Chapter Twenty-Four
Eva finally found the house. A lot of the more upscale homes in Yountville were set back off the street on heavily wooded lots and many of them didn’t have visible street numbers. Eva had driven up and down the block for fifteen minutes, searching for the correct house. She cautiously pulled into a blind driveway, hoping nobody was coming out the other direction. Since the drive appeared empty, and Eva didn’t plan to stay long, she pulled right up to the side door.
Eva climbed out of the car, grabbed the closest canvas bag containing supplies, and trotted up the steps to the door. She knocked and waited for the housekeeper to open up. There was no response. Eva knocked again and waited, and again, she didn’t hear anyone or see anyone moving about. She decided perhaps she should try the front door and ring the doorbell. Maybe the woman was napping. There was no doorbell. Great. Eva banged on the front door. No one answered her knock.
Eva wondered if the woman was out in the yard somewhere so she walked through the property. She covered the yard from one end to the other, even looking over the embankment into the creek in the back. No one.
“Shit.”
Eva pulled out the office cell and dialed Mr. Harding’s number. She was immediately connected with a computer-generated voicemail that simply told her no one was available to take her call. She left a message as she wandered back to the front porch to check the door. She wasn’t surprised to find it locked, however, she thanked her lucky stars when she discovered that the side door had been left open. She figured the woman had run an errand and wasn’t certain when Eva would be coming by. Eva stepped directly into the kitchen. She gaped, open mouthed, at the mess in front of her.
“Jesus Christ! How the hell am I supposed to set up a buffet in this…this…garbage dump?”
The kitchen looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in at least a month. There were food-encrusted dishes stacked on every counter. The sink was filled with unwashed pots and pans. Eva took a step forward, right into something sticky. She backed up hurriedly, hearing a disgusting noise as she pulled her foot away. Eva looked down. The stuff felt like honey or syrup. Eva stood still, gazing around, forlorn, wondering what on earth was going on and what she was going to do about it. She had over two thousand dollars worth of food and wine in her car and she couldn’t bring anything in until the place was presentable. More than presentable, spotless. If Mr. Harding had a housekeeper, if this Louise person actually existed, than she was one lousy housekeeper. Either that or his houseguests had let her off and they’d made this mess, but Eva didn’t think so. The food on most of the dishes was too caked on. Eva would bet good money that those dishes had been sitting there for quite a while.
Eva walked into the dining room, to see if she could possibly set up there. That room was only marginally better. Old newspapers and unopened mail sat scattered about. Some of the newspapers had turned yellow with age. Books and magazines were piled high on the dining room table, and the buffet, or sideboard, appeared to be used as a catch-all for rubber bands, paperclips, pencils and pens, thumb tacks, nails, various tools and even rocks and sea shells.
Eva was steaming. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny. She pulled out the cell phone and tried Mr. Harding’s number again. Once more, it connected to voicemail.
“Mr. Harding,” Eva began, “This is Eva Raines again. I’m inside your house in Yountville, and I’ve found that the situation to be untenable. Quite frankly, sir, the house is a mess and I absolutely cannot set up a buffet here. You haven’t paid me for cleaning and in any case, there isn’t time to get the place picked up, let alone presentable enough for what you have in mind. Unfortunately, since I’ve already purchased everything, you will forfeit your deposit. I’ll leave the food and wine in your kitchen. Feel free to return my call on this line or if you prefer, you may speak with the owners of All Things to All People when they return from their vacation on Wednesday afternoon. I’m sorry, but this will not work out.”
“What won’t work out?” came a male voice from behind her.
Eva flew around, nearly dropping the bag on her shoulder.
“Who are you?” she asked the unkempt elderly man who glared at her.
“I own this house. Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”
“I’m… I’m… I’m the caterer, the caterer hired by…by Jerry Harding for a party…a party he’s supposed to have here today. Who are you?”
“I’m Jerry Harding, and I have no recollection of hiring a caterer. Look around you,” the man said, “Do I look like I’d hire someone to cater for me? Get the hell out of my house before I call the cops.”
“But…but Mr. Harding…you called me, or someone pretending to be you called me and hired me to…”
“You think I give a goddamn who called you? Get out.” The man raised a hand as if threatening to grab her and throw her out the door. “Get the f*ck out of my house.”
Eva scooted past the man as quickly and as carefully as she could, doing her best not to touch him. She tossed the bag she carried into the passenger seat and started her car. As she backed out of his winding driveway, she felt a lump grow in her throat and tears stung her eyes. She’d just been taken for a ride. A big, long, f*cked up ride. She was willing to bet anything that the credit card was either fake or it had been canceled and she’d have to eat more than twenty-five hundred dollars worth of food and wine. There was no way she’d ask Tom and Marcus to cover her expenses and there was no way she’d ruin her relationship with the winery by asking them to take the wine back and refund her money. The Iranian caviar was a total loss. The supplier had given her a discount, but it had still cost her nearly a thousand dollars. No, this was all on her. She’d messed up, badly. If she wanted to keep her job, she’d fess up and pay up. There went her savings.
As Eva approached the office, the tightness she’d begun to feel in her chest during the drive, increased. She parked, making sure to lock up her car, and she entered the office. She headed straight for Tom’s desk. She glanced down at the contract, searching for the credit card numbers. She punched the numbers into the portable credit card unit. The card was refused. Why wasn’t she surprised?
