Murder Follows Money (2 page)

“Nice to meet you.” I gulped and stuck out my hand. I’d never been so close to a famous person before.

Hannah’s brown eyes sized me up coolly as she made brief contact with my hand. “Liz. I’m sure we’ll work well together.”

“I hope so.” I spoke to her back. She had already turned away.

Judi winked at me. “Well, I’ll be running along. Keep in touch, Liz.”

I remembered the cell phone in my knapsack, which had been colonized by so much of Judi’s stuff that it was more like her briefcase now. It held a sheaf of papers, the cell phone, petty cash for incidentals, and cab fare to the train station for me whenever I was released from duty that day. The next day I would have to drive from Palo Alto to the City and arrive by seven A.M. That meant an early start at six A.M.; it always takes longer in my elderly bus.

Judi walked away, and I watched her, feeling adrift and, for some reason, apprehensive. But I would shake it off. After all, it was only until Friday. What could go wrong in such a short time?

Chapter 2

A sharp tap on my shoulder returned my attention to the task at hand. One of the members of Hannah’s group, a woman with a lined face and improbable auburn hair, wearing sweats and running shoes, looked at me through narrowed gray eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be getting the bags?”

“Yes, of course.” I remembered my instructions. “I’ll show you where the limo is waiting, then bring the bags out.”

I led them down the corridor, feeling as if I was in one of those movies where the purposeful group marches toward a common goal. The scowling woman walked beside Hannah, speaking in her ear in a low voice. A tall, loose-jointed young man ambled up beside me. His mop of dark hair caught red highlights from the light. His expression was one of total detachment. He had a leather duffel slung over his shoulder, and carried a silvery attaché case. I put him down as photographer.

“I’ve never been to San Francisco before,” he offered. “Is it far to the baggage claim?”

“It’s a pretty good ways.” I glanced at him. “My name is Liz.”

“I’m Don Wozjicki.” He smiled, at least I think it was a smile. His face mostly stayed in a deadpan expression. “No one told you our names,” he went on. “Naomi Matthews is the bossy one.” I suppressed a smile at the accuracy of that description. “And Kim’s hiding behind you.” He reached around and pulled a young woman forward. She was slight as a gazelle, with shy, startled eyes beneath a mop of red hair. She gave me a fleeting smile, but said nothing. “That’s us,” Don finished, lapsing into silence.

I am not particularly outgoing, but I found myself wanting to set Kim at ease.

“I’m Liz.” I smiled at her. “Have you all been on the road long?”

She glanced behind her. Naomi was bent protectively over Hannah Couch; Don appeared to be in his own world as he slouched along.

“It seems like forever,” the young woman said, “but this is only our second stop. And the first one didn’t count, according to Naomi.”

“Are you the food stylist?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes.” Kim stared at her feet on the escalator. “Although we understood that you would do the shopping and help prep the food.”

“Yeah, well, I will, if I can figure out how to do it.”

Kim caught her breath. “Oh, dear.” She looked at the two of us again. “Naomi will be angry. She specifically asked for an escort experienced with food preparation.”

“I’ll do my best.” I shrugged, trying to throw off the feeling of impending doom—my doom. This job paid better than anything I’d ever done before, if I didn’t get fired on the first day. But there were other jobs, and firing might be merciful. I was just sorry for Judi Kershay if things didn’t work out. “Is Naomi the dragon woman?”

Kim was really striking when she smiled. I wondered why the lanky photographer wasn’t paying more attention to her.

“That’s Naomi. She’s been with Hannah since they first opened a restaurant together—’Beaned in Boston.’ It’s famous. Have you heard of it?”

“Not really. Never been to the East Coast.” Or much of anywhere, save for my hometown of Denver, a place I thought of as overfull of my less-than-happy family and a host of unpleasant memories. I wouldn’t return there anytime soon, and had no plans to go anywhere else, or money to get there. Perhaps it was the airport ambiance, but wanderlust stirred in my soul, and it took the forcible reminder of my depleted bank account to tamp it down.

Kim’s smile faded. “That’s where I worked. My uncle Tony managed it.”

“A family thing, was it?”

“Yes, actually. Naomi is my aunt, his sister. Uncle Tony had a heart attack and died last month. I miss him.” Kim sighed. “We had such fun at the restaurant. It’s a take-out place, you know—lots of really neat dishes and people take them home to heat up. I loved assembling the meals for people. I could just see them putting the food on nice plates, maybe lighting candles because they had time to fix up a little instead of cooking. And Uncle Tony and the other staff there were all so nice.” She sighed again.

