Passion, Betrayal And Killer Highlights

“You’re not pathetic. Remember, Bob never actually left you. I’m sure that given the chance he would have come to his senses and stayed,” I lied.

Anatoly stepped back from the safe and scanned the room. “Where do you keep the computer?”

“In the study upstairs,” Leah said absently, still admiring the necklace she supposedly didn’t want.

I tugged at Anatoly’s sleeve. “I’ll show you.” We left Leah downstairs and I took him to the room that stood between Jack’s and the master suite. I stepped in and did a quick visual inventory. “Wait, I know they keep it in here. Where is it?”

Anatoly walked past me and tapped a spot on the empty desk. “My guess is it was right here.”

I stepped forward and examined the dust-free square on the desk where the computer used to be. “The police?”

“Looks that way.” Anatoly shook his head. “Hopefully there aren’t any messages on it from the mistress. It would be better if Leah could volunteer the information about that affair herself.”

“You want Leah to tell the police about Bob’s bimbo?”

“Assuming she didn’t do it, yes, I want her to tell them about Bob’s bimbo. They’re going to find out anyway, and while I recognize that in her case lying is a family trait, lying to homicide detectives will not serve her well.”

I shrugged. “There was a period of time in recent history when I was lying to the police all the time. I never got arrested.”

“No, I did. Let’s not repeat the pattern, all right?”

Leah entered the room and stared at the empty spot where the computer had been. “Hold on a minute. Last night the police escorted me through the house so that I could confirm that nothing was missing and I distinctly remember the computer being right there.” She looked at me and Anatoly accusingly.

“Okay, you caught us. We used Anatoly’s super-micro-blastic shrinking machine and hid it in the drawer.”

“The police took the computer.” Anatoly was now looking through the papers on Bob’s desk with noticeable lack of interest.

“I can’t believe those people. First my wedding pictures and now this? It’s just so rude! You have no idea what it was like to see the photos of Bob and me on the happiest day of our lives covered in broken glass. And now, not only am I unable to reframe them, I can’t even complain about it to my online stay-at-home-moms’ support group! Honestly, is it really necessary to rob me of all my comforts?”

“Not all your comforts,” I offered. “I’m sure they left the ice cream.”

“This is so typical of you, Sophie! My life gets turned upside down and you’re making jokes.”

Anatoly looked up from the papers. “Funny, I thought it was Bob’s life that got screwed up.”

“Shut up!” The words came from both me and Leah in unison.

She smiled at me and I exhaled a sigh of relief. At least we still recognized that we were not each other’s enemy. The real enemy was the heterosexual male.

Leah checked her watch. “Damn it, I was supposed to pick up Jack five minutes ago.”

“Are you bringing him to Mama’s after that?” She had already told me that she was but I just wanted to be reassured one more time that she wasn’t bringing him to my house.

“Mmm-hmm. She’s taking him for the afternoon.”

“How about the night? Can she take him for the night, too?” Anatoly gave me a sidelong glance, which I ignored.

Leah pushed her purse strap farther up her shoulder. “Jack and I will be staying with you tonight.”

“I really think you should ask Mama to take him. You have enough on your plate as it is.”

“I’m the only parent he has now, and he needs me.”

“You’re right,” I said slowly. “Jack needs stability. Maybe the two of you should stay here tonight. That way he’ll be able to sleep in his own room.”

Leah shot me a “you can’t possibly expect me to stay here” look and then turned around to leave before I had a chance to send her a nonverbal message of my own.

Anatoly smirked. “I’m getting the sense that you have some strong feelings concerning your nephew.”

“You don’t know what this child is like. Rosemary’s baby would be easier to deal with.”

He chuckled and opened the top drawer of the desk. “I’m going to take an hour or so going through this place—there’s always the off chance the police left something behind.”

I pulled off my leather jacket. “I’ll help. I think I’ll start in the kitchen.”

Anatoly nodded, although I don’t think he was listening. I went downstairs and left him to his exploring.

Forty-five minutes later, I had discovered a frozen Wolfgang Puck pizza, two Trader Joe’s salads, an open bottle of Kenwood, Pinot Noir, and an entire box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. I flipped on the small television discreetly mounted on the wall in the corner of the dining room and turned the volume on low before getting to work on the pizza preparation. Ten minutes later the scent of freshly baked mozzarella brought Anatoly downstairs.

