If Cooks Could Kill Part 15

When he had money, he was a Heineken man. Today, Bud Lite would have to do.

He picked up the beer, then settled down in the living room to wait for his wife, ex-wife, to come home.

Julius kept his head facing straight ahead; only his eyeb.a.l.l.s swiveled toward Fernandez. El Toro was still red-faced and sweaty with fury. Julius had never seen him so out of control as when he realized Veronica had somehow gotten away with the jewels.

They'd stepped onto the elevator, expecting to ride up to the third floor, when it stopped on one. Someone in a wheelchair had to get in, but the person pushing the chair kept getting the wheels skewed in the wrong direction. The s.p.a.ce was tight, and by the time they'd gotten it squared away, the security guards had rushed in and stopped the elevator. There'd been a robbery attempt in the building.

El Toro and Julius simply stepped off the elevator, walked out of the lobby, and left.

They abandoned the van they'd stolen for the job in the garage and waited at the end of the block to see what happened next, expecting to see Veronica under arrest.

It didn't happen. She'd gotten away...with the diamonds. El Toro's diamonds.

As terrifying as Fernandez's anger was, the ensuing silence was worse.

Julius didn't know where they were going. They were still in the city, but in the southwest corner, near the Pacific.

Raymondo stopped the car by the sand dunes.

"It's peaceful out here, isn't it, Toro?" Julius said.

"Peaceful. Yes, that is one word for it."

"We'll find her," Julius added quickly. "She can't hide from us."

"She can't hide. That's true. Not from me. You can't either."

His nerves jumped. "Me? What do you mean?"

Fernandez's eyes were harder and blacker than coal. "Where are you planning to meet her?"

Sweat beaded on Julius's forehead. "Boss, what do you mean? I had nothing to do with this!"

"Get out of the car, Julius."

He quaked. "No! I mean, Toro, you've got to believe me."

"You will tell me where she is. Don't doubt it for a minute."

Raymondo opened the door beside Julius and waited for him to step out of the limo.

Max dashed into Connie's shop a half hour before closing time. "Are you all right?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Nothing." He looked around the shop, then stepped outside and searched the street.

"What's going on?"

He tried to appear nonchalant. No sense scaring her more than he probably already had. "It's all right. Just...nothing. Why don't I take you to dinner? There's a Chinese restaurant down the block. I was paid a little yesterday for helping with some tax forms."

She studied him, and he was afraid she'd refuse. They'd spent a pleasant evening together the night before. She'd cooked a simple dinner, and they'd talked. He asked about her marriage, and about her sister, and how she'd coped with losing both. She didn't say much about her ex-husband, and that troubled him. He even was surprised at a pang of something-could it have been jealousy?-that made him want to say the guy had been a complete jacka.s.s.

It had been a long time since he'd sat and talked, as a friend, with a woman. He'd enjoyed her company, her humor, her good nature. He thought she might ask him to stay, but she didn't do that either, and he left a little before midnight.

He wouldn't blame her if she tossed him out again, now. Who was he to ask anything of her? But then she smiled and his heart lightened and lifted.

He stayed as she counted and wrote up the day's receipts, then locked up the shop. They went to dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant and then decided to go for a walk. Max had never been to Lake Merced, so they drove over to it, a lonely stretch of parkland tucked into the southwest corner of the city by the sand dunes and the Great Highway. No businesses or tourist attractions were in the area, put off by the nearly perpetual cold wind and fog and lack of public transportation.

Max held Connie's hand as they strolled along the path that circled the lake. He should have felt carefree and happy; instead, his mind kept going back to the afternoon at Ghirardelli Square, and he was worried.

Although he hadn't seen Veronica in three years, he was shocked when he saw her. She looked just like Connie.

It couldn't be happenstance; something more was behind it.

Veronica and Dennis had a lot more going on between them than he ever imagined, and Dennis knew Connie. Was that the connection? Something involving Dennis?

His instinct told him Connie had no idea about any of this, and he wondered about Dennis. Still, if Veronica was involved, it meant danger-and he was afraid the danger could extend to Connie.

In the distance, a loud report, sounding like a gunshot, rang out.

