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“How did you get it from the room without anyone knowing?”

He shrugged and, for the first time since the robbery, showed his grin.
Welcome back, Smiley.

“Sometimes it pays to be a police officer.”

“Nice. And a bit noir.”

He did his best to look noirish but, you know, with the blond curls, the little gap between the front teeth and that blush, it didn't come easy.

“Um. Did you slip it under the mattress again?”

He hesitated.

I said, “I hope you've decided to trust me.”

“Right. I figured they wouldn't look twice. Although now that I'm saying it out loud, it does seem pretty stupid that anyone would turn over two hotel rooms and attack you over an old family photo album. I don't know why I thought that.”

“Exactly. It's not like you were the Romanovs.”

“I think you're right. I hid it because—”

I squeezed his hand. “Told you, I get it. It means a lot to you.”

“I've been feeling more like a teenage girl than a cop over the whole hidden photo album thing. Glad it's out in the open.”

“It's not really a Hammettish behavior, is it? Or maybe it is. I mean what would Nick Charles say?”

“He'd say that it's been too long between drinks.”

I laughed. “Nora's up for it. But while we're sipping, we'll have to figure out why our table was bugged.”

He stiffened. “It has to be the manager.”

“Agreed.”

“I can't figure out why he's involved but my gut tells me he is.”

“He is pretty strange. On the other hand, we have that fabulous suite and we had a pretty good dinner—”

“Easy for you, you didn't get a glass of water dropped in your lap.”

“That's true and I enjoyed every mouthful of dinner because
I
wasn't consumed with guilt over something perfectly understandable, but that's all behind us now.”

“Maybe you were hiding something from me too.”

“Maybe I am.” There was that Guy Noir Bobblehead, saved for the right occasion. “I'm not consumed with guilt, but I am really wondering what there is about us that's attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

“Chances are that some crook has one or both of us mixed up with somebody else.”

“I should take notes. Option one: Mistaken identity. Sounds right for a Hammett adventure. Just add fog and stir.”

“It does sound right.”

“Then option two: How about someone thinks we have something belonging to them?”

“Like what? Not the photo album?”

“Well, that's the mystery, isn't it?”

“I don't see what we could have that belongs to someone we don't even know about.”

“I'm just speculating because we don't really have anything to go on. You're a cop. Don't you come up with hypotheses during an investigation? What harm can it do?”

He said, “You're right. What about option three: Maybe a random burglar with a mean streak. Most likely in real life.”

“That would be the hardest option, because we'd never find out, would we?”

“This is a big town, and as upsetting as it was, it's still a small crime and won't be big on the cops' priorities. We'll probably never know anyway. Although it seems unlikely that it's random considering the Prius incident and the cable car attack both involved—”

“Me. So it's got to be connected. Maybe option four brings us back to the manager.”

“No question. Upgrading us to a suite, giving us a free dinner in a pricey restaurant, I wondered about that.”

“What are you thinking?”

He rumpled his forehead. “A theft ring? Some kind of blackmail scam? Could happen, I suppose. I guess my idea about the album was just the guilt talking.”

“No doubt. And maybe when this so-called ring found out you were a cop, they decided to treat you with kid gloves.”

Our eyes met and we both found ourselves laughing. “That is a bit ridiculous,” I admitted.

“More than a bit. Everything's a stretch.”

“But even so, it is strange that we were treated like that.”

He said, “My guess is that they were afraid of a lawsuit. If you could make the case that their room keys weren't secure and guests could be attacked in the stairwell. An unoccupied suite and then springing a couple hundred for dinner is a small price to pay to keep us from getting lawyers or cops involved.”

“And don't forget the social media threat. But then how do we explain the bug under the table?”

Smiley said, “Same deal. They want to make sure that they know what we were planning. Take our measure.”

“They went to a fair amount of trouble. Do you think they were hoping to hear something they could use against us?”

“Like I said, they'd want anything to steer clear of a lawsuit or a police investigation.”

“Well, let's lull them into a false sense of security when we get back.”

