Broken Serenade (38 page)

    He
pushed the cover aside and sat up in bed. He scratched his head with both hands and heaved a deep sigh. It would’ve been very simple to make Andrew Evans responsible for all the recent unsolved murders. The psychologist had confessed about killing his brother, Nadine, Carol Hopkins’s former doctor, and the plastic surgeon and his family from Woodside. Strangely, he had denied killing Arlene, even though his DNA had been found at the scene in abundance, as if he had wanted to get caught.
Or someone planted it there
, Art Leonard thought. The detective was also still entertaining the idea that Robert Kane had not committed suicide, but rather he had been eliminated. That same thing had possibly happened to the construction engineer who had worked to built Miss Lauren’s mansion before Kane. That man had also died in mysterious circumstances. And finally, his high school colleague and friend, architect Timothy Leigh, who had designed Miss Lauren’s house, he had miraculously escaped death only a few days ago. It was only a gut feeling, but Art knew that usually, his intuition was right on. He took the phone from the nightstand and called Nick Alberman.

    “Nick, did you find anything regarding Miss Lauren?”

    “Not much. I located an old friend of hers, Mr. Logan. Miss Lauren lived with him in Woodside, before the death of her lover, Nadine. During that time, she was giving piano lessons. Nadine and Vivien have been her students.”

    “And where is Mr. Logan living now?”
    “On the same street with Miss Hopkins. Very close, in fact. Just a few blocks from her.”

    “Very interesting discovery,” detective Leonard mumbled
, yawning. “I’ll be in the office in less than an hour. You can start the coffee. I’ll bring the donuts.”

    “Deal!” Alberman answered enthusiastically.

*                                      *                                        *

    Clark stepped out of the house dragging a huge valise. A fancy carry-on leather bag was hanging on his should
er, and another piece of luggage visibly overstuffed stood by the door. Timothy opened the trunk of his car and turned to help his brother.

    “
I hate to travel when it’s cold. All those clothes are too heavy, and my back is killing me,” Clark lamented.

    Timothy understood the subtle message and lifted hi
s brother’s heavy luggage into his Mercedes.

    “Thanks
, Tim, for everything.”

    “Thank you
too, Clark. You did an excellent job.”

    “Wel
l, yes, I tried.”

    “You tried? Come on, man!
Give up this nonsensical modesty. I am alive! That means that you didn’t just try. You accomplished your mission.”

    “
What I wanted to say was that I would’ve liked to leave Lili behind bars forever. Although, as much as I hate her, and I believe she’s capable of anything, I’m glad she didn’t actually murder anyone. Yet.” He leaned closer to his brother’s ear. “At least I enjoy the tranquility of knowing that you don’t marry the daughter of a killer,” he added smiling meaningfully.

   
Timothy gave no reply to his obnoxious provocation. He just sent his older sibling a reprimanding look. Clark continued to tease him. “You’ll never know how genes are passed from mother to daughter. And other crazy stuff like that, God knows! I would hate to think that you’re living in fear, making love to her, touching that gorgeous body of hers, and worrying about the ice pick under the bed. I can keep an eye on you two, you know.”

    “Cut it out, Clark!
Man, you’re odious! Keep us out of your sick sexual fantasies,” Timothy told him amused. He was in great spirits. He could think of only one thing: He would soon be all alone with his darling Vee. The mere thought almost aroused him.

    “Are you two
hot hunks gossiping about me?” Vivien asked as she stepped out of the house.

    “O
nly me,” Clark recognized penitently. “Tim is too afraid to do it.
Le geant de papier
!”

    Vivien smiled broadly and joined them quickly. 

    “Ar
e we ready to go?” she inquired. “Clark, what time is your flight? We’d better get back inside for a few minutes, rather than take you to the airport too early and leave you all alone there.”

    Timothy wrapped one
arm around her waist and softly touched her cheek with his hot lips. He whispered something naughty in her ear, and Vivien gave a colorful chuckle.   