Max's grip on Connie's hand tightened and he turned off the pathway, plunging into a forest of tall pines and pulling her with him.

"Was that a gunshot?" Connie asked, eyes round. "It sounded far from us, Max. Why are we running?"

He stopped, confused. "You're right. I'm just a little tense after..."

"After what?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "d.a.m.n her to h.e.l.l! The gunshot wasn't meant for us this time..."

"d.a.m.n who? What are you talking about?"

He glanced at her, but his eyes were clouded, his mind elsewhere. "I'll make sure she doesn't get me, or you, if it's the last thing I do," he whispered.

Connie grew even more desperate. "You're scaring me, Max. Am I in some kind of danger? What's wrong?"

"Be careful, and don't trust anyone, Connie. Do you hear me? Don't trust anyone."

He rode back to her apartment with her, and after seeing her safely inside and checking to be sure the apartment was empty, he left.

She immediately called Angie, needing to talk to her about what had just happened, to ask if she could make any sense out of it and to get some advice. But Angie wasn't home.

She hung up without leaving a message and rubbed her chilled arms as she glanced over her silent apartment.

When Max told her not to trust anyone, that included him.

Chapter 17.

Angie spent a good part of the morning watching for the mail truck. When she saw it, she raced down to the third floor, grabbed her neighbor, a sweet though gawky and timid thirty-year-old, and almost bodily dragged her down to the foyer. The girl needed help. Angie kind of help.

Just yesterday she'd been chatting with the mailman and learned the handsome young fellow was not only going to San Francisco State at night, but was also single and unattached. Well, it didn't have to jump up and bite her for Angie to know a match made in heaven.

The elevator doors opened as the mailman finished depositing letters into the bank of boxes.

"h.e.l.lo, Tim!" Angie cried, tugging her neighbor along beside her. "Wait a sec. I'd like you to meet Samantha McGregor. Samantha, Timothy Collins." Angie beamed from one to the other. "Timothy is studying landscape design and Samantha is a master gardener. Since you're both single"-she gave a pointed ahem-"I thought I should introduce you two."

As she smiled, they spoke pleasantries to each other, including a little botanical shoptalk. Almost immediately, though, Timothy caught Angie's eye. "I don't want to mislead anyone here," he said, "but the fact of the matter is, I'm gay."

"In that case," Angie said, not missing a beat, "I should introduce you to Frank up on six. He works for the city's Recreation and Park Department."

Connie kept one eye firmly fixed on the door to her shop, wondering if Max would show up, and then wondering why she cared. She'd scarcely slept last night after his nervousness at Lake Merced and his frightening words about some woman possibly wanting to shoot him. Or her. It was as if she'd found herself part of the cast of some horror movie. Zombies at Lake Merced or something. What was with him?

In the light of day, however, she decided he was just being melodramatic. No one was after her, and if Max was in trouble with a woman, that was his problem. The less she heard from him, the better off she'd be.

Still, she had to admit, two nights ago at her house, and even yesterday, during dinner, before it had all catapulted into the Twilight Zone, she'd enjoyed his company more than any man she'd met in a long, long time. He was, of all things, a good listener. Sometimes, just having someone listen with no criticism and no advice was of more benefit than all the well-intentioned suggestions in the world.

Curiosity caused her to call another stockbroker. To her amazement, Geostar Biotechnologies was now selling at six dollars a share, a three-hundred-percent increase over the last report.

If she'd put two hundred dollars into Max's recommendation two days earlier, she'd have six hundred now. As she contemplated how many porcelain figurines she'd have to sell to make four hundred dollars, she felt a little queasy.

How could he have known the stock would soar that way?

Helen Melinger stuck her head in the door. "I'm closing up early today. Got a crick in my shoulder, can't get nothing done. If anyone comes by upset, just tell them to keep their shirt on, and I'll be back tomorrow." She looked from one end of the shop to the other.

"What are you looking for?" Connie asked.

"Want to make sure Angie's not here with any more male friends. The last one should have been pinned like a bug on a display board."

Connie grinned. "Stan's not really so bad."

"Not if you like someone with the personality of kitty litter. Anyway, I noticed your sister hanging around," Helen added. "That must be nice for you."

