Murder Follows Money (8 page)

The two locked glances, and Hannah looked away first. “It wasn’t me,” she mumbled. “It was Naomi. I don’t condone that sort of behavior. I’ve spoken to her. And I gave the girl back her job.”

I didn’t know whether to be flattered at being called a girl—something that has not happened to me since I turned twenty, and that was fifteen years ago—or irritated at the idea that I was so unimportant that my name could be forgotten at will.

“It’s not for you to give or take away,” Judi said gently. “You signed a contract with my agency. I do all the staffing. Frankly, no one on my staff wants to work with you. If I cut you loose, and word of this slapping gets around, you will be hard-pressed to find any reputable public relations firm to deal with.”

“I can do it myself if I have to,” Hannah said, tossing her head. “I did when I started out.”

“Right. You call up Leno’s people and tell them you want to be on the show.” Judi snorted. “You don’t have the Rolodex for it anymore, dear.” She gave Hannah that measuring look again. “I told Liz I’d take over the rest of your stay here.”

“You?” Hannah appeared to be trying to find words. “No. No way. I certainly don’t want you around.”

“That makes it mutual, as I don’t want to be around.” They stared each other down again, and again Judi won. “But if you can’t keep a lid on it and be pleasant, and make Naomi be pleasant, that’s what you’ll get. Me.”

“This is, quite simply, blackmail.” Hannah narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t tell her—”

“I’ve said nothing to anyone, as per our agreement.” Judi was adamant. “But if no one else will work with you, and no other agency in town will touch you, you’ll be stuck with me. This time only. Next time, I won’t be able to help you out at the last minute. Your reputation as a horrible person to work for is going to make it difficult for you when
Hannah Cooks for the New Millennium
comes out.”

“How did you—” Hannah pressed her hands to her face. “Listen, I have a demonstration to do. You’re purposely upsetting me before I have to go out and appear in front of an audience. And I might add that this is my third public appearance today. I would think you, of all people, would have some sympathy. I am not feeling well.”

Judi studied her thoughtfully. “You’ll do a wonderful job. You always do. And it’s very simple, really. I only want reassurance that you will treat my employees with the utmost respect while they’re working with you. It wouldn’t hurt you to treat all your employees the same way, but that’s not my concern.”

“Okay, okay.” Hannah smoothed her hair. “I’ll speak to Naomi. Not that she’ll listen,” she added, low-voiced. “She’s drinking, and that’s always a bad sign. But I’ll do my best to make Liz here feel happy.” She gave me a saccharine smile. “Is that good enough to avoid your tender ministrations?”

“For the time being.” Judi stepped aside from the doorway, just as Naomi came lurching down the hall.

“Where’s our little star?” Naomi said loudly. “Where’s that celebrity chef? Where’s little Hannah got to? Her audience is waiting.” She dragged out the last word.

Hannah looked exasperated. “Naomi, how could you start drinking? You promised . . .”

“Promises, promises.” Naomi was singing, though it took a minute for that to become apparent. “Promises are nothing,” she said with emphasis, coming right up to Hannah, who recoiled from the wine breath. “A dime a dozen.”

“If you’re going to start this, you’ll have to go home.” Hannah stepped around Naomi to get to the doorway. “You know we talked about this.”

“You talked, as usual.” Naomi began to look sullen. “You talk way too much, know that? But you don’t say what the people want to hear.”

“And you know what the people want to hear?” The casual contempt in Hannah’s voice was somehow shocking.

“They want to hear this! ‘Naomi Matthews invented this wonderful crepe maker.’ Not you! That was mine! You stole it, you bitch!”

Swaying, Naomi started for Hannah, her slapping hand raised. But Hannah was quicker off the mark than I was. She pushed Naomi farther into the office, then joined us in the hallway, shutting the door in Naomi’s face and producing the key from her pocket. Dimly we could hear Naomi cursing, but it was a well-constructed door.

“She can sleep it off until we leave,” Hannah said, putting the key back in her pocket. “She’ll quiet down once she sobers up a bit.”

I exchanged glances with Judi. Perhaps Hannah didn’t realize that most doors could be unlocked from the inside.

Perhaps Naomi didn’t realize it either. She banged on the door and hollered a little bit, then was silent.