I gestured for him to sit at the dining table as I poured the wine. “Do you think the police found anything interesting last night?”

Anatoly glanced at the figure of Montel Williams scurrying around the TV screen, and pulled out a chair for himself. “It’s impossible to know.”

“So what’s our next move?”

“My next move will be to talk to the woman Bob was sleeping with.”

“Why would we want to do that?” I set the pizza out along with the two salads, then sat opposite him. “She has no motive—she won. Not that Bob was any great prize. Maybe that’s it! Maybe she started thinking about what life would be like with Bob and freaked out.”

“We don’t know the details of the affair.” He looked at the glass of wine offered him, then glanced at the wall clock, which read 11:55.

“My brother-in-law died yesterday,” I said. “I think it would be justifiable if we started drinking early. So what were you saying about the affair?”

Anatoly sighed and reached for the prepackaged shrimp Caesar. “I was saying that it’s unlikely Bob told Leah the whole story. Maybe his mistress had reason to want him dead, or maybe someone connected with her did.”

“A husband! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re not a PI.” He tore off a piece of pizza. “You’re a writer…of sorts.”

“One would think that with everything we’ve been through together you would know better than to piss me off.”

“Good point.” Anatoly leaned back in his chair. “All right, who might know the name of Bob’s mistress?”

“Maybe Erika, Bob’s secretary,” I mumbled between bites.

“I’ll need you to make an introduction.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll help you with the interview.”

Anatoly frowned and shook his head. “I mean it, Sophie, you need to leave this to me.”

“Uh-uh. Erika knows me, so she’s a lot more likely to open up if I’m there. Plus, I’m good at this detective stuff. I figured out who killed Tolsky, didn’t I?”

“How could I forget?” Anatoly taunted. “You’re the genius who put the whole thing together just minutes after the killer confessed. Very impressive.”

I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t care what anyone said, writing the Alicia Bright mysteries did qualify me to be an amateur sleuth. In Words To Die By Alicia solved four murders in less than a month’s time. Surely, with Anatoly’s assistance, I could solve one murder in less than a week. “The point is, I figured it out before you. No, scratch that—the point is, I’m the one footing the bill for this little investigation, so if I say I’m sitting in on an interview, then—”

Anatoly leaned forward and grabbed my wrist. God, I had forgotten just how strong his hands were.

“This is not a game. A man was killed and the murderer may be willing to kill again in order to avoid getting caught.”

I dropped the utensil I had been holding in my free hand. “You’re worried about me!”

Anatoly uttered some Russian curse and attacked his salad with his fork.

“You looove me.” When Anatoly didn’t respond I decided to take it down a notch. “Okay, maybe you’re not ready for the big L word, but you’ve got to admit you like me an awful lot.”

“Careful, Sophie. I like Caesar salad and look what I’m doing to it,” he said as he violently sank his fork into a piece of shrimp.

“Are you suggesting that you want to eat me?”

“Sophie…”

“Good afternoon.”

Anatoly and I looked up at the television to see the anchor woman who had begun speaking.

“Thanks for joining us for Channel Two News at Noon. Today’s lead story is a murder that took place last night in the Forest Hill district of San Francisco.” Anatoly quickly stood up and adjusted the volume. “Bob Miller, the comptroller at Chalet.com, was found last night with a gunshot wound to the head. His wife, Leah Miller, made the call to the police. This morning we had a chance to speak to Bob’s sister, Cheryl Miller. This is what she had to say.”

The camera switched to a shot of Cheryl standing in front of her place of work, Hotel Gatsby. Her overly gelled dyed-blond hair was impervious to the wind that was plaguing her interviewer. “I’m still reeling from the whole thing,” she said, gently patting the corner of her eyes with a pink handkerchief. “Although, I suppose I should have seen this coming. Leah and Bob were having problems, and Leah was never the most stable of people.”

“That bitch!” I screamed, standing up quickly enough to upset my chair.

“Shh!” Anatoly scolded, and turned the volume up a bit more.

