Formula for Murder Page 10

  “One less thing? Like it’s a burden? Being with her, doing the mom things I’m supposed to do with her, that’s not a burden!”

  “No. That’s not what I meant.” He looked at me, concern in his eyes. “She was trying to help. Why don’t we take a nap when we get home?”

  I grumbled and leaned my head against the headrest. “If she wants to help, she can do the laundry, go grocery shopping, cook dinner, do all the boring, mundane chores. She doesn’t have to take the fun mommy stuff away from me.”

  Jim guffawed. “She does that stuff for you, too! You’re absolutely spoiled rotten by her. You can’t possibly be upset that she took Laurie to get some pictures taken.”

  I made a face at him. “Well, I am. I’m mad at her about that and I’m mad at her for putting me in the middle of her two boyfriends.”

  Jim pulled into our garage. “Geez. Talk about selfish. What do you care what she does with her boyfriends. Think about poor Galigani.”

  “Yeah. He’s gonna be mad at me, too.”

  Jim parked the car. “Hope he doesn’t fire you.”

  “He can’t fire me. I found the client on my own.”

  Jim raised an eyebrow. “Well, he can stop helping you and that would . . .”

  “What? That would be what?”

  Jim scratched at his nose. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.”

  “That would be what? Poor Kate, can’t figure anything out on her own, she needs Galigani to work things out for her? Or her mommy, otherwise she can’t even function. Is that what you were going to say?”

  “No. I was going to say I love you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He got out of the car and pulled Laurie out with him. “I do love you. And I’ll love you even more after you take a nap and leave this mood behind you.”

  I sat in the car stewing for a while, until I heard Laurie’s hunger cries. Then I had to suck it up and get back to mothering. While I nursed her, I came to terms with the missed photo shoot and vowed to take her back to the mall for a photo on Santa’s lap.

  In order to work out some frustrated energy I decided to try my hand at making fudge. Since I was so remiss with Christmas shopping, maybe I could give out goodie baskets.

  I searched online for a simple recipe that only included ingredients I had on hand. I found a mouthwatering one for raspberry truffle fudge. While I melted the chocolate chips and mixed in the condensed milk I thought about Armand.

  Suddenly everything I’d been fretting about this afternoon with Mom seemed so silly. Jim was right: I was a spoiled brat.

  Poor Armand and Nancy would have no Christmas. Their families were in mourning. Thank God, Laurie and I had walked away from the accident. I had so much to be grateful for.

  I quickly added heavy whipping cream and raspberry liqueur to the chocolate mixture and poured it out on a pan to cool. I put the pan in the fridge, wiped my hands on my apron, and took it off.

  Tomorrow I would pick up the case again, talk to Kimberly, go to Nancy’s house, but for right now I’d focus on being a wife and a mom.

  I searched the house for Jim. I found him napping with Laurie in our bedroom. I lay next to them and felt a mixture of grief and distress shudder through my body. I sobbed and held Laurie; after a moment I felt Jim’s hand on my forehead.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, honey. It’s not your fault the kid is dead.”

  I held on to his arm. Laurie, who was nestled between us, reached her small hand up in sleep and grabbed onto my necklace. I was surrounded by love and support. I took a deep breath and felt a measure of relief as I slipped into a deep sleep.

  • CHAPTER THIRTEEN •

  To Do:

  1. Mail Christmas cards.

  2. Christmas shopping and recipes (need to buy baskets to fill).

  3. Buy NEW car!

  4. Talk to Kimberly Newman.

  5. Check out Nancy’s apartment.

  6. Interview Nancy’s dad and brother.

  7. Meditate.

  I stood in front of Kimberly Newman’s Mediterraneanstyle house. She had gorgeous windows with a front and center view of the bay. There were sailboats docked directly in front of her house, across from the Marina Green. They rocked back and forth as the wind pushed through them.

  While I was admiring her view, a Mercedes pulled into the driveway. The tinted window rolled down and Kimberly appeared behind it.

  “Can I help you?” she asked politely.

  I didn’t know whether or not to stick my hand out—after all, she was in a car. Was it professional to stick my hand in her face?

  “I’m Kate Connolly, a private investigator looking into the death of Mrs. Pickett. Do you have time to answer a few questions?”

  Kimberly’s face saddened. “Oh, yes. Of course. Give me a minute.”

  The garage door automatically opened and she drove inside. A few moments passed before she poked her head around the garage corner. “Come inside,” she said.

  She pulled scores of shopping bags out of her trunk. Handing me a few, she smiled. “Do you mind?”

  I smiled back. “Not at all.”

  I took the bags from her. They were from Neiman Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue. I was dying to rip them open and peek, but maintained enough composure not to.

  “Follow me,” she said. She hit a button on the wall and the garage door closed behind us.

  I followed her up the interior staircase to the main landing.

  “This way,” she said over her shoulder.

  We went up another staircase, which led to a master suite. There were glass doors to a balcony, where a small table and some chairs sat. In the center of the bedroom was an enormous white bed and a Mission-style side table and dresser. The coverlet of the bed had a beautiful Waterford pattern. She flopped the bags on the coverlet. “You can drop them here,” she said.

