Courting Disaster Part 21

Earl and Vinnie sat at Angie's table at Wings of an Angel. Butch would have joined them as well, but they had a couple of customers who wanted lunch, so he had to stay in the kitchen and cook.

Angie told them about the Athina waiter's death, and was eager to hear what they'd learned about the place.

"Everyone says there's something not kosher about it." Vinnie poured chianti for them.

"We don't t'ink you should go dere no more, Miss Angie," Earl added. "An' dat was before we hoid about da waiter being offed."

"For one thing," Vinnie said, "the restaurant don't do the kind of business to make enough money to keep up a waterfront restaurant with a pier, not even a dump like that one is. You're talking big bucks to buy or rent it." He lifted his gla.s.s. "Salute."

The others joined the toast. "So where does the money come from?" Angie asked after taking a small sip. Wine in the early afternoon wasn't a favorite of hers.

"That's the thing. It's got to be something illegal," Vinnie suggested. "Dope, maybe, but not likely. The big boys who deal dope don't like little two-bit players like Gene Leer taking a cut. I don't think that's it."

"What, then?"

"Who knows?" Vinnie swirled his wine gla.s.s. "Back to the murder, word on the street is some woman killed the waiter when he wouldn't marry her. Everyone says she was a stalker. She'd follow him to work, home, everywhere he went, keeping an eye on him and any other woman he paid any attention to."

Angie found that interesting. "Do they mention a name-like Olympia or Hannah?"

"I didn't hear no names, but some broad-'scuse me, Miss Angie, I meant some dame-is missing and people say she's the one who came back and offed him."

"I see." She was surprised others thought Hannah was a killer. To Angie, she seemed too nice. Of course, wasn't that what everyone always said about killers? She was such a nice woman. "Do they have any proof?" she asked.

"Not that I heard," Vinnie said. As more customers entered, he and Earl went into action.

Angie drank the wine, lost in thought about the way she'd helped Hannah leave the hospital, and how she'd driven her around in her car. Could Hannah be a killer? It was odd how she went missing. Paavo had gotten Missing Persons involved, but still there was no trace of her. And now Tyler's murder...

Angie finished her gla.s.s. Why did she get involved with people with such complicated lives when all she wanted to do was enjoy her engagement party?

Just as she was about to leave, Nona Farraday charged into the restaurant. She looked like h.e.l.l with bags under her eyes, her skin a sickly sallow color, and her hair flat and lank. "I thought I'd find you here! Never again, Angie. Never again!"

"What?"

All heads swiveled toward Nona as she stood over Angie. "You sent me on a wild goose chase to talk to a man who plies me with liquor for no good reason, and then I find out the Casanova is a murder victim! You can just keep your sick male friends to yourself. I'm giving up on men altogether!"

With that, Nona turned on her heel and marched out the door. The other customers buzzed over her words.

Angie had no idea what the crazy woman was talking about, but she grabbed her purse, threw money on the table, and left. She needed to get home to warn Stan about Hannah. And maybe Nona, while she was at it.

Before rushing home, Angie realized she knew one person who could answer a lot of her questions. One person who also wanted answers. She phoned Gail Leer, and they agreed to meet at Ghirardelli Square for coffee.

Gail was standing by the door waiting as Angie entered the ice-cream and coffee shop. They ordered lattes, then found themselves a table.

As soon as they were seated, Angie opened her small handbag and pretended to switch off the cell phone so they could talk undisturbed. Instead, she switched on the new mini-tape recorder she'd bought on the way over. She wasn't a Homicide inspector's fiancee for nothing. The purchase, she was sure, would get plenty of use.

She then propped her purse on the table against the wall, halfway between herself and Gail.

"So tell me," she asked after the waitress brought their coffee, "what do you think is going on? Hannah is missing. Tyler is dead."

"I don't know," Gail clasped her hands, elbows on the table. "It's such a worry. I a.s.sumed Hannah was safe and staying with your friend Stan, but you said I was wrong about that. And now Tyler. I don't know who could have killed him."

"What about a jealous girlfriend?" Angie asked.

"Olympia?" Gail shook her head. "She's got a terrible temper, but I don't see her as a murderer."

"What about Michael Zeno?" Angie asked.

"I hope not," Gail murmured. She stirred the latte, lost in thought. "From the moment he looked at Hannah, though, when I first hired her, he was like a lovesick puppy. She saw him more as a father figure or older brother-a friend, nothing more."

"Tell me about Hannah and Tyler," Angie said.

Gail told her how Hannah had been interested in Tyler from the moment he first started working at the restaurant. A couple of times before that she'd gone out with Michael Zeno, but he was too old, and far too serious. Michael loved her-it was obvious to everyone-but Hannah wasn't interested in him. He got mad when she broke it off. He told everyone that someday he was going to be rich, "Rich as Eugene Leer," was how he put it, and then Hannah would be sorry she didn't love him.

