Authors: Joanne Pence
Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4) (6 page)
“It could have been a former lover pissed off at him,” Travis said. “Thank God I don’t have any of those. Not women, at least. And men are much more rational and understanding about such things.”
Richie just nodded. Wasn’t that the truth!
“I heard from a good source,” Travis added, his voice low, “that Tanaka was beheaded. Women don’t do things like that.”
Richie sipped his whiskey. “True.”
“Why was he killed?”
A cocktail waitress came by, but Travis waved her off.
“Whatever the reason, I’m sure it has nothing to do with you. You should go back home and stop worrying,” Richie said.
“I don’t know about that, but before I go anywhere, I need to know how my app is working for you. Do you like it? Have you used it much?”
Is there no ridding me of this weirdo?
“I don’t know. I used it a couple of times.”
“Let’s see,” Travis said as he took the phone.
“Who’s this Tommy?” Travis asked. “He lies to you all the time.”
Richie swallowed. “He’s my new manager. I wonder if I shouldn’t have given him so much responsibility?”
“I don’t know, but there’s something going on with him.” Travis’s words were dire.
“What about Rebecca?” Richie asked.
“Whoa. Tense. Lies. I think she hates you.”
“Great. That’s just what I want to hear,” Richie muttered.
“But this last one … Hmm. Looks like there’s a problem with my app,” Travis said.
“What do you mean?”
“This guy, Shay. Obviously, the two of you talked, but the app recorded no reactions from him at all. No positive, no negative. Not a blip. I’ve never seen this before. Got to be something wrong. I’ll have to figure out what and work on it.”
“Good,” Richie said with an inner chuckle. He always knew Shay had ice in his veins. “You do that.”
“Anyway, I’m leaving,” Travis said. “Would you hire a security team for me? I want more than computers protecting me. All this trouble because of a sleazy magazine article has me feeling paranoid.”
“No kidding,” Richie said as he went back to stewing over which part of Rebecca’s conversation with him had been a lie. Or, was all of it? Then he realized Travis was still staring at him. “Okay, I’ll find a security crew for you. And after that, I’d say our business is finished.”
“Maybe,” Travis said and then he sauntered out of the bar.
“Good riddance,” Richie murmured. He slowly finished his drink. It hadn’t helped. He thought about ordering another, but decided the best thing to do was to go home.
The hell with all of them, he thought, as he went to the bar and put some money on it to pay for his drinks. He then turned around … to come face-to-face with two young, skinny, Latino-looking thugs.
“Richie?” The “spokesman” had long black hair and a thin, wispy mustache so long it reached to his even stringier-looking goatee.
Richie nodded.
“Good. Outside.”
Richie almost said, “No,” when he saw the flash of a steel blade in the man’s hand.
Richie glanced at Johnny and gave a small shake of the head.
Next thing, Johnny aimed a shotgun at the two punks. “I’d say it’s time for you fellas to leave.”
The few other bar patrons saw the firearm and ran for the exits.
The thugs eyed each other.
“Right now,” Richie said, “the people who left are calling the cops. I think you’ve got about ninety seconds, max.”
Without another word, they left.
Richie faced the bartender and sat back down on a stool. “I think I’ll have another drink after all.”
It was strange, Rebecca thought, as she walked, how quickly things could change in life. She’d thought her life might be moving in one direction, and then, at the drop of a hat—or a magazine article—it had made a complete U-turn. She hadn’t thought, until she faced Richie at the steakhouse, how deep the sting of the
San Francisco Beat
article had hit. And then, out of her mouth, came words that were both hateful and unfair. As soon as she’d said them, she regretted it, but was too angry to say so.
Well, it was probably for the best. This way, they could end it now, before things became even more complicated between them.
But now, she had work to do and the magazine article was, so far, the only solid connection she had between the two arsons and Tanaka’s death. And that was the reason for her morning stroll.
The address she sought was in an old building on the ground floor, right behind a tattoo parlor. She knocked and then pushed open the door.
She entered a large open space with two women working at a table in the back of the room, and a third sitting at a computer near the door. The woman at the computer glanced up. “Yes?”
Rebecca explained who she was and that she would like to speak to the editor.
She had hardly finished when a tall, thin Chinese woman, probably in her forties or so, left the back table and approached her. “I’m the editor,” she said. “Plus the owner, manager, and chief writer. Liv Wong.” She held out her hand.
They shook, and then Rebecca explained why she was there. Liv Wong had heard of the arsons and the deaths, and she was concerned, but she found it far-fetched to imagine her article had anything to do with them.
“The article has a by-line, Connor Gray,” Rebecca said. “Does he work here?”
“No. He’s a free-lancer, as are all our writers except me. When I heard of the story idea, I decided to run with it. I’d used Connor before on an investigative piece, and called him. He jumped on it.”