“I know the police are looking at her,” Cheryl continued. “Of course, she’s denying it. I swear, it’s just like OJ and Nicole all over again.”

“How so?” the interviewer asked.

“Well, Bob and I came from a very well-respected New England family, and Leah’s…well, she’s black. And now she’s going to try to act like the police are targeting her because of her race, which isn’t the case at all. But if she’s brought to trial, who knows what she’ll be able to convince a jury of.” Cheryl dabbed her eyes again. “Not that Leah has the money to hire the Dream Team, but she does come from some wealth. Her mother’s side of the family is Jewish.”

I wasn’t so much upset as I was floored. Anatoly and I looked at each other.

“Huh,” he said, “I completely forgot that your sister is black.”

“I’m not sure she is anymore,” I replied. “Is it possible for a person to shop in Wilkes Bashford’s women’s department while still maintaining an ethnic identity?”

Anatoly shook his head and cast one last glance at the television. “This is going to get messy.”

Twenty-five minutes later I was clinging to Anatoly as he pulled his Harley into a parking spot right in front of Bob’s office building, located in the heart of the financial district. I doubt I’ll ever get over the thrill of having my breasts pressed up against his well-developed back muscles while riding on the back of that bike. There’s something intrinsically sexy about a non–Hells Angels type riding a Harley. It was like Anatoly was wearing a sign that said, “I’m sexy, I’m fun and I’m secure enough with my masculinity to willingly put a large vibrating phallic symbol between my legs and enjoy it.”

We walked inside and took an elevator to the eleventh floor, which was the second of the three floors that housed Chalet. I had only been there once before with Leah. Back then Bob had shared a moderate-size office with a colleague whom he had neglected to introduce me to. Since then Bob had moved up in the world. He held bragging rights to a corner office the size of my living room. Leah had told me the CFO had recently turned in her notice and Bob was to fill the vacant role. Of course, at the time she hadn’t known that Bob had no intention of sharing his success with her…

Now the door to the office was wide open, and sitting at his desk was a petite Chinese woman. Her permed black hair hung delicately around her shoulders as she sobbed into her hands. Even without being able to see her face I recognized her as Erika. The tall man with the salt-and-pepper hair patting her shoulder was Chalet’s CEO, James Sawyer, whom I had met at the occasional dinner party. As Anatoly and I stepped inside, James’s hazel eyes met mine.

“Sophie.” He stepped around the desk and clasped my right hand in both of his. Erika looked up and used the back of her hand to try to wipe away the tears that dampened her face.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Bob,” James continued.

His tone was so sincere and concerned that I genuinely wished I was more upset. “I want you to know that we at Chalet have always considered the family of our employees to be part of our own extended family—no matter what their nationality, race, creed or religion.”

Anatoly cleared his throat and I pressed my lips together. “I see you’ve been watching the news,” I said.

“I…might have caught it while purchasing a coffee across the street.” James adjusted his tie as if that was the reason he had suddenly gone red. He looked past me to Anatoly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Anatoly Darinsky. I’m a close friend of Sophie’s.”

Close—I liked that.

“I see,” he said. “Well, I assume you’re here for some of Bob’s things?”

“Actually, we were hoping to talk to Erika for a few minutes.” I tilted my head to the side so that I could see past James to Bob’s grieving secretary. “Bob always spoke so highly of you, and Leah feels that your help with the arrangements would be invaluable.”

“Of course, I’ll help with the…arrangements. Oh, poor Bob!” She lunged for the tissues at the corner of the desk.

James regarded Erika with a mixture of sympathy and disdain. “Erika, you can go through the paperwork tomorrow,” he said as he helped her to her feet and led us out of Bob’s office and to her desk. “Waiting another day won’t kill—won’t be of any significance. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?”

As Erika squeaked in agreement, James checked his watch. “I don’t mean to appear insensitive, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to head out. I’m scheduled to speak to a youth group in Hunter’s Point in forty-five minutes.” He looked up at Anatoly and me and smiled proudly. “Chalet has built a reputation on reaching out to San Francisco’s diverse community.”

“Uh-huh.” I eyed the navy-blue pinstripe suit once more and tried to imagine how that look played with today’s troubled urban youth.