Considering we didn't know what was going on or who was behind it, we were in a great mood as we returned.

We made a point of stopping to see the manager to thank
him for the dinner and to test an idea. It was obvious he'd been working a brutally long shift. No wonder he seemed out of sorts. We laid it on thick.

“Excellent,” I gushed. “We had fun and it was so good to have a chance to have a great meal and just think about what we're going to do next.”

Smiley said, “Given the seriousness of the attack on Jordan and the damage done to our rooms, I am assuming that you have arranged for extra security to protect us while we're here.”

I thought the manager might have paled.

“Of course,” he said. I was surprised his pointed nose didn't grow another inch in front of us.

I burbled, “We'll head off to our suite now. And we thank you again for that.”

It was hard not to collapse laughing in the elevator, but I managed to look like a normal person until we reached the ninth floor, opened the door to our suite and let the laughter out.

“I won't sleep a wink tonight anyway,” I said to Smiley, five minutes later, shortly before stepping into my bedroom, keeling over on the bed and slipping from consciousness.

It had been quite a day.

Use what you can find and find what you can use.

—The Kelly Rules

“B
AD NEWS,” SMILEY
said, knocking on the door. I opened my eyes with a start. Like every morning it took me a moment to figure out where I was.

“What?”

“No one got in when we were sleeping. So we're no closer to figuring out the mystery.”

“That's too bad and I suppose they didn't murder us in our sleep either?”

“Correct.”

“Well then, Officer Dekker, I suppose we have no choice but to drown our sorrows in breakfast. Let me get ready. Why don't we call room service and you can show me the photo album without anyone else getting a look at it, in the unlikely possibility that's why our rooms were trashed.”

He scowled. “Room service? That sounds—”

“Decadent? Yes, it does, but in this case, also sensible. Anyway, it can be my treat. Eggs Benedict and OJ? It's supposed to be a specialty at La Perla.”

A half hour later, we were sniffing the sea air and eyeing
the trolley that the room service waiter had maneuvered onto the balcony. I love the decadence of room service and this hotel did a beautiful job, from the snowy linen napkins to the large pot of coffee and the gerbera daisy in the little vase. We were instructed to take our seats on the balcony while the server uncovered our plates with a flourish. The Bennies were perfect with Canadian bacon and English muffins, the eggs medium, the way we like them. The Hollandaise sauce was excellent, buttery and rich with just a hint of lemon. Everything had survived the trip to the ninth floor. The meal came with a lovely fresh fruit salad—melon, orange and strawberries—and memorable sourdough toast with butter and jam.

We had no complaints about this meal, even though toward the end Smiley seemed to be getting a bit morose again.

“We agreed. No more secrets. Tell me what's bothering you now.”

“It's just that my grandmother called when you were in the shower. She'd like me to go see her again today.”

“You must go see your grandmother again. I realize how important this reunion is.”

“And she'd like you to come too. I'm not sure that's how you want to spend your vacation.”

“Well, it is now. She's part of the San Francisco experience. Are you going to waste that sourdough toast? Because I'm still here.”

He laughed. “It's all yours and I guess you'll have plenty of opportunity to walk it off, but first we're going to the International Spy Shop. It's not far from here. Let's see what's new in bug sweepers.”

“Oooh, and here I thought we'd be unscrewing lightbulbs and checking behind smoke detectors and maybe taking off the trim . . .”

“I've already looked everywhere. These are modern times, Jordan. Let's see what we can turn up.”

A half hour later we were at the cashier of the International Spy Shop with a small laser bug detector and a small batch of cameras ready for purchase. I loved this shop. My uncles would have approved of the detour, provided they were on the right side of the camera, if you get my drift.

The equipment set Smiley back a few hundred dollars but the damage could have been much more worse. Anyway, he was in a Nick Charles extravagant kind of mood, even though it was the wrong town. There were many other types of detectors and some ran into the thousands, but Smiley said we had a good chance of finding any of the simple types. “We'll make do with what we have. After all, our burglar and my assailant weren't the most sophisticated of criminals—they didn't care if we knew they'd been there.”