“Where did you get the photographs used? And where did you find out the names of former girlfriends and boyfriends to interview?”
“Connor handled everything. My only requirement was that the story be current, not about scandals from years ago.”
“So your involvement was …?” Rebecca asked.
“To okay the story, have my lawyer go over it for anything we might be sued over, decide on which photos to use, and to do big-picture editing. I want my stories to be quick, exciting, and controversial reads.”
“Have you had this job very long?” Rebecca asked.
“Four years. I bought the magazine when it was struggling. I hoped to make it more hip, and very San Francisco. I think I’ve succeeded. We’ll see what this issue brings. So far, we’ve had so many calls for extra copies, we actually did a reprint.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Never. Although I must say the arson fires may have sparked that interest. To our surprise, in their news report, the
Chronicle
mentioned that the owners of the two businesses involved were subjects in this week’s
SF Beat.
They even gave the title of the article.
”
“I suspect you’ve had prior jobs with magazines?”
“I did. My last job was with
Sunset Magazine
. I left when I was pregnant with my second child. That was a few years ago. My two girls are now in seventh and fourth grades, so I’ve come back to work, re-establishing old contacts and such.”
“Nice,” Rebecca said.
“Yes, it is.”
“May I have the address and phone number of the writer?”
“I’ve got a phone number.” She pulled out her phone and found the number and texted it to Rebecca’s phone.
“And his address?”
“That, I don’t have.”
“Don’t you need it to send his check?”
“What check? We use Paypal. Anyway, his email is connor-dot-gray at gmail, if that helps.”
Rebecca had dealt with trying to get a physical address from Google mail in the past. Not only was it difficult, but an amazing number of people lie to free e-mail providers about both addresses and phone numbers. “Can you tell me what Gray looks like?”
“Youngish, tall, thin, kind of geeky. To be honest, he’s not anyone who’d ever be competition for the ‘enticing bachelors’.”
After Rebecca left the magazine, she called the number for Gray’s cell phone. There was no answer.
o0o
She had asked for assistance from police in the Silicon Valley towns where Diego Bosque had three more stores to see if anyone had any idea about his whereabouts. So far, no one who knew him would file a missing person’s report or do anything to declare him as a potential victim so that she could use all the power of the police department to find him. Everyone who knew him claimed Bosque kept to himself and they were not about to do anything that might upset him. Two days away from home, for Diego Bosque, who had condos in several states, was not a worry to them.
She reached for her phone to call the Santa Clara police to see if they had learned anything yet, but before she picked up the handset, she saw Richie’s cousin, Angie, and Angie’s mother, who Richie called “Zia Serefina,” enter the bureau. Angie was a very attractive young woman with a stupendous wardrobe and killer shoes Rebecca envied. She was also so petite and feminine that when Rebecca stood beside her she felt as if she could try out as a female WWE wrestler—and would very likely get the job. Despite all that, Rebecca actually liked Angie, who was now married to Homicide Inspector Paavo Smith.
It was, in fact, Angie’s connection to Paavo that caused Rebecca to meet Richie, which was the height of irony.
From the time Rebecca had first met Paavo when she was a “trainee” homicide detective, she had developed a secret (or not so secret) crush on him. Later, when he met Angie, Rebecca kept thinking he’d come to his senses and date
her
instead, that she was much better suited to him. And now, Paavo and Angie were married, and she was seeing Richie.
But then, she reminded herself of the way Richie had walked out of the restaurant after they’d argued. She guessed their suitability or lack thereof was no longer an issue.
Paavo wasn’t at his desk, but instead of Angie and Serefina seeing that and leaving, they walked straight over to her. Rebecca stood. “Angie, Serefina, how nice to see you. I think Paavo may be in court today.”
“We know,” Angie said. “We’re actually here to see you. Do you have a minute?”
Uh oh.
Rebecca had a good idea where this was going. “Please sit down.” Rebecca pulled chairs together for them. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about Richie,” Angie said.
Of course.
“We’re worried about him,” her mother chimed in. In looks, Serefina was a much rounder, older version of Angie—except that her shoes were chunky with low, stubby heels. “We need you to do something.”
Rebecca’s teeth clenched. “I see.”
“Don’t get Paavo in trouble,” Angie said. “It really isn’t his fault that he’s terrible at hiding things from me. But I know Shig Tanaka was one of Richie’s friends. In fact, I was the one who first brought him to Shig’s restaurant after I discovered it. It was a marvelous place, and Shig was a fabulous chef.”
Rebecca knew that Angie was also an excellent cook. That she’d never been able to find the right job to display her skill and knowledge of gourmet cooking was one of the banes of Angie’s—and consequently Paavo’s—existence.
