False Premises (18 page)

What’s he doing here?
With my pulse racing, I strode purposefully around the corner, grabbed my cell phone, and called Linda Delgardio. She answered, and I said quickly in a hushed voice, “I found Jerry Stone, the guy Laura claimed was stalking her. He’s on the downtown mall in front of Paprika’s . . . Opal and Fourteenth. Can you get out here right away?”

“That’s not far from where I am. I’ll be right out. Describe him.”

I described his clothing and basic body type, but his features had been hidden behind hair the only time I’d seen him face-to-face. Assuring Linda that I was going to “chat with the guy” and stall him until she could arrive in her squad car, I hung up and doubled back. Jerry had turned around and was shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to stay warm as he avidly watched Paprika’s door.

The staff was leaving. Hannah lingered by the door as she let everyone and then herself out. Jerry made a show of hunkering over his cell phone, pretending to talk while he waited for Hannah.
Could he be stalking Hannah now?
I hesitated, hoping that Linda would arrive in time so that I wouldn’t have to risk scaring him off by trying to stall him. Hannah began her usual brisk, choppy walk down the brown-brick pedestrian mall, and when she passed him, Jerry took off after her.

Keeping an eye out for a patrol car, I raced up to him before he could drift too far from Fourteenth Street for Linda to spot us both. “Jerry? Jerry Stone?”

He turned and gaped at me. Hannah kept walking. She rounded the next corner.

Jerry took a step backward as though weighing the notion of running. Instead, however, he held his ground. “How’d you know my name?” His voice was—

“Hannah Garrison told me.”

“Hannah Garrison?” Without his wig and beard, he was nondescript—neither handsome nor ugly, brown eyes, thin lips, a slightly bulbous nose that reminded me of Hildi’s squeeze-toy mouse. He was clean-shaven, and roughly my age, with a deeply receding hairline that made him look older. “You mean the manager of that loathsome store?”

“Who you were
following
just now. Yes.”

He at least had the decency to avert his eyes and show a little embarrassment at being caught. “Just trying to get through to the woman to mend her ways,” he mumbled.

“By
stalking
her?”

He shrugged and took another step away. I had to soften my tone or he was sure to run off before Linda could arrive to question him about Laura. Casually, I said, “I was at Paprika’s the other night, when you claimed to be there as an undercover cop.”

“I remember. You were sitting in the front row.”

“That’s right. I’m curious, Jerry: Why did you claim to be a police officer?”

“Who says I’m
not
?”

“An
actual
Crestview police officer who’s a friend of mine.”
One who’d better be arriving any second now.

“Yeah, well . . . I needed to keep everyone from panicking. Someone could’ve gotten trampled, running away from me like that. I wasn’t out to hurt anybody. I just want everyone to be more respectful of Mother Earth.”

“Why follow Hannah?”

“I
wasn’t,
” he said firmly. “I just wanted to talk to her, without making it look like I was waiting for her. I was going to accidentally on purpose bump into her at the next walk light.”

That was marginally plausible. “And yet, Monday night, you followed my friend Laura Smith from Rusty’s to Paprika’s. Why?”

“Who’s Laura Smith?”

“The woman who threw you to the floor. She told me you’d been stalking her all over town.”

He shook his head. “Woman’s whacked if she says that. It’s
you
I’ve been following sometimes . . . you and a couple other designers.” He wagged his finger in my face. “You people are the ringleaders for the destruction of the environment!”

“Oh, give me a break! You think we’re ringleaders? Compared to oil companies? Compared to pipeline drillers in Alaska? To paper mills? Nuclear plants? Factories? You honestly believe that
those
operations are environmentally friendly, compared to a handful of interior designers in Crestview, Colorado?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I overstated my position. You suck less than the oil companies do. Make you feel better?”

I gritted my teeth. “I actually
do
consider the sustainability of products and materials before I make recommendations to my clients. I’m not irresponsible.”

“Yeah, well, ain’t that nice.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and resumed walking along the pedestrian mall in the same direction as Hannah had gone. Linda would only see us if she drove down Fifteenth Street. Unable to think up an excuse to detain him, I fell into step beside him. He continued, “There are children starving to death, you know. Every day. They don’t have the money to keep themselves alive. I’m sure they appreciate all the thought you put into choosing wallpaper.”