Judi and I trailed down the hall after Hannah. She strode ahead, ignoring us, and swept out into the demonstration room to great applause. The clock on the wall said 7:27. Two more hours until the end of a long and exhausting day, for all of us.

“You don’t need to stick around if you don’t want to,” Judi said. “I’ll tuck them into the limo for the trip back to the hotel. Why don’t you get the driver to take you home? He can get to Palo Alto and back here before nine, and we won’t be ready to leave until after then.”

“That’s very tempting.” My little house, my refuge, had never been more desirable.

“But can you come to the City early tomorrow? It’s another long day. That radio interview at seven, and then the Cordon Bleu in Sonoma County at ten, and a bookstore in Santa Rosa at one P.M., then Berkeley at seven P.M. Lots of riding in the car."

I must have cringed, because she searched my face with concern. “Would you just as soon not do anymore?”

I thought of that lovely money. With the money Judi was giving me for these four days, I could easily pay my property tax and have a bit left over for the emergency fund. Then I could write next week instead of looking for more temp work.

“I’ll do it. The worst is probably over.” Even as I said the words, I knew it was a lie. Driving around the Bay Area with Hannah and Naomi, no matter how luxurious the automobile, was going to be awful. But a lot of temp work is awful, and not nearly so well paid.

“Great.” Judi looked relieved. “Get along, now. Just be there tomorrow before seven A.M. so you can facilitate the radio interview, then herd them around to the other events."

The limo was waiting when I stepped out of the FanciFoods store. Judi had called the driver, and he opened the back door with a flourish. I had it all to myself for the forty-five-minute ride to Palo Alto, and I reveled in every minute. I opened the refrigerator, though I didn’t drink anything for fear that Hannah had counted all the little bottles of wine and booze. I found controls for music, air, even humidity, and played with them all.

The driver let me off in front of Paul Drake’s house. Both houses on the long lot had come to me, but Paul was buying the house in front; I kept the little cottage in back. My half of the lot was roomy enough for a good-sized garden as well as running space for Barker.

I could hear Barker; Drake had let him out, and he was charging up and down the fence that separated my house from Drake’s parking area. I went to quiet him.

He was happy to see me, but no happier than I was to be home. While I petted him and smoothed his black and white fur and kept him from planting his big paws on my shoulders, Drake’s kitchen door opened.

“So you’re back.” He stood in the doorway, rumpled, his wiry hair standing out around his face, holding his place in a book with one finger. “How was your day as a worker bee?”

“You wouldn’t believe the half of it.”

He shivered. “Don’t stand out in the cold. Bring your dog and tell me about it. I saved you some dinner.”

I opened the gate for Barker, and we hustled into the golden light of Drake’s warm kitchen.

Chapter 8

I drove into San Francisco early the next morning with the commuters, instead of taking the train. The train has many advantages, but in case there was more shopping to do, I wanted some transportation. My ‘69 VW bus, called Babe because it was blue and somewhat ox-like in disposition, was actually a great commute car that traveled well at thirty to forty miles an hour. I didn’t have much occasion during my drive to reach its top speed of sixty.

The sky was still dark when I got to the city. I made my way to Nob Hill, dodging delivery trucks, bike messengers, and homeless people. The entrance to the hotel’s parking garage was guarded by a gnome who peered suspiciously at me and my clunky transportation.

“Are you a guest? This garage is for guests only.”

“I’m working for one of your guests. Hannah Couch.” I didn’t remember the room number. “One of the big suites. Possibly the Presidential one.”

He turned away to speak into a telephone, then let me in, directing me to a parking place far to the back, I guess so the bus was less visible amongst the Mercedes and Jaguars and even Rolls-Royces I saw as I drove to my corner. On the way to the elevator I stopped to tell him, “It’s a classic, you know. Extremely valuable. Don’t let anyone steal it.” Judging from his blank stare, he didn’t believe me.

The elevator was quiet and luxurious. Because it was chilly outside, I’d worn jeans and a sweater; there didn’t seem to be much point in dressing up to please Hannah, when she was not capable of being pleased.

I got out at the lobby to take the elevator to the Presidential Suite and discovered that it required insertion of a room key before it would take me there. I didn’t have a key. I could have asked the front desk clerk to take me up, but it grated on me to have to supplicate like that. I saw a bellhop with a cart piled with luggage, and by following him I found the freight elevator. He didn’t say anything when I got on. I got off at my floor and knocked at the kitchen door.