  I placed the bags next to the others.

  Man. What an incredible room, spacious, light, feminine!

  “I had myself a little shopping spree.” She giggled.

  “Christmas is just around the corner,” I said, cringing at the thought of all the shopping I still had to do.

  She laughed. “I know, but this stuff is for me. I have a big party . . . well, you might know. My boyfriend is Calvin Rabara, the San Francisco supervisor. And his annual Christmas-slash-fundraiser-slash-re-election party is this Friday at the Merchants Exchange Building. I had NOTHING to wear.”

  “Mmmm,” I mumbled trying to sound agreeable instead of bitter.

  I’m sure her closet was barren.

  Pangs of jealously hit me. Socialite, size what? Four? Six? Skinny witch.

  I pushed the feeling away. She didn’t have a tiny little pumpkin, like me. I had been a size six at one time! And the time wasn’t that long ago, only about a year.

  No regrets. I’d trade all the fancy parties in the world to have my Laurie. But that didn’t excuse being out of shape. I had to put exercise back on top of the priority list.

  Kimberly’s face changed from perky to serious. “What’s this business about investigating Nancy’s death?”

  I explained to her about Mr. Vann hiring me. I left out the part about finding Armand. I didn’t know if their deaths were connected and Galigani had warned me about spreading the word if the next of kin had not been notified yet.

  “Anything you can tell me about Nancy or what you might even know about her death could help,” I pressed.

  Kimberly puffed her cheeks with air and remained silent, thinking. She took a seat on the bed and motioned me to take a high wingback chair that was adjacent.

  “I met Nancy a few years ago. We work at the same station. You know that, right?”

  I nodded.

  “We didn’t work on the same stories or anything, but the crew is small and we were friendly. We went out to lunch together occasionally and shopped. Did you know that she lived a few blocks from here?”

  I nodded again. The key Ramon had given me
to her house was burning a hole in my pocket.

  “Sometimes, we’d run together on the Green. Maybe two mornings a week.”

  “Were you scheduled to run together on the morning of her death?”

  Kimberly shook her head. “No.”

  “I heard that maybe she was heading downtown to a gym near your office?”

  Kimberly frowned. “Really? I assumed she’d decided to run in the park . . . isn’t that where they found . . .”

  I waited for her to continue.

  “She didn’t like the gym. Maybe you should talk to some of the members or staff there, but I don’t think she went all that often. I thought . . . I thought she went running in the park that morning . . . her new boyfriend . . .” She made a face, then completed her thought with her eyes closed. “Her new boyfriend, Ramon, lives near the park. She’d starting running on a trail near his house. That’s where they found her.”

  She sat in silence with her eyes closed momentarily, giving me the perfect opportunity to study her face. She was beautiful in the classical sense: her nose was large and angular but it suited her sharp jaw and cheekbones.

  Her eyes fluttered open, dark blue with ultralong black lashes that were, I’m sure, aided by expensive mascara. “I miss her. We weren’t super close, but I always knew she was nearby if I needed someone to lean on.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?” I asked.

  “Monday at the station.”

  An alarm went off in my head. I had seen them together at the consulate on Wednesday. Had she forgotten about that? She didn’t know, of course, that I’d been there.

  I looked down at my fingernails, giving her time to reconsider her answer. I was surprised to find my nails in such bad repair. Kimberly’s nails were filed into even blunt squares and she had on a pretty pink polish.

  Get a manicure, Kate, quick!

  I waited for her to say something. She didn’t.

  I looked up at her. She was fingering one of the bags on her bed.

  “What do you think happened to Nancy? Do you think it was a random act of violence?”

  Kimberly pressed her lips together. “I think, and this may be an unpopular opinion at the station, but I think Ramon is behind it.”

  “Why?”

  “I never liked him. Nancy was a little different around him, which happens, I suppose, with some women when they fall in love, but . . .” She straightened and took a breath. “I didn’t like him for her.”

  “Why is that an unpopular opinion at the station?”

  She laughed bitterly. “Everyone loves him, because he’d cook this incredible, delicious fatty food and bring it to the station. God, talk about pigs at the trough. Give the station folk some food, it could be anything really, and they throw themselves at it. So, they loved Ramon because he’d make a big spread for them. They won’t hear of any bad talk about him—he’s the darling Mexican chef.”

  She seemed incredibly jealous, but I wasn’t sure of what. Was she jealous because people were eating food she regularly denied herself? Or jealous because they liked Ramon?

  “What do you think Ramon’s reason to hurt Nancy would be?”

  She shrugged. “Do people even need a reason anymore? The whole world is out of control.” She pulled her legs up under her on the bed and sat cross-legged. She hugged herself. “Maybe Nancy was breaking up with him or something.”

  “Had she said anything to you about leaving him?”

  “No, but I don’t know. Like I said, we weren’t super close.”

  “Do you know who was?”

  Kimberly shook her head. “She was friendly with people at the station, but didn’t spend much time with any of them. I think mostly it was Ramon.”