Eva sat down heavily in her boss’s chair. She rested her elbows on the desk and dropped her head into her hands. She was so screwed. Why on earth would anyone do something like this? Was this someone who had a grudge against Tom or Marcus? Maybe both of them? Or was this someone who had a grudge against her? It had to be her, because whoever it was had called her cell phone number. Her suspicion had been correct. Gabe hadn’t given out her cell phone number. Then how the hell had this guy gotten hold of it? This fake Jerry Harding guy? Eva wished she could call Gabe to talk things over, but she didn’t want to involve him. The first thing he’d do would be to offer to pay for her mistake. He’d try to cover her expenses and she wasn’t about to let him do that.
With a sigh, Eva pulled out the Napa Valley phone book to look for the church’s phone number. Hopefully someone had turned in her cell phone. The church’s office was closed. After six rings, voicemail clicked on. Eva left her home phone number and her office number and asked the secretary to call if she had any information for her. If no one turned in the phone by tomorrow morning, she was going to have to cancel her cell phone service and buy a new phone. Great. She could add that to her growing list of expenses.
Eva looked up at the sound of a loud knock. The office door had automatically locked behind her. Two Napa police officers stood framed in the glass doorway. Shit. The real Jerry Harding probably wrote down her license number and did call the cops.
Eva found herself reluctant to rise from her chair, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. She walked to the door, wondering exactly which shoe was about to drop now.
“Can I help you?” she called through the door.
“Do you work for this agency, ma’am?” one of the officers called out, also through the door.
Eva nodded her head in the affirmative.
“Can you please unlock the door, ma’am? We’d like to talk to you.”
Eva looked at the officer. “About what?” she asked.
“Ma’am, please open the door. We just want to ask you some questions.”
Eva decided she’d better put a good face on things. She pushed on the door with her hip and it opened outward. The two officers moved out of the way.
“What can I help you with, officers?”
“I’m Officer Scott. This is Officer Whitson. May we come in, ma’am?”
“Of course.” Eva ushered them inside. She pointed to the available chairs but both men preferred to stand.
“Are you the owner of this agency?”
“No, sir, I’m an employee, but I’m in charge at the moment. The owners are out of town until Wednesday. They’re camping on the Russian River and they don’t have cell phone service.”
“And you are?”
“Eva Raines.”
Officer Whitson pulled out a pad of paper and wrote down her name.
“Do you live here in Napa?”
“Yes.”
“May I have your address?”
Eva gave the man her address and home phone number. “I lost my cell phone yesterday at a catering job,” she said, irritated with herself for sounding as if she was apologizing.
“Where?”
“The little Catholic church up in Yountville. Somewhere in the parking lot, I think. I don’t know. So far I haven’t been able to find out if anyone has turned it in.”
“Ma’am, did you go into San Francisco yesterday?”
Eva shot him an odd look. “Yeah, why?”
“Why did you go into San Francisco?”
“To purchase some items for a catering job that fell through. Are you here to ask about that? Because if you can help me, that would be great.”
“No, ma’am. We’re here because a credit card belonging to a woman who lives in San Francisco was reported stolen Friday night. The bank traced a rather large amount charged on that card to this business.”
Eva rubbed her chest. The tightness was increasing again. “Yeah, well, that’s what I’m talking about. A gentleman called me and hired me to do a last minute catering job. That’s the credit card number he gave me. Actually,” she thought for a minute, “now that I think about it, he put his wife on the phone and she said it was her credit card. I ran the card number and it went through.” Eva reached behind her. “Here’s the contract I faxed to him. The credit card receipt is stapled to it. You can see that he signed the contract and his wife signed for the credit card charge. There’s a time and date on the top of the fax.”
The two officers looked over the fax.
“Did you ever see these people face to face?”
“No, but they sent me to a bogus address today. When I got back here and tried to check the credit card number to see if I could cover my expenses, the card was refused.”
“Where did they send you?”
Eva pulled up the address and what she assumed was a phony cell phone number. She handed the sheet of paper to the officers. “The address is actually correct…well, what I mean is, a man named Jerry Harding does live there, but not the Jerry Harding who ordered our services. I met him. There’s no way he’s involved. He kicked me out of his house. He didn’t know anything about this. And nobody is answering the cell phone.”
“This is a 415 area code,” one of the officers pointed out.
“Yeah, so?” asked Eva.
“Are you sure you didn’t meet with this person when you went into the city yesterday?”
“No, of course I didn’t meet with him. I went to buy the caviar he ordered. It’s in my car, sitting on ice in a cooler, if you want to see it.” Eva pointed. “Right out there, the blue Toyota. Why on earth would you think I met with him?”
“So you could get the stolen credit card, and maybe go on a shopping spree?”
Eva was taken aback. “Surely you don’t believe that? Why would I do something like that?”
“Because your bosses are out of town. You have a friend in the city, you saw an opportunity and you ran with it.”
“Sir, I would never do that,” she protested. “I’m the victim here. This guy, whoever he is, scammed me and now I’m stuck with over two thousand dollars worth of food and wine that I’m going to have to pay for myself. I don’t have a stolen credit card. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to use it to buy caviar and wine.”
“What would you use it for?”
“Nothing!” Eva exclaimed. “I didn’t steal a credit card.”
“Then you won’t mind coming down to the police station to answer a few more questions and give us an official statement.”
“Yeah, to be honest, I do mind. I didn’t do anything wrong, officers. I’m the one who got screwed.”
“All the more reason to come down to the station, Miss Raines. If what you’re saying is true, then somebody decided to play a pretty nasty joke on you and it would be in your best interest to find that person.”
Eva sighed. She didn’t want to go to the police station. She wanted to climb into her bed, pull the covers over her head, and have a good cry. But in the immortal words of the Borg, Eva decided that resistance was futile. She hoped to God Officer Scott would let her sit in front. If he made her sit in back, the day’s humiliation would be complete.