Hannah didn't care, though, because Tyler was working side by side with her, all charm and sparkling handsomeness. For months she'd pined for him while he dated Olympia Pappas. Then, one day, he asked her out.

She was in love, and soon she was pregnant as well. She clung to the dream that when he learned about the baby he would propose or do something, anything, to show he cared for her, the mother of his child. But he didn't, and life continued as it had been.

"When did the two break up?" Angie asked.

"I guess it was right before she disappeared. She was unhappy, but we all thought they were still seeing each other. When Tyler said she was gone, we were shocked."

"What did they fight about?"

"The baby. Apparently they had an agreement to put it up for adoption. But then Hannah started having thoughts about keeping it. That was the last thing Tyler wanted."

"Why did Hannah feel she and the baby had to hide from Tyler? It sounds like more than a simple disagreement."

Gail's brows lifted. "You make it sound as if she already had the child."

Angie stirred her latte while thinking, and then decided to try the truth. "She did. A little girl."

Gail's jaw dropped. "She had the baby."

"So?"

"Maybe Tyler..." Gail's eyes met Angie's and she stopped talking. "Nothing. I don't know." She stood and picked up her purse. "I've got to go."

Without another word, she left the shop.

When Paavo returned to Homicide, he learned that Rebecca had gotten a search warrant for the Athina and Lieutenant Hollins had ordered her partner to accompany her. After that, she planned to question Olympia Pappas. He had to admit to being curious about the woman himself.

Paavo agreed with Rebecca's search of the Athina. He didn't like anything he was learning about the Athina Restaurant, the Leers, Michael Zeno, Tyler Marsh, or even Hannah. The place obviously wasn't making enough to keep its doors open as a restaurant, so why was it still open? It was clear that everyone there was uneasy talking to the police.

He picked up his notepad and a pencil and jotted down key facts. Sh.e.l.ly Farms was found murdered not too far from the Athina. He was known for giving help to the poor, and one of the last people he was known to be concerned about was a single woman about to have a baby. Hannah worked at the Athina, single, pregnant. She ran away to have her baby and then disappeared. Tyler Marsh worked at the Athina, was the baby's father, and now he was dead.

How did it all tie together? It had to. A series of unrelated murders and kidnappings in one spot made no sense.

Paavo was so deep in thought, the pencil eraser pressed to his bottom lip, he didn't hear Angie come in until she plopped down in the chair at the side of his desk, pulled out the tape of her coffee with Gail Leer, and played it for him.

"What do you think?" she asked with a smile when it ended.

He glared at her. "What do you think you're doing? That woman could be involved in something dangerous! You could be taking your life in your hands!"

"Calm down," Angie said. "I'm fine. What's interesting is that she's lying. You notice how, as soon as she learned the baby had been born, her whole demeanor changed?"

Paavo stared at the tape recorder. He had to admit it was interesting. "All right," he said through gritted teeth. "You did this, but promise me you'll stop now. No more going to the Athina. No questioning these people. Is that clear?"

She frowned. He was making it very difficult for her to help him. "If you insist," she said finally. "But just let me say that I've been giving my conversation with Gail a lot of thought-too much, considering that our party is in only four days! Still, I keep going back to Hannah's apartment and how she made no preparation at all for the baby. It's unnatural-unless she never expected to bring the baby home."

Paavo had to agree. He jotted a new word on his list: adoption. "It goes along with what Gail said-that she'd agreed to give it up for adoption."

She told him about the Vandermeers' visit to the Athina, how upset they were to learn Hannah had been gone several days and no one had contacted them. "What if Hannah and Tyler were planning to let the Vandermeers adopt their baby? She might have changed her mind, and that's why she called Stan. To hide from the Vandermeers as well as from Tyler. Maybe he met the Vandermeers at the Athina, learned they wanted to adopt, and made a deal."

Paavo tapped the eraser against his desktop. "You may be right. Stan was perfect. She saw him as someone Tyler couldn't track down. Except that he did. That must be why she ran. Or he s.n.a.t.c.hed her, wanting to convince her to give up the baby."

"But how did he find her?" Angie asked. "Stan has an unlisted phone number, he's not listed on Google or anything. I can't even remember him ever introducing himself to anyone at the Athina."

"But you probably gave your name, right? Maybe you even told them about your job on KQED." At her nod, he continued. "That's it then. That's why you were followed, why the ruse with the taxi. Someone-Marsh?-wanted to know where you and Stan lived so he could get to Hannah."

It made sense, Angie agreed. "Hannah went for a walk alone, and if he'd been watching the apartment, he could have grabbed her, taken her to his apartment. She could have gotten free and killed him," Angie cried. "Good G.o.d, I hope not."