  “Do you know anything about a story she was working on that might have ruffled some feathers?”

  Kimberly frowned. “Like what? Are you saying she might have been killed because of a story?”

  “Nancy’s ex-husband, Chuck, thinks that might be the case.”

  Kimberly’s face showed disbelief. “I doubt it. Like what? What story?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “The consul was given the Legion of Honor and a commendation from the Board of Supervisors . . .”

  She stared at me blankly. “So?”

  “Could that have been what Nancy was working on? The award? The commendation?”

  Kimberly shrugged. “I don’t know what stories she was working on, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you. You’d have to ask Karen Nolan at KNCR.”

  She gave me a threatening look as if warning me about something.

  Did she think I was going to steal Nancy’s story and make headlines with it? Gimme a break.

  “Any idea why Nancy would be phoning an intern from the consulate and have his address on her?”

  Her face paled, but she collected herself quickly.

  “Any number of reasons. As reporters we’re constantly reaching out to people.”

  Okay. So most likely he’d been a source, but what is it that Kimberly didn’t want me to know?

  Even though every ounce of me wanted to tell her about Armand’s death and see her reaction, I refrained. Galigani had reminded me several times to wait until the next of kin had been notified and I didn’t know if that had happened yet or not. I certainly had not read any news reports on it this morning, when I scoured the Internet.

  I stood. “Right. Thank you for your time.”

  She unfolded her legs, dropped them to the floor, and stood. “Sure.”

  “One more thing,” I said. “What were you and Nancy doing at the French consulate on Wednesday?”

  Kimberly’s legs seemed to buckle under her and she collapsed onto the bed.

  • CHAPTER FOURTEEN •

  Her face was a mask of disbelief. “What do you mean?” She shook her head back and forth. “I wasn’t . . . we weren’t . . . what are you implying?”

  Her anger was building, so I did my best to downplay it. “I thought you and Nancy were at the French consulate on Wednesday.”

  “Who told you that? Christophe? Or the receptionist, Marie?” She bit her lip. “I don’t know if Nancy was there or not. Maybe she was. I can’t say about her, but I was definitely not there. I wasn’t there.”

  Christophe? Hadn’t he told me he didn’t know Kimberly?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m only trying to retrace Nancy’s steps and figure out what happened to her.”

  Kimberly’s head turned sharply to the floor. “I’m not upset.”

  “I thought maybe that’s what Nancy was doing at the consulate. You know, interviewing the consul on his thoughts about the award, that sort of thing.”

  Kimberly’s face turned up to me; she stared at me a moment, then squinted. “How do you even know about the award? Our station didn’t run the story. It got bumped because of gang violence in the mission. The story’s supposed to run tonight. Filler.”

  She said the final word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “They announced it at the Christmas party,” I said.

  I watched her face carefully, her eyes darting to the right and back again. Her expression unchanged.

  I’d also seen her at the party.

  Was she going to deny being there, too?

  “Oh yes,” she whispered.

  “You were there, weren’t you? At the Christmas party.”

  Kimberly swallowed. “Yes. I cover big social parties like that for the station.” Her eyes flicked across me, up and down. “What were you doing there?”

  I smiled at the implication.

  Indeed, what were the likes of a rumpled new mom, turned PI, doing at a party hosted by a foreign diplomat?

  “Friends in high places,” I said.

  She sniffed but said nothing.

  I handed her my business card. “If you can think of anything that might help me out, please contact me.”<
br />
  She took it from me and crushed it in her hand. “Certainly,” she said.

  Outside, I wondered why Kimberly had denied being at the consulate last Wednesday. There was definitely a strange connection between Nancy, Kimberly, and the consul—I just needed to figure it out. Maybe Paula and I could crash the supervisor party at the Merchants Exchange Building on Friday. I’d have to ask Paula to snoop out the details.

  And what about Armand? What was his role in all this? Was his death even related? And if so, how?

  Since my car was legally parked, I walked the short distance to Nancy’s apartment. I glanced at my watch. I had only three hours between feedings. I’d left home over an hour ago. I’d have to hustle if I wanted to be back in time.

  Nancy had lived in a four-unit building on Chestnut. Although the neighborhood was the same as Kimberly’s, the residences could not have been more different. Nancy’s apartment house had chipped paint and dirty windows. It looked like it was in desperate need of some TLC. The roof sagged and the iron gate was rusted.

  I tried the key Ramon had given me and entered the dirty foyer. The marble steps led up two levels where I found apartment number four with bright yellow police crimescene tape across the front door.

  Darn! Certainly I was not supposed to enter.

  I looked down the hall. The other unit on the floor was silent. Grabbing my cell phone out of my bag, I dialed the one person I knew would egg me on.

  “Yeah?” Paula said into the line.

  “Any news?”

  “I had my visit with my OB this morning. She laughed when I asked how soon. No contractions, no effacement, no dilation, no nothing! I’m in the Great Wait phase.”

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  “Only I’m feeling like a great white! Wait. Is that a shark? I mean, whale. Is there a great white whale?”