Kim opened it. “There you are. I wondered when you’d get here.” Her eyes were big in her thin face. She hustled me into the kitchen and closed the door.

“They’ve been at it all night,” she whispered. “I don’t know how much more I can take. Naomi went through every one of the little bottles of booze in the limo, and then she drank a bunch of stuff from the bar here. She was yelling, and Hannah yelled back. It’s been impossible. They didn’t knock off till way after three this morning.”

Don came into the kitchen. “You should have come out with me. Not stay here and listen to those two old biddies claw at each other.”

Kim didn’t smile. “I felt someone should be here. Just in case . . ."

“In case one of them jumped the other one?” Don smiled derisively. “Not likely. They’re just having a cat fight.”

“I don’t know.” Kim hugged herself, shivering despite the thick sweater she wore. “After what Hannah said, I just don’t know. I kept thinking about my uncle. His death was kind of sudden. What if Naomi did cause it? What else would she do?”

We stood around the kitchen in uneasy silence for a moment. “Hey, kid,” Don said finally. “Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And they wouldn’t stop going at each other.” Kim dug a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. “It was awful.”

I set down my knapsack on the table and searched for a way to turn the conversation away from Kim’s fears about her aunt. “They’ll be ready to make up today.”

“Either that or Hannah will send Naomi off.” Don patted Kim awkwardly on the shoulder. “You’ll see. I’m going to get my cameras ready.”

He vanished into his room.

“Hannah told me she wanted to prepare crepes again,” Kim said dolefully. “But I think that was just to make Naomi mad. Can we cook at the bookstores?”

“Let me check the schedule.” I opened the knapsack and shuffled through papers. “It says here we’re supposed to give out cinnamon roll-ups. Whatever they are.”

“I made them.” Kim pointed to a neat stack of white boxes on the table. “We brought along a stock of Hannah’s special boxes, and since I couldn’t sleep last night, I baked. But this morning she came out and said we were going to do crepes.”

“She is wrong.” I sniffed. The air did indeed have the scent of cinnamon.

“Well, don’t tell her that.” Kim looked apprehensive. “She’s so stubborn, you know.”

The woman herself swept into the room. “Finally you’re here.” She didn’t look as if she’d spent most of the night arguing; her hair was arranged in its rigid iron curls, and her makeup was perfectly applied. “You’re late. We do have a schedule to keep, you know.”

“The radio interview is in fifteen minutes.” I went past her into the main room. “Where do you want to be during it? On this sofa? Is Naomi going to be out here?”

Hannah looked down her nose. “She doesn’t need to be present. She doesn’t need to come with us at all today. Perhaps she’d rather stay and find a bar.”

“I’ll check that the limo will be ready by seven-forty-five.” I escaped to the kitchen, and Kim followed.

Unfortunately, Hannah followed Kim. “I want some water. That room-service coffee was terrible. And they didn’t snip the end of the rose before putting in the vase; it’s already starting to droop.”

Kim pulled out the familiar green bottle. Silently she got ice and a lime wedge.

“Make me one too.” Naomi pushed in at the kitchen door. The little room was crowded, and not just with people; the bad vibes were rife. “My throat is as dry as Hannah’s shortbread.”

Hannah didn’t rise to the bait. She took her glass of water and stalked into the living room.

Naomi wouldn’t let up, though. She grabbed her own glass before Kim had even finished pouring it, and followed Hannah out the door. Plunking down her glass right next to Hannah’s on the polished mahogany coffee table, she slumped into a chair. She didn’t look perky at all. Her hair was pulled back in its usual severe bun, but wisps escaped to straggle around her sallow face, and the lines around her mouth seemed deeper than usual. Her hand shook when she reached for her glass.

“That’s my glass.” Hannah spoke sharply. Naomi didn’t acknowledge the words, but she did change the direction of her grasping hand. Her grip on the glass wasn’t good; its ice-beaded sides slipped through her fingers and landed on the oriental rug, spilling all over Hannah’s elegant Italian pumps.

“God damn it.” Hannah leaped to her feet. “You idiot. You drunken, washed-up has-been.”