“And I’m sure the starving children
also
appreciate all the time you spend harassing me and Hannah. How exactly is
that
putting food on their tables?”

He spread his arms. “At least
I
try to get people to think twice about how they throw their money away.”

We crossed Fifteenth, which was void of all police vehicles.
Damn it! Where was Linda?
We were already too far down the mall for her to find us quickly. I improvised desperately. “Listen, Jerry, can we talk about your opinions at length? How about if we meet for dinner tonight? You can choose the place and the time. I’ll pick up the tab, of course.”

“Sorry. I have plans. Some other time.”

“Can I get your phone number . . . to schedule another time, then?”

“Don’t have one.”

“I saw you just a minute ago, speaking into your cell phone.”

“That’s just a prop. The thing doesn’t work.”

“Your address, then?”

He shot me an impatient glare. “If I had one of those, I’d probably have a phone number. I really gotta run.” He picked up his pace.

“Wait, Jerry.”

He said over his shoulder, “I gotta be someplace.” No time for tact. I called after him, “Laura Smith was murdered the night after you and she had your confrontation. Do you know anything about that?”

He froze. When he looked back at me, his face had gone pale. His thin lips were nearly white. “No. But I’m sorry.”

I walked up to him once more. “
Are
you?” I asked. “Sure. Whoever she was, I’m not wild about how she used judo on me for no reason. But I didn’t want the woman dead.”

“It would help the police investigation if you talked to them about that night.”

“Yeah. Okay, Erin. I’ll go in and talk to them.”

“How did you know
my
name?”

“It’s on your office door.”

“Just my last name is. Not my first.”

He resumed walking at a brisk pace. Keeping up with him and pleading with him was pointless. After a few strides, I stopped and watched him disappear around the corner. My heart sank.

I snatched my phone from my purse and called Linda Delgardio’s cell. “Hi, Linda. It’s Erin. I lost Jerry on Sixteenth Street, where he’s heading south on foot.”

“Thanks. I’m on Fourteenth, just a minute away. I should be able to spot him.”

“I’ll head down Sixteenth and see if I can help you find him.”

“No, Erin.” Her voice was stern. “You’re getting overly involved . . . putting yourself in jeopardy. And I sure as hell don’t want to wind up having to investigate
two
murders. For one thing, it’d be a total pain in the butt to have to try to find some other interior designer to replace you as my friend.”

I chuckled and said, “It
would
be thoughtless of me to increase your things-to-do list like that.”

“Right. I’ll keep you posted, once we nab the killer. Gotta go.”

She wasn’t going to be pleased that I’d met George Wong last night, I thought as I put away my cell phone. She was bound to learn about that from the Northridge police detective I’d spoken to last night after my tense exchange with Mr. Wong.

Maybe I
was
getting a little overly involved. Patience and passivity have never been high on the list of my personality traits. Even so, I decided not to try to pursue Jerry Stone any further. Instead, I turned in the opposite direction to retrieve my van outside my office.

Hildi trotted up to greet me, but showed no interest in
staying in the foyer with me. The place felt deserted, and indeed, I soon found a note on the kitchen counter:

E—Went to the movies. Back by eleven—A

I fixed myself a quick dinner of pasta and a salad. Halfway through my meal, the phone rang, and I answered.

“Hi, there,” said a deep male voice—John.

“Hi.”
Finally
he called.

“You sound tired.”

“I must be even more tired than I feel if you can tell that from a single syllable.”

“Your voice sounded deflated, actually.”

“I had a long, difficult day.”
And was not happy about
having to discuss George Wong with John momentarily.

“I wish I could perk you up, take you out to dinner tonight. But I have to meet with my boss. We’ve got to go over the final plans for the new showcase home out in Longmont.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, that’s why I was calling. I was hoping to get your opinions on what I’m doing with the house. Not so much looking for a free consultation from you, you understand, as just . . . picking your brain a little.”

“You want me to look at your drawings?”

