The Ties That Bind, page 8
part #2 of Max Plank Mystery Series
From loudspeakers overhead a driving, thumping hip-hop beat filled the air.
The men charged off to a far corner of the room to a table of young half-drunk women. Pandemonium followed, with dancing men undulating their crotches suggestively at the shrieking, hysterical females.
“That’s more like it,” Q said. “Was wondering what those boys were up to.”
“Bachelorette party,” I mumbled.
“Guessin’ so.” Q shook his head. “Women have come a long way since my day.”
“They certainly have,” I agreed, watching the licentious display unfolding. The thongs barely contained their contents, and the women, glazed eyes wide with a combination of excitement and fear, reached out to fondle briefly, then shrieked some more.
It didn’t look like fun to me. I’ve never been a fan of strip shows or gentlemen’s clubs or any other public display of what should be private erotica. We men have ogled and used women as objects from time immemorial and look at the pathetic state it’s gotten us to in male-female relationships.
I guess women should have the same right.
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub! For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come…must give us pause.
Shakespeare, I think, was trying to say, in his own inimitable way, that you have to be careful of what you want or desire because it might come packed with things you never expected.
I’m just saying.
The men were seated now, and several of the women had perched on their laps. Lips and hands and legs were fluttering, intertwined. I’d seen enough and turned back to Q. “Did you just dream up the part about Mrs. Wambaugh hiring somebody to kill Sarah, or do you actually know something.”
Q’s eyes twinkled. “Made the whole thing up. Got no basis for it.”
I smiled and took another sip of my malt. “So, I think—”
“You ever seen that movie, The Shining?”
“Yes. Pretty unnerving.”
“I seen it five or six times. Remember the black man, my man, Scatman Crothers? He could shine. He could see what the poor little white boy was suffering through. He could communicate with him through his mind and see things that happened in the past and maybe what was going to happen?”
The movie was unique and memorable, and I nodded, waiting for him to make his point.
Q breathed in through his nose and then let it go. “I’m not saying I can shine, not like in the movie. But my mother always said I had a gift. I could sense when something bad was going to happen and eight times out of ten I was right. I can’t communicate with somebody else through my mind, but sometimes I get a humming, a weird feeling in my mind about somebody. In this case, I got it when Sarah was talking about the old lady.”
“I’m not doubting your feelings, Q, but we need more than—”
“Not saying that she had somebody try and kill Sarah. Just that I wouldn’t at all be surprised if she did. You get that?”
I got it, and I had to admit that I agreed with him. It wouldn’t much shock me either if Mrs. Wambaugh turned out to be behind the shooting although it was more than a little puzzling that she would have dragged me into the situation right before she did so.
People are strange and that ain’t the half of it.
Thirteen
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to the Japanese tea gardens in Golden Gate Park. My mom used to take me there when I was a kid. She’d have her tea, and I’d munch on fortune cookies and give greater significance than deserved to the simple, clichéd messages on the slips of paper nestled inside them.
In my twenties, I did remember bringing a college girlfriend here who was from Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. She loved the park, the gardens, the tea, and me.
I used to rib her about her home town. Calling it Wow Wow Tosa.
She called me a coastal elitist and found me, at one and the same time, amusing and annoying.
I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve been met with those mixed feelings.
Our love blossomed for a while, but then withered, as love is wont to do.
Last I heard, she’d moved back to her hometown and was working in marketing at the Pabst Milwaukee Brewery there.
Wow Wow.
Rachel sat at the irori, the farmhouse-style family table, across from me.
I’d asked to meet with her at her apartment in the Embarcadero, but she’d said that she’d rather meet somewhere else. As the result of my chat with Phoebe, the first thing that popped into my mind was the tea gardens.
The five-acre gardens are a cornucopia of Japanese beauty—pagodas and stone lanterns and a koi pond topped by an arched drum bridge served by stepping stone paths and lots of cherry blossom trees that bloomed in March and April.
I ordered Hojicha, a tea roasted over charcoal that gives it a smoky flavor, along with some miso soup. Rachel had iced green tea and edamame.
After we received our tea, Rachel said, “Such a coincidence. Sarah loves it here. We came here quite a few times.”
I didn’t bother mentioning that it was less of a coincidence than it seemed.
“So, Mr. Plank—”
“Max, please.”
“Max, I’m happy to meet with you, but I don’t know what else I can tell you that I haven’t already told the detectives.”
“You’d be surprised. It’s been a couple of days. Sometimes, after a traumatic event like this one, even though you weren’t there, our unconscious mind starts making connections. And, even if there’s nothing new, I wanted you to tell me what you told the police. Sometimes fresh ears are all that’s needed to sift out overlooked details or clues.”
She nodded as if that made sense. I’d been ad-libbing, not to say bullshitting, so I was glad to see I hadn’t totally confused her.
“So you just want me to tell you what I told the detectives about me and Sarah and where I was that day and anything that Sarah may have said about anyone that might be a threat to her and—”
“All of that, yes. Let’s start there.” I gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.