“I’m sorry about your uncle.”

“Hmm?” Kim came back from her daydream. “It’s really because of him that I’m here. Aunt Naomi came in to check things out a couple of days before Uncle Tony’s attack, and told him they had just learned their food stylist took another job. She was really steamed, and she’s nasty when she’s mad. Uncle Tony made some comment like, ‘Oh, Kim could do as good a job as that girl did.’ We all laughed, but after his death, Naomi just—snapped me up.

“Like a crocodile,” I suggested.

Kim’s smile was perfunctory. “It’s been awful. I didn’t know anything to begin with. I still don’t know much. I think she only keeps me around because she loves to complain and I always do something to complain about.”

“Well, tell me what you want me to do and I’ll make a few mistakes. She can complain at me for a while.”

We reached the baggage-claim area. The bags for Hannah’s flight hadn’t come up yet. I turned to watch Hannah and Naomi approach. “Why don’t I take you out to the limo?” I suggested to them. “Then I can wait for your bags.”

“Don will stay here and help,” Naomi decreed. “You may as well stay too, Kim.” She rummaged in her big shoulder bag. “Here are the claim checks. Be as quick as you can. Hannah needs to get to her hotel for a rest.”

“I’m fine, Naomi.” Hannah looked bored by the commotion. “Where
is
the car?”

We had to wait for a few moments outside the door until the right limousine hove into view. I hoisted Hannah’s book in the air, as Judi had told me to, and soon one of the big vehicles pulled over. Naomi tucked Hannah tenderly into the back while I spoke to the driver. He wasn’t allowed to park at the curb, but promised to circle until we emerged with the baggage.

I joined Don and Kim at the baggage claim. With Hannah and Naomi out of the way, Kim was perceptibly more relaxed.

“So, Don, you’ve never been here before. What about you, Kim?”

“Never.” She glanced around the airport. “From here it doesn’t look much different from Boston.”

“Well, I’ve never been to Boston. But maybe the weather’s better here in January.”

“Couldn’t be worse.” Don spoke around the wad of chewing gum he’d crammed in his mouth.

“Don’s from Florida,” Kim explained. “He’s been complaining about our New England winters ever since Naomi hired him.” She looked up at him with her wistful smile. “Don’t you love the skiing and sledding? And walking in the crisp, frosty air? I do.”

He smiled faintly at her, then, with a movement much faster than I’d expected from him, had a camera in his hand and was taking her picture. “Couldn’t resist,” he said around the gum, flicking the tip of her nose with a careless finger. “You’re cute when you think about cold weather.”

He turned away, but not before I’d glimpsed the warmth at the back of his teasing smile.

Kim shrugged. “He treats me like I was his kid sister,” she whispered to me, looking at Don’s back with an exasperated expression. “Don’t you think he’s cute, Liz?”

“He’s good-looking if you like that lanky style.”

“Right. He’s too lanky for me.” Kim tossed her head.

“Do you have a boyfriend at home?”

She looked at her nails, blushing. “A couple of boys take me out. They’re nice and all. But Don’s, like, a man.”

“Luggage is up,” the man called out just then. “Get a-moving, ladies.”

I got a baggage cart and we stacked some big plastic crates on it. “The cooking supplies,” Kim said. “Some nice dishes. Hannah doesn’t take chances. She brings everything she might need for a demonstration.”

Don hefted a couple of big duffel bags. “What’s in these?”

Kim thought. “I believe they have linens. Maybe some of Naomi’s makeup stuff.” She turned to me. “Naomi does all the personal things for Hannah—gets her ready for appearances and things like that.”

“Thank God,” I muttered. “And these must be Hannah’s.” The suitcases were large, elegant leather and tapestry, with wheels.

“One’s Hannah’s, the other’s Naomi’s. And they have these littler ones too.” Kim draped smaller bags around the larger ones, like saddlebags on mules. “And this is mine.” She found a place on the luggage cart for a battered old suitcase. “This belongs to my folks,” she said, catching my eye. “Nobody travels much in my family.”