“No kidding.”

“If someone is checking out our room, they won't be expecting this.”

I had invested in a miniature video camera, which I thought would capture anyone who was prowling around in our living room, and one for the bedroom too. And I'd found an adorable and chic little pen camera that I thought Uncle Kev's special friend, Cherie, would just love. Cherie hadn't been on my gift list until the moment I saw the perfect item for her.

We left the shop with a spring in our steps, laughing and nudging each other.

It was a great start to the day as Smiley installed his unit in the living room and I happily placed mine behind the thermostat in my bedroom.

If someone managed to get in there again, we'd have a record of it.

*   *   *

WE SPENT SOME
time strolling on the Embarcadaro, soaking up the atmosphere and walking off the Bennies.
Unfortunately, the stroll and the air on the waterfront made us hungry. We fixed that with the gelatos we'd missed the night before. Smiley went off on a Hammett tour and I fiddled about in fun little shops. It was a rough life.

*   *   *

THE INVITATION TO
Gram's was for a late lunch: a crab casserole and green salad. Very nice.

I played with the little dog, whistled to the cockatiels and avoided the mean parrot while they chatted. “Come here,” it said. I didn't.

“Pet, could I get you to take care of some business for me while you're here?” Gram asked.

Smiley said, “Name it.”

Perhaps he spoke too soon because Gram had a prepared list that involved him dropping papers off here, getting signatures there and even going to her bank to sign documents that added him to her accounts.

“It's all set up. You only need to turn up and sign. And I've arranged a quick meeting with my financial advisor, just to introduce yourself. I'm not so sure about him and I'd like you to give me your opinion as a police officer.”

Quite the list. I got the impression that Gram had been waiting a long time to get these things sorted out.

*   *   *

WITH GRAM PLANNING
a nap and Tyler on his errands, I was off the hook and I was itching to continue exploring the city. So everyone would be happy. I might be happier than Smiley because I would be having fun and not doing boring tasks. But I had a nagging bit of worry about Gram. I didn't know why. She'd obviously done just fine without us all these years. But maybe it was Zoya's nervous ways. And my own nerves were jangled over the
things that had happened to us since we'd arrived. I knew it was silly.

On my way out, I spotted the television flickering in the kitchen. Zoya had her TV addiction, I'd already heard. A local news item about a murder was on the screen and I stopped in my tracks. A photo of a familiar face flashed across the screen. There in better days, the victim looked horribly familiar. I knew those twinkly dark eyes and that dramatic hair with the silver streak. Still, somehow I wasn't surprised that it had been a mug shot.

Zoya switched the channel just as the announcer intoned,
Police said that the victim
—

“Get the channel back, please!”

“Vat? I don't know vat channel. Too late. Go avay.”

It was too late. And I did go away, but I had a heavy heart as I thought that perhaps the twinkly Farley Tso might be no more. A mistake, I told myself. Not at all likely that it was Farley. There are plenty of handsome men in late middle age with splendid manes of hair. And there was one way to find out.

*   *   *

AS I LEFT
Gram's, I was happy to spot the pretty young neighbor across the street, sporting a new active wear outfit, aqua and gray. She was either heading into or out of her home.

She lit up when she saw me and waved. I crossed the street (not that easy mid-block) to chat. She gushed. “It's so nice that you're moving in. I told Michael—that's my husband—and he's so happy too. Everyone on the block is at least a hundred. So, no kids of your own yet?”

“What? Oh. I'm not—”

“I know you're not a hundred. I can't wait until you're here.”

“I'm not moving in.”

Her lovely luminous face fell. I felt like I'd told some innocent child there was no Santa Claus. “You're not? But you and your hus—”

“Not my husband.”

“Sorry. Partner.”

“No. Not even partner. Well, maybe, it's early days. Anyway, we're just here on vacation. We're visiting his grandmother. She lives here.” I pointed up the stairs.

“Oh.”

“It's a really happy visit for my, um, friend. And his gram can't be a day over eighty-five.”