“Well, first of all, I was…jeez, I am…we’re…together. Sarah and me.”
“You’re dating?”
“More than that.”
“That must be awkward.”
She raised her eyebrows and started to protest. “You don’t approve of same-sex—”
“No. No. I don’t care what any two people to or for each other in the privacy of their own homes.” I didn’t add that some of my best friends are gay. While true, I felt it would cheapen my argument. “I mean your brother…didn’t he just break up with Sarah? Wasn’t he in love with her?”
Sarah looked away, glanced down, noticed her tea cup, the steam rising like a little smoke signal. She picked it up. Blew on the pooling liquid. Put it back down. Stared into it. There were leaves at the bottom of the cup, so maybe she was trying to read them.
“Sarah’s relationship with my brother wasn’t mutual. He…kind of became a little obsessed after seeing her perform. He approached her after a show. He can be charming, at times, but he’s pretty awkward around women. She did like him at first, they went out on and off for a couple of months, but it was very one-sided overall.”
“Why was your mother so alarmed about the relationship?”
She gave me a quizzical look.
“Your mother hired me to investigate Sarah. That's why I was there that night.”
“You’re kidding?”
I was surprised. She’d lived with her mother for more than twenty years. I’d only spent a couple of hours with the woman and by now wouldn’t be shocked if she asked me to kill Sarah.
“I kid you not.”
She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “Mother can be such a pain in the ass.”
“I talked with Christopher yesterday, before your mother threw me off the property, and he still seemed pretty upset by the breakup.”
“You were at the house?”
I shrugged.
“Uninvited?”
I shrugged again.
She laughed. “You’re a brave one.”
“Some might call it foolhardy.”
“For sure. My mother is a powerful person. She knows lots of influential people. You’d better be careful.”
“I speak truth to power,” I said with a smile.
She gave me a quizzical look and shook her head. “You’re kind of a smart ass.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I quipped.
She rolled her eyes at me.
“How did you and Sarah meet?”
“Christopher took me to see her sing and, well, she was just so wonderful.” She glanced up at me and said, “You know. You’ve seen her.”
“She’s extraordinary.”
Rachel nodded her head up and down. “Absolutely. Anyway, afterward, the three of us went out to eat, and then I’d see her now and then when Christopher brought her home.” She blushed, wrapped her hands around her tea cup. “There was always something going on between us. Chemistry, to use a cliché, was there from the first time I laid eyes on her. I know she felt it, too. Once it was obvious her and Christopher were finished, she called me…”
“Tell me about recent days. Anything unusual that might relate to the shooting?”
She summarized what she’d told the police, and there was nothing, at least on the surface of it, that seemed particularly notable. Sarah hadn’t been upset or fearful or anguished in any way. She was a little sad about Christopher, but knew that it was best to break it off sooner rather than later, as she had no romantic feelings for him. Rachel wasn’t aware of any new people in Sarah’s life or anything that would signal trouble.
When she finished, I thanked her and then asked, “Tell me about your father.”
Her mouth closed. She started nibbling on her lower lip with her upper teeth.
“I’m sorry, Max, but I don’t…see how he has anything to do with any of this.”
I didn’t either, but the more people refused to tell me anything about dear old dad, the more interesting he became to me.
“Listen, Rachel, crimes, cases like this, sometimes seem to have no rhyme or reason. But they always do. There’s always an underlying pulse, and a genesis, perhaps a distant one. As I said, your mother hired me. That alone is a little strange, coming as it did so close to Sarah’s shooting. I was only there to witness it because of your mom. And my sources tell me there’s a big mystery surrounding your dad. He seems to be a ghost, although he’s still alive. He may have nothing to do with current events, but my job is to tug on every loose string to pull on each loose tangent, no matter how removed it appears. The police will likely get to your dad, but this isn’t the only case they have, and it might take some time.”
She sighed, touched her forehead, and grimaced as if her head hurt. “My dad left us when we were in our teens. I haven’t seen him in almost nine years. My mother won't speak about him. We’re not even allowed to mention his name in front of her.”
“He is still alive?”
“Yes. I’m sure he is. I don’t know…Mom had him working at the company. Maybe he still does. But he didn’t do much. It was mainly ceremonial, from what I can gather. He lived off her money. To be blunt, he’s a narcissist. A sick man.”
“But you have no idea where he is?” I wanted to know a lot more about the nature of his sickness.
She paused, bit her lip again, grimaced. “Just rumors. I’ve heard Mother talking on the phone. When this or that executive or financial person visits the house, I’ve overheard things.”
“And…” I said, drawing the word out.
“And…he may be in Las Vegas. The family has interests there. A casino and other properties. The rumor is that he lives there in one of the properties, but I don’t know anything else.”
“And he’s had no contact with you or Christopher. No letters or emails or cards at Christmas?”
She shook her head, a wounded faraway look in her eyes.
“Do you know if your mother has had contact?”