    “There is some time left,” Clark answered her question. “But I don’t want to torture Tim any longer. It’s vulgarly obvious that he can hardly
wait to be alone with you in that house,” he added, watching preoccupied the old couple from across the street. The feeble old guy was nervously jerking the luggage out of the used Cadillac under the continuous bickering of his wife, a little old woman emaciated as a dried fig.   

    “What in the world happen
ed to them?” Vivien asked curiously.

    “They are Mr. and Mrs. Cohen,” Timothy enlightened her and Clark.
“They have problems with their car more often than one can imagine. Last time, Mr. Cohen forgot to buy gasoline, and he ran the fuel tank completely empty. Naturally, the car wouldn’t start. Let’s see what the issue is today!”

    All three of them crossed the street. Mrs. Cohen came to welcome them. The old woman managed to contort her wrinkle-ravaged face into a surprisingly pleasant smile.

    “We need to get to the airport, and our car wouldn’t cooperate. Again,” she informed them, fighting to control her temper.

    “San Francisco Airpor
t?” Clark asked.

    “Yes, of course,” the old woman answered
, as if another alternative would have been an unforgivable social faux-pas. “We never ever use San Jose Airport,” she insisted to clarify the matter. Judging by her stiff tone, one could have been misled to believe that the later airport would have been infected with measles, or even worse, with plague!   

    “If you don’t have too much luggage, Tim and Vivien can give yo
u a lift,” Clark offered. “They are taking me to San Francisco Airport anyway.”

    Mrs. Cohen began to evaluate her stuff.

    “Well, it’s my valise, his, and ours. Then, it’s my purse, my coat, his…”

   
“I will stay home,” Vivien said quickly, resigned. “This way you have another place available in the back.”

    “Vee,
sweetheart, sure you’re OK with that?” Timothy asked her. “In fact, there could be enough room. Clark can hold something in his lap.”

    “Of course! I can hold Vivien,” Clark volunteered sky-high.

    “In your dirty dreams only,” Timothy snapped at him. “If you don’t stop blabbing, you’ll end up hugging your oversized valise all the way to the airport.”

    “You wouldn’t do that now, would you?” Clark
asked, quite scared. He knew his brother would do anything for his beloved fiancée.

    “Oh, yes I would!” Timothy said convincingly.
“Just don’t push me!”

    “No
w, Tee darling, really, it’s not necessary,” Vivien spoke calmly, touching his face with a loving gesture. “I’ll go to my house and make arrangements for my piano to be moved here. If you still want us both,” she teased him.

    “
What?” Timothy raised an eyebrow. He leaned close to her scented ear again. “I want you very badly, Vee. I’m going to miss you like crazy this hour. Wear something small, very small, for when I’m back, OK?” he whispered.

    “Deal
!” Vivien assured him, all smiles.

    She said good
bye to her future brother-in-law, while Timothy loaded his car with the Cohen couple and their luggage.

    “
I would ask you to take care of him, but I know that you’ll do it anyway,” Clark whispered very seriously as he embraced her warmly. “He’s a damn lucky guy,” he added aloud.

    “
I’m extremely lucky too,” she answered. “You take good care of yourself, Clark.”  

    “Do I have a choice?” Clark chuckled
sadly.

    “No, you don’t right now,” Vivien admitted. “Try a little harder. You’ll find her too. You just have
to look for her more carefully.”

    “Yeah, Vee is right,” Timothy intervened. “I’m
actually getting an idea about the Christmas gift for you, Clark. I know exactly what I’m going to buy for you this year: a huge magnifier…” 

    “Just because you found your woman, doesn’t mean you have to make fun of less fortunate blokes like me, Tim.”

    “Don’t worry, Clark. You deserve all the kicks coming your way,” Timothy retorted.

    They were ready to depart
. Vivien walked to the rolled down window on Timothy’s side. She bent and gave him a short kiss. He took her hand and squeezed it slightly.