“Bob always said he wanted to get more involved in Chalet’s community projects.” Erika made a loud honking noise as she paused to blow her nose. “Now he’ll never have the chance.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Expecting Bob to do voluntary community service was kind of like waiting for the Pope to go devil worshiping.

James’s eyes were now darting between the sniffling Erika and his ticking watch. “Yes, it’s all very unfair. Sophie, please express my sympathy to your family.” He nodded at me and Anatoly, and gave Erika’s shoulder one last awkward pat before quickly removing himself from the room.

“I’m sorry.” Erika sat up a little straighter and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I know that I was just his secretary, but he was so incredibly sweet to me. He and Leah both were, and—” she anxiously tugged on her tennis bracelet “—I just can’t believe he’s gone!”

Anatoly had reopened the door to the office and was taking a visual inventory. “Have the police been here yet?” he asked.

“Yes, they came earlier. They took the computer. Other than that I think they left everything intact.”

Anatoly closed the door again. “So as far as you know, they didn’t find anything.”

Erika hesitated. “Did you really come to get my help with the funeral arrangements, or did Leah send you to gather information about…that woman?” By the way she said “that woman” I was unsure if she was referring to Bob’s mistress or a female Al Qaeda terrorist.

Anatoly shook his head. “We didn’t come to find out about Bob’s mistress, but if you know who she is, I’m sure Leah would be interested.”

Erika leaned forward conspiratorially lest we be overheard by the ants currently scoping out her water bottle. “Her name’s Bianca Whitman. Yesterday, before…before—”

“What happened yesterday afternoon?” I asked, quickly cutting her off before she had a chance to indulge in another shower of tears.

“It was the morning, actually. Leah called me. Bob had just broken the news to her and she was so distraught.” Erika looked down at her desk as if she could see the previous day’s events replaying on its surface. “It was such a shock…the very idea of Bob betraying the woman he loved—” she faltered and squeezed her eyes closed against the tears “—it was just so out of character.”

“And Bob was such a character.” Anatoly elbowed me and I forced myself to look more bereaved. “What I meant to say was that he had so much character—he was just full of it.”

Erika shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “Yes, well anyway, Leah asked me to look around the office for any information on this woman. So I…I went through his things while he was at lunch.” She looked up at us pleadingly. “I know I shouldn’t have. I just wanted to help Leah. She’s become such a good friend. And Bob…you have to understand, Bob wasn’t a bad person. He was just…”

“An adulterer,” I finished. I was pretty sure he was a bad person, too, but I decided to let that one drop.

“Did you find anything in your search?” Anatoly asked.

Erika nodded. She unzipped her large purse and began unloading its contents onto her desk. Anatoly’s forehead creased as she pulled out a miniature package of Kleenex, a bottle of prescription pills, a lipstick, a wine cork, a small package labeled insulin, her wallet and finally a small, light pink envelope. I had forgotten about all of Erika’s health problems. She had both severe diabetes and a heart murmur. Yet it was her hearty golf-playing boss who had checked out at the ripe old age of thirty-five. It was irony like that that made a person want to take up smoking.

Erika picked up the envelope with her thumb and forefinger. “This should give Leah most of the information she wants.”

“Which is?” Anatoly asked, taking the letter.

“Her name and address. There’s no phone number and she’s unlisted—I checked.”

Anatoly scanned the letter while I helped Erika reload her purse. “What time did Bob leave work yesterday?”

“Five o’clock, as always,” Erika said.

Anatoly nodded and stuffed the letter back into the envelope. “Did you tell the police about Bianca?”

“No,” Erika paused a moment to blow her nose again. “I didn’t want to tarnish Bob’s memory. Besides, there’s Leah to consider. I know she’s suffering horribly right now and if she did something in the heat of passion that perhaps she shouldn’t have…I just don’t want to be the one to make things worse for her.”

My hand clenched the Chateau d’Yquem wine cork that I had been about to drop in her bag. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “You’re not actually giving credence to baseless allegations made by some cross-burning bitch on Channel 2 today.”