She giggled. “Better than the rest of them then. Well, it's too bad. We just moved in last week. I was looking forward to having friends on this block. And Harry would have liked little friends too.”

“Harry?”

She rolled her eyes. “The little beast was up every hour all night long. We are bushed. And now he's quiet.” She pointed to the stroller where Harry was covered up and sleeping off another awake night. He'd be waiting a long time before I provided him with playmates.

“Well,” I said, “I hope you find some friends in the neighborhood soon.”

“Hmm. It can be quite boring.”

“You're very friendly. I'm sure it won't be long.”

“By the way. I'm Sierra.”

“Jordan.”

“How long are you here, Jordan?”

“Another four days.”

“Oh well.” She seemed to lose all interest in me. I figured maybe I wasn't worth the investment of time as I wasn't moving into one of these multimillion-dollar properties.
Easy come, easy go
, as Uncle Mick would say. She yanked up the stroller and prepared to open the glossy black door with the antique brass knocker.

But I had an idea. A fairly good one with no downside that I could see.

I said, “It must be so difficult taking care of a child all the time. I had something I wanted to ask you but—”

“More like so boring, but anyway . . .” She lifted her perfectly sculpted eyebrows in question.

“Right. I just wondered. We are a bit worried about Gram, that's Tyler's grandmother, of course.”

“Only eighty-five,” she said.

“Yes, but we are worried about who might be trying to influence her and all that. Would you . . . oh really, I shouldn't ask.”

“Would I what?”

Of course, she'd said she was bored.

“Just keep an eye on the place.”

Her mouth turned down. From our previous conversations, I gathered that old people were not her cup of tea. “You mean visit?”

“No, no, no, of course not. Just observe.”

“Well, I'd like to help but I don't really . . . well, I can't be tied down. I have obligations. Harry and Michael and other things.”

“Of course you do. I shouldn't have asked.”
What obligations?
I thought.
To get those perfect nails done?
To jog to the gym? To think about finding a nanny for Harry?

She said, “I'm really sorry.”

“Don't give it a moment's thought. I was out of line to even ask. Forget I mentioned it.”

I waved and stepped away to start my walk to the cable car.

“Wait,” she called out.

I turned, not wishing to utter another batch of groveling apologies.

“What exactly would be involved?”

By now I was feeling ridiculous. “Nothing really. Just keep an eye on anyone coming and going.”

“That wouldn't be all that often really.”

“True. And I'd only ask if you were comfortable doing it.”

“I see. Because it
is
kind of spying on the neighbors.”

“I hadn't thought about it that way. I thought it's more like keeping an eye on a vulnerable”—I paused, not wanting to say “old lady” because I knew that wasn't a selling point—“and charming person.” The charming part was true and possibly the vulnerable part was too.

“Hmm.”

“Look, don't worry about it. I was out of line even suggesting it. I just thought you could give me a call if someone who wasn't the housekeeper or me or Tyler came to the house.”

“Tyler is your partner? The one I met when you were walking up the hill?”

“Yes, sorry. I guess I never mentioned his name.”

“I know what he looks like, so cute with those baby blues and the smile. But I've never seen the housekeeper.”

I described Zoya as kindly as I could in words that Sierra would appreciate “Dark red lipstick and nails, dark hair in a bun, very slender, well-dressed and with a tendency to wave her hands in the air. And shout.”

“Would there be any risk?”

Risk? What risk could there be letting your eye rest on someone just long enough to describe them and then calling me with that description?

“None,” I said with what I hoped was an air of gravitas. “
Absolutely
none whatsoever. Not a scintilla.” That was rather a bit of verbal overkill, but she seemed to buy it.

“That's good,” she said.

“All I'd want would be for you to call or text me
if
—and it's a big if—you saw something. You might say, um, write,
‘The postal carrier was here with something today,' or whatever, from the safety of your own home, by phone. First of all, no one would be at all worried about you or suspicious of you.” I gave my biggest fake smile. Who knows why it was so fake when it was all true? “We're just a bit worried that some people may be trying to intimidate her.”