Don had another duffel bag, which he swung onto his shoulder, balancing the camera case and small duffel he already carried. We draped the big duffels on top of the crates on the luggage cart and Don wheeled it, listing precariously, out the doors, while Kim and I followed with the more elegant bits. Considering that they were on a multi-city tour, I guessed it wasn’t that much luggage, but it sure made for a lot of schlepping. I was thankful that after we got it into the hotel, I wouldn’t have to wrassle with it again until Friday.

The limo was lurking for us when we lurched through the doors. The driver helped Don stow luggage, hindered by Naomi’s demands to keep one piece with her. Don sat up front, and Kim and I crawled into the middle seat in back, facing Hannah and Naomi.

The limo was incredibly plush, the fanciest car by far that I had ever been in, including my sister’s lavishly appointed sport utility vehicle. The driver pulled away, and we four women sat silently, staring at each other.

I cleared my throat, breaking the silence. “What’s your favorite thing about San Francisco, Ms. Couch?” This inane remark popped out, and was left unanswered for a minute. I could feel those cold eyes on me.

“What is your name again?” Her voice, clear and mellifluous, gave the lie to that salt-and-pepper hair. I wondered why she didn’t dye it.

“Liz Sullivan.”

“Have you acted as an escort before?”

“My first time.” I couldn’t help myself. I smiled at her as we pulled onto the highway. “Please be gentle.”

She was taken aback. “Well, Ms. Sullivan,” she said finally, “do you know what to do? As my media escort, you should be telling me something about the places I’m scheduled to be.”

“Right.” I swung my knapsack around and got out the first of several file folders Judi Kershay had pressed on me. “We should be at the hotel in another half hour, barring bad traffic,” I began in my most official voice. “By the way, we’re now driving past San Bruno Mountain, home of the rare blue checkerspot butterfly.”

Kim pressed her nose against the glass, as if the butterfly was hanging around the freeway waiting to show its stuff. Naomi looked bored. Hannah stared at me stolidly.

“At the hotel, you’ll have an hour or so to freshen up. Then the
San Francisco Chronicle
food and entertainment editor is coming to interview you, about three P.M.”

“Is that Randy Nevis?” Now the disapproval in her voice was marked. She turned to Naomi. “I thought I made it clear I wouldn’t talk to him again.”

“Just this once,” Naomi said soothingly. “There’s really no way to get out of talking to the
Chronicle.
It’s the major newspaper in this area.”

“Actually,” I said, clearing my throat, “The
San Jose Mercury News
is considered to outclass the
Chronicle
, at least by the Silicon Valley types.”

Hannah looked at Naomi, triumphant. “See?” She turned to me. “When am I speaking with the
Mercury News
?”

“I don’t know that you are.” I shuffled frantically through the papers I held. “Perhaps they didn’t ask for an interview, or your publicist didn’t let them know you’d be in the area."

“Or they just don’t have the readership to matter,” Naomi sniffed. Her look at me could have cut through steel.

“Set it up,” Hannah ordered. She didn’t look at Naomi or me, and I was at a loss to know who was supposed to follow this command. Naomi sat back in her seat, two spots of color burning on her cheeks, her lips pressed together. The look she darted to Hannah was anything but worshipful; I could have sworn there was real enmity in it.

Her voice held a challenge when she spoke. “Will the
Chronicle
bring a photographer? If so, an hour isn’t long enough. You’ll have to put them off.”

The first major fly in my oatmeal. Hastily I consulted the sheaf of papers Judi Kershay had given me. “It looks like their photographer is going to meet you later, at the demonstration you’ll do for
Live at Five
, the talk show on Channel Six. The
Chronicle
wants action shots.”

Naomi considered this narrowly before nodding. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I cleared my throat and went on. “
Live at Five
is a news-magazine format. You won’t go on until five-fifteen or so, but leaving for the studio at four gives you time for makeup and to get the demonstration area set up."

“Is there anything else this evening?” Hannah pressed her fingers against her eyes. “I was hoping for an early night.”

I glanced at the schedule again. “Says here you’ll be the guest chef at the gala premiere of the new FanciFoods Marketplace in Pacific Heights at seven-thirty.”

“What is that, a grocery store?” Naomi again, her dander up. “They’re going to drag us out to a grocery store? Who do they think we are?”

“FanciFoods is like this temple to food. They have a cooking school and cookbook section and it’s all very upscale. And only Hannah is mentioned, so maybe you don’t have to go, Naomi.”