“I’m sorry?” Erika blinked at me. “What are you talking about? You’re not saying that Bob’s mistress was a Klan member, are you? Bob would never get involved with a person like that! She must have lied to him about who she was or…or brainwashed him!” Erika dropped her head to her arms again and started weeping.

Anatoly grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the exit. “Thanks for your help. Leah will contact you to discuss the memorial service,” he called over his shoulder before shoving me into the elevator.

“Sophie, I doubt a lot of people saw that report,” he said when the doors closed. “I know this may be hard for you to understand, but some people might think Leah’s guilty just because she had means, opportunity and motive.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell it to Dershowitz.” I jammed my finger against the button labeled L. “Let me see the letter.”

Anatoly handed it over to me and I quickly unfolded it.

Dear Bobby,

I know I shouldn’t be writing this, but you’re all I can think about these days. Every time I drive by a restaurant in which we dined, or pass a park bench on which we sat, or walk down a street on which you held my hand, I think of you.

Oh, yuck.

I hope that by putting the feelings that are in my heart on paper I will be better able to sort through them and maybe even figure out the right thing to do.

I know you think I shouldn’t, but I keep thinking of your wife and child. I know that she’s been disloyal and that she’s hurt you, but two wrongs have never made a right. Thus, it is my moral obligation to end things between us.

But I can’t do it, Bobby. Whenever I force myself to entertain the idea of life without you, a little part of me dies. I can still remember the way your shirt felt against my cheek as we danced at the Starlight Room. That night you told me we were soul mates. When I recall those words I know that I will never be able to walk away from you. Does that make me a horrible person? How can an immoral relationship feel so right?

So, despite the guilt, I am yours. I have no right to ask you to choose between me and your family, but I hope that you will have pity on me and make your decision. If you choose your family I will be heartbroken but I will understand; it’s the right choice to make. I just don’t have the strength to make it.

Love Always,

B

“Oh, this chick is a piece of work!”

Anatoly stifled a laugh as the doors opened to the ground floor. “Maybe she’s being sincere,” he suggested as he escorted me to the sidewalk.

“Nah. All that ‘I’ll be heartbroken but I’ll understand’ stuff is total passive-aggressive BS. She actually had the nerve to try to guilt him into leaving his wife and child!”

“Mmm, maybe—”

We stopped in front of his bike and he handed me the spare helmet.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” he added.

“You think?”

“I know. We’re going to pay her a visit right now.”

CHAPTER 4

“But she can’t be a slut,” Sara said with a confused shake of her head. “She buys her bras at Mervyn’s.”

—Words To Die By

As it turned out, Bianca lived in an eight-story building at the top of Nob Hill. Anatoly found her name next to a buzzer for the seventh-floor flat. “A twenty-one-year-old with a condo kitty-corner to Grace Cathedral.” Anatoly made an appreciative clucking sound with his tongue. “Pretty impressive prize for a man you described as the world’s biggest schmuck.”

“She probably has buck teeth and a lazy eye.”

Anatoly shrugged and pressed the buzzer. A few seconds later a feminine voice come through the speaker. “Yes?”

Anatoly held up his hand to stop me from saying anything. “Hello, Miss Whitman? My name is Anatoly Darinsky. I’m a private investigator. I was hired by Bob Miller’s family to investigate his death.”

There was a moment’s pause and then we heard a loud buzz as the door before us unlocked. Anatoly held it open for me and we waited at the elevator.

“At what point do I get to rip her hair out?” I whispered.

“No hair ripping. We’re going to make her feel as comfortable as possible.”

“You think she’s going to be comfortable talking to the sister of her lover’s wife?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Give me a break.”

“You’re not Leah’s sister,” he said as we stepped onto the elevator.

“I’m not?”

“Not for this interview. You’re my assistant and you will behave as such.”

I tapped my finger against my lips thoughtfully. “I like that. You know, I bet that a few weeks of working with you would be enough to drive me to the edge of insanity. I might just have a breakdown and start tearing out the hair of some adulterous slut for no reason.”

“Sophie…”

“Relax,” I said. “I’m just kidding…sort of.”

The elevator doors opened to the seventh floor, and standing in a small foyer was a pretty petite blonde wearing khakis and a white button-up blouse. A pink cardigan was draped over her shoulders.