“I think so. She must. But she refuses to say a word about it.”
“Do you know why he left?”
Another long, pointed pause before she said, “He was difficult. My parents’ relationship was never good. Although she was crazy about him. I never could understand it.” She paused, reflecting. “He has his charms. And he’s very good looking. But he isn’t a nice man. He can be very mean. To his wife and to his children. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
I wanted to press, but I saw the pain in her eyes, and decided to pursue dear old dad using other avenues.
I handed her a fortune cookie and told her to read it to me.
She visibly relaxed, snapped the cookie open, and read, “A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories.”
She smiled and told me to read mine.
I cracked it open and read it to myself. Be on the lookout for coming events; they cast their shadows beforehand.
“Read it to me, Max.”
I said, “It never pays to kick a skunk,” and added, “or massage a porcupine.”
She laughed, while I thought about the real message in the cookie I’d gotten and wondered if the universe was trying to tell me something.
Fourteen
While I’d been sharing tea and cookies with Rachel, Marsh had been breaking into Sarah’s little cottage.
We were sitting on a bench near Stow Lake in the middle of Golden Gate Park. It was a cool, overcast day, the sun shunted behind gray clouds. The grass surrounding us glistened wetly from the morning fog. It had been recently cut and smelled pleasantly pungent.
Nearby, runners ran, bicyclists bicycled, lovers loved or, at least kissed, readers read, frisbee throwers frisbeed.
We surveyed this varied scene and, after I gave him the highlight of my chat with Rachel, Marsh brought me up to date on how he’d been spending his time.
He’d been a busy boy and there was lots to tell.
Proceeding in reverse chronological order, he told me what he’d found inside Sarah’s small cottage. I didn’t ask him how he’d manage to bridge her fortifications as most people’s houses are a breeze for anyone with a modicum of skill. The primary danger is nosy neighbors, but Marsh has phantom-like qualities.
“Quite a cozy abode,” he said, his eyes following the high arc of a blue frisbee. “She’s got taste in music and furnishings. Good jazz collection with the proper classical dose. Nice Victorian decor without getting too cutesy. Just the right amount of edge. Not a lot of money, but she spends it well. She’s a neatnik, too. I think we’d schmooze well.”
“Good to know. Soon as she wakes up, I’ll give her your number.”
“Setting the scene, dear boy.” A runner passed us by wearing thongish red shorts. “If you’re going to show it off, it helps having an ass like his,” Marsh commented admiringly, continuing, “The neatness extends to her files, both off and online. Good systems. Well-labeled folders. It wasn’t hard to sift through the ins and outs of her life of late.”
“So you didn’t have any password problems?”
“Actually, she was better than most in her creativity. But I had Portia at the ready, and she opened up everything remotely for me within minutes.”
It didn’t surprise me. Portia had helped me on several cases. She had elite hacking skills.
“Any whew, our subject’s finances could be better. She’s got a little savings, and I do mean little. No investments. Enough money to last her for maybe three months. Current income barely covers modest expenses.”
“You should hear her sing. She should be rolling in dough.”
“She sings jazz. We live amongst philistines.”
Twenty yards from us, a couple laying on a blue blanket untangled and stopped kissing. The curly-haired blonde coed sat up, brushed something off her prominent breasts, and cursed. The boy beneath her put his hands behind his head and said, “C’mon, Chrissie. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Screw you,” she said.
“I was hoping,” he joked.
But it was the wrong thing to say. She slapped his face and jumped to her feet. The boy looked stunned.
“I’m tired of it, Rob.”
“Chrissie—” He lifted a hand, reaching out to her. “Okay. Sit back down. People are watching. I didn’t mean it anyway. Let’s not do this again.”
She put her hands on her hips and stared off into the distance, ignoring him.
“Chrissie,” he implored, wriggling his fingers in a come-hither gesture.
“I’m going home.”
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
“To Charlotte, Rob.”
“What are you talking about?”
She turned and left him there, walking purposefully into her future.
“Chrissie,” he whined. “Chrissie?” he asked, confused, bothered, and bewildered.
“He’s lost her,” Marsh said.
“He knows it, too.”
“Besides her precarious financial condition, Ms. Swan has had three relationships of note in the past year. I didn’t have access to her phone. I assume the police confiscated that at the scene of the crime.”
I assumed the same, but they weren’t sharing their info with me.
“They probably haven’t gotten a warrant to search her apartment yet. I imagine they’re waiting to interview her first. It appears that Sarah had a romantic connection with both young Christopher and his sister. Quite the sticky wicket.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. Rachel admitted as much to me today.”
“Doesn’t that ring all sorts of alarm bells?”
“Yes and no,” I said. “It could be the key to the shooting. Or just love’s arrow having no truck with reason or logic or family ties.”
“I lean toward the former explanation.”
“Of course you do. You’re a control freak. You don’t let love sway you.”
“Love, or rather, lust, wreaks havoc on those who allow it to. I keep my lust leashed to my higher purposes.”