“At the house itself, actually. I’ve got most of the furniture in place already, just need some help with accessorizing.”

I brightened a little. “My favorite phase of room makeovers.”

“I know. That’s why I thought of you.”

“I’d be happy to take a look.”

“Great. Our lunch got cut short the other day. How ’bout if you stop by the showcase house at lunchtime tomorrow? We’ll grab a bite to eat afterward.”

Which would be the perfect chance for me to bring up
George Wong’s statement: “Be sure to tell John Norton I
said hello.”
That topic was best handled face-to-face, but then again, it was burning on my mind right now.

As I jotted down the address, the doorbell rang. I said a hasty goodbye to John, assuring him that I’d meet him tomorrow, then hung up. I trotted into the foyer and peered through the sidelight. The hulking silhouette just outside the wavy lead glass was unmistakable—George Wong.
Oh, my God! Why was he here?

I cursed under my breath. I didn’t want to open my door to him, but I also didn’t want to give him the upper hand and let him know that I was afraid of him. He knew I was here; he would have heard my footsteps, seen my silhouette through the glass just as I’d seen his.

I straightened my back, took a deep breath, threw open the door, and stepped out onto the porch, directly in front of him. To my satisfaction, he took a step back.

He bowed his head at me. “Evening, Miss Gilbert.”

“Mr. Wong. This is a surprise. How did you find out where I live?”

“I asked some questions of our mutual associates. It is not hard to locate someone in this town. As you have discovered for yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You located me at my place of business, although
my
number is unlisted.”

Why would someone’s
business
number be unlisted? I wondered. “Well, sure, but I certainly don’t know your home address.”

“They are one and the same. However, it is difficult to catch
you
in your office. You are not there often, it seems.”

“I’m there by appointment only. And if you’d like to make an appointment to discuss business, I’d be happy to do that for you. But I don’t bring my work home with me.”

He chuckled. “Yet now it seems as though the mountain has come to Muhammad.”

“Why are you here, Mr. Wong?” I demanded.

“You have been talking to the police about me.”

Though his voice remained dispassionate, I had a powerful urge to run for cover. “I . . . gave them your name as having supplied the reproductions in Laura Smith’s house. She was
murdered.
The police need to investigate anyone who’s had recent dealings with her.”

“Yes, I’ve had recent dealings with Miss Smith. As you have. Everything I do in my business is legal.”

“Good to know. So why are you here?”

“I hoped perhaps I might ask you to mind your own business. With a friend of yours dying, I would think that would be wise, yes?”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Wong?” A wave of fear was making my knees shake.

He gave me one of his unnervingly chilly smiles. “Of course not. It is a helpful suggestion, Miss Gilbert. I do not want to see you have the same kind of ‘recent dealings’ as Laura Smith.”

A chill ran up my spine.

The icy smile never faded from George Wong’s lips. He bowed his head a second time, turned, and made his way down the steps. I watched him leave, half expecting to see him get into the back of a black limo with smoke-black windows. He had driven himself, however, in what the dim lighting of the streetlamp revealed to be a cheerful-looking metallic spring-green VW Bug. As he let himself into his car and saw that I was watching him, he bobbed his head, then drove away.

The next day, I arrived at John’s showcase home a few
minutes early. No one answered the doorbell, and I couldn’t tell if the bell was even working. I knocked, opened the door, and leaned inside. “John?”

No answer. I let myself in. As he’d described over the phone, the furniture on the main floor was in place, but the tables and walls were bare. I studied the room, imagining what I would do with accessories to warm the space and make this room feel personal and inviting.

The heavy, dark furniture needed vertical, lighter lines to counterbalance all the bold horizontal elements. Accessories would require elongated vertical lines. A slightly green tint of a clear vase on the side table. Lavender sprigs mixed with the dark jade of eucalyptus stalks, there. In the dark corner, a second vase of tall, regal ornamental grasses that would draw out the warm yellows in the room. In that cozy nook in the stairwell, some simple but dramatic arrangement of curly willows in an indigo vase would be stunning. On the coffee table, I would place a glass bowl containing nothing but clear marbles.