I had no doubt there was a connection between the two deaths. Find that connection and I would find the murderer.
I would find the murderer? I shuddered. No, thank you. I was going back to my loft and hiding under my bed.
Derek’s black Bentley pulled up half a block in front of me. As I watched him approach my car, his gait purposeful, his eyes studying me as a wild cat might scrutinize his quarry, three things occurred to me.
Number one, Derek Stone was really hot.
Number two, Minka didn’t kill Enrico.
Number three, I knew who the intruder was.
Chapter 14
I’d recognized the intruder’s voice when I heard him utter the oath outside the pantry door.
I stared at Derek as he came closer. I couldn’t tell him what I knew. Not yet. I needed to think, needed to figure out whether to confront the intruder privately, let him know I knew he’d been in Enrico’s home. I debated whether to tell him I knew what he’d been looking for.
Which reminded me, that check for five thousand dollars was burning a hole in my jacket pocket.
I shook my head as I climbed out of my car. Who in the world besides Ian McCullough would’ve said “Feather buckets” when he couldn’t open a recalcitrant door? I’d heard him say it a hundred times over the years. He’d once explained that when he was a boy, his very proper parents had forbidden him and his brothers to curse in the house, so “feather buckets” was the young boys’ coded way of saying “fuck it.”
I couldn’t believe he still used that stupid phrase. Of course, he probably hadn’t expected an old friend to be hiding just behind the very thin door of that pantry when he uttered those words.
I had no doubt Ian had been looking for the five-thousand-dollar check I’d found and now I was absolutely certain Enrico had been blackmailing him. But why? What had Ian done to make himself vulnerable to someone like Enrico Baldacchio?
I really couldn’t see Ian being a killer. From what I’d heard from inside the pantry closet, Ian had literally stumbled onto Enrico’s body, then torn out of the house as if he’d seen a ghost.
The bad news was, Minka couldn’t have killed Enrico, either. Unless she was an extremely good actress, I seriously doubted her ability to shoot the man in cold blood, drive away, then return a while later, shouting his name like the aforementioned fishwife. Even I was forced to admit she wasn’t that stupid.
So who killed Enrico Baldacchio?
I was suddenly paranoid about walking around this part of town, so I found an old Giants cap in my glove box, wrapped my hair up and shoved it under the cap. I climbed out of the car and met Derek on the busy sidewalk. This section of California Street in the Richmond District catered to the wealthy residents of Sea Cliff. There were boutiques, a cheese shop, a butcher, two bakeries and several chic restaurants.
Derek looked at my cap and nodded in approval, but call me surprised when he put his arm around my shoulder and hauled me in close.
“We’ll call the police from that petrol station,” he said, discreetly pointing out the ARCO station across the street as we walked.
“They’ll probably have a pay phone inside the restaurant,” I said.
“Not a good idea,” he said, nuzzling my neck.
“Oh, right.” I could barely think. “Uh, because they’ll trace the call.”
“They don’t have to trace anything. The location pops up on the screen as soon as the dispatcher picks up the call.”
“Ah. Good to know.” Why didn’t I know that? Maybe because I’d just embarked on this new life of crime and still didn’t know all the ropes.
Derek whispered, “We’ll order something first, then call.”
It seemed wrong to put off the call. Maybe not wrong, exactly, but calculated certainly. Enrico was dead and probably wouldn’t care, but it made me feel callous somehow to allow his body to lie there on the carpet, alone, ignored, while I ordered lunch.
Then again, I didn’t want to be connected to his death any more than I already was. Derek was helping me set up a firewall, so to speak. I should be grateful.
My eyes widened as his jaw brushed my chin. I inhaled deeply and caught the scent of his skin. I wasn’t complaining, but what was going on here? Had all the danger and excitement gotten to him?
I guess it had gotten to me, too, because I stared up at him and my mouth went dry. My appetite for food was history and trust me, that never happens.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked. “I’m not going to faint, you know.”
“I didn’t think you were,” he said quietly in my ear.
I trembled from the breathy contact. “Then what’s going on here?”
He bent his head to gaze at me. “We’re pretending to be completely enamored, of course. If the police think to interview anyone around here, they’ll vaguely recall seeing a couple in love walking down the street. They won’t be able to describe a gorgeous blonde and the handsome buck by her side.”