Thoughts of Tiffany rocked Connie. "What are you saying? My sister is dead."

"I'm so sorry!" Helen looked abashed. "She looks so much like you, I'd a.s.sumed...a cousin, maybe?"

"I don't have any cousins, either."

"Hmm. Well, whoever she was, she looks enough like you to have fooled me. Like I said, I'm out of here. Stay cool."

"So long, Helen."

The door chimed throughout the day as more customers than she'd seen in ages came in. But Max wasn't one of them.

Paavo couldn't take much more of this.

Angie varied the time of what was becoming her daily food contribution to the SFPD Homicide Division. Today, it was afternoon-around break time.

Now, as he and Yosh returned to Homicide from testifying in court, the bureau was empty. On the desk at the front of the room stood an open pastry box and a cake box.

Both had been picked clean. Yosh scoured each one, as if hoping a piece of napoleon had been stuck under the lid or in the folds. No such luck.

Paavo looked around for Lt. Hollins and was relieved when he didn't see him. He quickly broke down the boxes, making them as small as he could and stuffing them into a wastebasket. If Hollins hadn't spotted them, maybe no harm done. Or, less harm.

While Yosh made a fresh pot of coffee, Paavo returned to his desk. On it was a thin slice of Italian rum cake. He pushed it aside as he picked up a message from the Robbery detail.

The counterfeit autographed sporting goods they'd found matched items Robbery had gotten complaints about from people who'd been scammed. They'd been able to lift some prints off the boxes and would soon go after whoever was behind it.

"Good news," Paavo said, giving a quick rundown as Yosh headed for his own desk. He realized that not only was Yosh paying little attention, but that his head had bobbed from his desk to Paavo's at least three times. No Italian rum cake graced his desk.

Yosh, who loved sweets more than anyone he knew-except maybe Angie's neighbor Stan-looked so crestfallen Paavo wouldn't have been surprised to see tears start to roll down the big man's cheeks. "You take it, Yosh," he said, handing Yosh a plastic fork and the cake, which had been placed on a napkin.

"No, Paav," Yosh said with forced dignity, raising his hands so Paavo couldn't hand him the cake. "It's your engagement. She sent the cake to you. Gee, I wonder what else she sent."

"I'm too full to eat any cake now." Paavo placed the slice down on Yosh's desk. "It's got cream; it won't keep. Enjoy it."

"You sure?" Yosh asked, his eyes bright.

"Positive."

Paavo was relieved of any more argument when a call came in. A young woman had been killed, her partially clad body found in a van in the bas.e.m.e.nt garage of an office building on Sutter Street.

Earlier that day, Zakarian's, a jewelry shop in the building, had been robbed. No one knew yet what the connection was.

Connie hurried home from Everyone's Fancy, glad to be there. All afternoon she'd felt a strange nervousness in her stomach, a p.r.i.c.kling on her neck, as if just waiting for something terrible to happen. A couple of times she thought someone was watching her. Thank G.o.d, no phantom stalker came in search of porcelain figurines or stuffed toys.

She locked the apartment door, checking the deadbolt to make sure it was strong and secure. d.a.m.n that Max Squire! He'd done this to her with his creepy ways. Why did she have to get involved with him, anyway?

At least she'd had the good sense not to let it go too far. A couple of times, she'd been tempted. But common sense had prevailed.

For dinner, she dished out a big bowl of Safeway's own cherry-vanilla ice cream. Too much common sense was no fun.

She curled up in front of the TV and watched Friends, to which she paid scant attention, while scarfing down the ice cream with Oreo chasers, which she barely tasted.

Her mind wouldn't let go of Max. He was making her crazy. If she didn't watch out, she might become as insane as he was, then what would she do?

On an impulse, she went to the window and looked out. But there was nothing out there in the dark. She sighed and turned back to the couch.

That was when she realized that one of her best dolls, one with a hand-painted porcelain face and that was fairly old, from the 1940s or so, wasn't on the shelf near the front door. What had happened to it?

She remembered showing Max some of the oldest and most intricate of them, but she thought she'd put them all back where they belonged, or close to it. He couldn't possibly have- A loud knock sounded at her door. That was strange, because normally she had to buzz people in.