Before Rebecca could reply, Serefina spoke up. “And he got his head cut off!”
“Shh! Mamma, it’s not nice to say that in public!”
Rebecca’s shoulders sagged. “So it’s already out then, is it?”
“It’s all over the news,” Angie said, waving her arms as if to indicate it was truly everywhere.
“And we know,” Serefina continued, “that someone set Richie’s nightclub on fire!”
“Right after they tried to burn down Diego Bosque’s store,” Angie said.
“And we saw that horrible story in the magazine that talked about Richie along with those playboys!
Santa Maria, madre di Dio
,” Serefina lifted her gaze to the ceiling, hands reaching upward.
“It was all lies, too.” Angie assured Rebecca.
“He should sue them!” Serefina shouted, hands now in fists and eyes glowering.
“Richie doesn’t deserve this!” Angie cried.
“So what are you doing about it?” Serefina demanded.
Two sets of dark brown eyes stared at her, waiting for an answer.
She swallowed. “We’re trying to find any link—”
“Phone records?” Angie asked.
“Customers and suppliers?” Serefina asked.
“And their neighbors?” Angie suggested. “Do they go to the same clubs? Same bars? Interest in the same woman?” Angie gasped and looked at Serefina. “Maybe, Mamma, the whole thing is a love triangle gone wrong and the article drove some woman right over the edge!”
“Madonna mia!”
Serefina cried, eyes wide, as she crossed herself.
“Please!” Rebecca got to her feet. “Both of you. I appreciate your concern, but we’re looking into all this. And lots more. I understand that you’re worried about Richie and—”
“Well, aren’t you?” Serefina asked as she and Angie also stood up. “From what I’ve heard, you two are close, no?”
“Mamma!” Angie cried. “That’s not anything you should be talking about. At least, not here at Rebecca’s work. Although”—she faced Rebecca—“we do hear that the two of you seem to be growing closer all the time. I’m so glad.”
“We’re just friends,” Rebecca announced.
“Sure you are.” Angie nudged her mother with her elbow. They smiled conspiratorially and gave each other a firm nod, then faced Rebecca again. “We completely understand.”
After her last meeting with Richie, Rebecca had no business letting his relatives think there was anything more going on than there was. “There really is nothing between us. And if there ever was, it’s over.”
Angie’s mouth dropped open. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Although there are
some
who might be relieved,” Serefina said, sotto voce, to Angie before turning to Rebecca again. “I’m sorry, too, but that’s between you and Richie. We know it won’t affect how you handle this case, and how you make sure he stays safe.”
Their words, the way they looked at her, made Rebecca wish things had worked out differently with Richie. But all she said was, “I’ll do my best. I assure you.”
“
Bene.
” With that, they said their good-byes and left.
Rebecca plopped herself back down in the seat. She wondered how many seconds would pass by before Serefina put in a call that would make Carmela Amalfi’s day. Carmela, Richie’s mother, had pretty much disliked Rebecca from the moment they first met. In Carmela’s eyes, it was bad enough that she wasn’t Italian or Catholic, worse that she was a cop, but then she became a complete persona non grata in Carmela’s eyes after Richie was grazed in the arm by a gunshot while on a case with her.
The worst part of it was that Carmela had been right that he could have been killed. And Rebecca had played over and over in her mind what went wrong that had caused him to be in that kind of danger.
In a sense, she couldn’t blame Carmela for hoping the two of them would break up. Now, the woman got her wish.
Rebecca decided to forget about all the Amalfis and went to the desk of Jamie Mills, a technical whizbang who worked in the Crime Scene Unit. She asked him to attempt to locate Diego Bosque via his phone, the GPS on his car, or his credit card use, but despite his “mad skillz” Jamie had no luck. It was as if Bosque, or someone, had gone to great lengths to see that he couldn’t be found. Rebecca suspected Richie’s friend, Shay, would have much better luck, but she was pretty sure that resource was as closed to her as Richie’s friendship.
Sutter marched up to her as soon as she returned to her desk. “I’m on TV,” he announced smugly.
“You are?”
“The beheading. Eastwood told me to talk to the reporters. I think I did pretty good, too.”
Rebecca nodded. Eastwood liked using Sutter with the media because he could use more words to say absolutely nothing of any importance than anyone else in the department.
She told him she’d learned Tanaka and Bosque might have some business dealings with each other. When she heard Tanaka left the restaurant with Bosque the night before he died, she had reviewed security and traffic camera videos, but all it showed was both men driving away from Kyoto Dreams in their own vehicles, one a black Lexus, the other a black BMW. The cars soon disappeared from view, and while she picked them up a couple of times, both eventually disappeared from subsequent cameras.