  
“We see each other in one hour at your place,” he said, with a dreamy glint in his loving brown eyes.

    “You bet,” she replied, accompanying her words with a promising smile.

    “Let’s go, Tim!” Clark urged him. “A couple of seconds more in the company of you two, and I’m getting seriously sick with envy.” 

    They all burst into laughter. The Mercedes started to move slowly. Vivien followed
them off the driveway, in the street, and she waved goodbye until the car vanished around the corner.

CHAPTER 33

    It was one of those superb mornings that indulge San Francisco Peninsula every now and then during the late fall.

   
All alone, Vivien went back in the house. She took off her dress, her high-heels, and her silk stockings, and she put on a pair of comfortable yoga pants and a hooded sweater. She decided that she would not need more than ten minutes to reach her house if she walked briskly or ran. She grabbed her cellular phone and her keys and took off.    

    Soon sh
e entered Flowers Street. The morning crisp breeze cooled off her face and eased her effort. She heard a strange zoom behind her. Before she could turn and check it out, she saw Brad, the helpful teenage neighbor, passing her by like the wind. He was roller skating and listening to his MP3 Player.

    “Good morning, Miss Hopkins,
” he saluted politely, a little too loud, and made a U-turn a few yards in front of her.

    “Good morning, Brad!”

    “I haven’t seen you around lately. Are you moving too?” the boy inquired curiously.

   
“Something like that,” Vivien gave an ambiguous answer. “Who else is moving from this area?”

    “The old man
over there,” Brad informed her, showing a place a few houses further down the street. “The blind sculptor, Mr. Logan,” he cleared that up enthusiastically. “Have you seen his sculptures? They’re awesome!”

    “Not recently, but I know him since my childhood.
Back then, I was admiring his gypsum figurines of dwarfs and wild animals.”

    “Well, Miss Hopkins…
” Brad chuckled, scratching his head. “What I’ve seen is totally different. Rated R, I would say,” he added, and his face flushed a bright red. “You’ve got to see them. The man is definitely a genius. And he’s always glad to welcome people into his house and show them his works. I swear to God, he’s the coolest old guy I’ve ever met.”  

    “You’re right, Brad. I think I should pay him a
quick visit too. If you say that he’s leaving, I’d better hurry. I hope the sculptures are still here.”

    “I think they are,” the boy told her.
“I’ve seen the U-Haul truck a while earlier. But they were loading heavy furniture only.”

   
Vivien evaluated the time she had at hand until Timothy would return from the airport. She estimated that she could afford to spend a few minutes with Mr. Logan.

    The old sculptor’
s house was on the other side of the street from hers, just a few blocks to the right.

    Vivien arrived at the address and pressed the dirty doorbell
reticently. Not the slightest noise came from the inside. She knocked a few times. Still, no answer. She dared to make a few steps to the corner of the house, and then she advanced timidly toward the backyard, calling cautiously as she walked.  

    “Hello! Mr. Logan! Is anybody home?”

    When she reached the back of the house, she stopped
, enthralled by the magic show. An army of statues of all sizes populated a modest veranda. A few of them had been already wrapped up in thick brown paper, but the majority stood there entirely exposed to the young woman’s amazed stare. The nudes were predominant, men and women nudes, and Vivien smiled remembering Brad’s abashment. Her smile wasn’t long lived. It faded like a flower on her lips, as she realized that the faces of the statues were reproducing features of people she knew. She easily identified Nadine, Igor, Timothy, and especially Mademoiselle Lili. In a little winged angel, she even recognized herself as a child. As she touched the faces of the statues, spellbound, Vivien understood with sadness that Mr. Logan sculpted from his memories. The thought stirred an amalgam of emotions. It brought tears to her eyes. She could hardly comprehend the miracle that allowed a blind man to produce such exquisite art. She walked from a statue to another like a child in a candy store.