"It hangs together, but it's also pretty far-fetched," Paavo said. "Not many people want to give up their babies, or have potential parents show up out of the blue. Unless..." He stopped, staring at his list as something niggled in his memory.

"Unless..." Angie's eyes widened. "What if all this isn't as much out of the blue as we think?"

She told him about her and Stan seeing the owner and the cook carrying what looked like cradles from the boat to the restaurant. "We a.s.sumed they must be some strange kind of fish crate, but what if they really were baby cradles?"

"Sh.e.l.ly Farms had been looking at case law about smuggling," he remembered, then shuddered at the thought. "Let's hope these people aren't involved in baby smuggling, Angie."

She nodded as the ugliness of it struck her.

"What was the name of the people who asked about Hannah? Vandermeer, was it? Do you have a first name?"

"Hers was Frieda, which is odd enough, but I remember thinking his was even weirder. Like an old-time movie star. Rock? Tab? Lance? Yes-that's it. Lance Vandermeer."

Paavo keyed "Lance Vandermeer" into California's criminal database. Several clicks and the man's rap sheet appeared-two a.s.saults and a "misappropriation of funds" charge, which was dropped or it would have meant his "third strike"-and a lifetime in jail.

Angie stared at it, stunned. The only thing she could say was, "Wow."

Surprise, then delight filled Stan's face as he opened the door. "Hannah! Thank G.o.d! Are you all right?" He took a step forward as if to hug her, but something in her eyes stopped him, and he stepped aside to allow her to enter.

She eyed him and then the room. It was a mess, and so was he. It had been bad enough when she was there to share the burden of taking care of a baby and trying to keep up an apartment and clothes, and diapers, formula, food for him since he had no time to go out, and somehow try to find time to sleep, but now, doing all that alone, he was ready to drop.

Cautiously, she walked inside. She'd spent the past few hours at a homeless shelter where she ate, cleaned up, and had her hands bandaged. "Where's Kaitlyn?"

"In her crib, asleep." He stared her as if she'd just dropped out of the sky. "She's fine. What happened to you? I was so worried."

Now it was her turn to back away. "Were you?"

"Sit down." He gestured toward the sofa. "You're acting strangely."

She remained standing and rigid. "I want Kaitlyn."

"You want to take her and leave?" Stan was shocked.

"That's right."

"Hannah, what's wrong? Tell me what happened."

She pulled out a knife and shakily pointed it at his heart. "I'm leaving and taking my baby with me." Then she burst into tears.

Chapter 24.

Angie was frantic. All her time, it seemed, was being taken up helping Stan care for the baby and trying to keep him calm about Hannah. And now that Tyler had been killed and Rebecca Mayfield suspected Hannah, things were worse than ever. Stan was a basket case, wondering if he should contact somebody in authority about Kaitlyn. With Angie's engagement party startlingly near, desperate times called for desperate measures.

She went to the one person she knew she could count on at such a time: Connie Rogers.

"You want me to do what?" Connie cried when Angie arrived at her apartment that evening. "No way!"

Connie lived just a few blocks from her shop in an old comfortable building that, fortunately, allowed dogs, since she'd recently acquired one. Lily was curled up on the sofa, her head on Connie's lap, eying Angie with sadness and grave disappointment in her big brown eyes.

Angie usually brought her a gourmet doggie biscuit. Today, though, she'd forgotten. She felt guiltier than a war criminal.

"It's not really breaking and entering," Angie said, trying not to look at Lily. "I've got a key." She remembered her father using that same line many times.

"It's still sneaking into a house uninvited and going through someone's personal papers-even if it is your own mother!"

"I'm begging you, Connie," Angie said. "I need someone to watch from the windows in case they come home. That's all."

"This is ridiculous."

Angie heaved a sigh of relief. She knew she was winning. When Connie ran out of rational arguments, she turned to the ridiculous factor. As if Angie cared!

Fifteen minutes later, Connie relented and the two were off, Angie at the wheel.

She parked near the back of an empty lot over two blocks from her parents' home. There was so little street parking in this neighborhood her Mercedes would stand out like a beacon anywhere else-not to mention her license plate: GR8COOK.

She and Connie had to stop and pick stickers out of their shoes and pantyhose after they trooped through the weed-covered lot to the sidewalk. Once there, they hid behind a rhododendron and waited until they saw a Rolls-Royce pa.s.s-Serefina at the wheel and Sal clutching the dashboard. Tonight's ballet was one Serefina had been especially interested in seeing. Sal looked upon it as penance.

"Let's go," Angie said, and the two hurried to her parents' home. She unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm. Fortunately, her parents hadn't changed the code in years.