Add a Pinch of Murder Page 4

  Speaking of sweat pants, both men wore them with bulky zipped-up jackets and running shoes—the exact same wardrobe as back when they worked for her.

  “Hello, and welcome,” Angie called opening her arms wide as they reached her.

  “Miss Angie, good to see you!” Rico said giving her a bear hug.

  “Hey, Miss Angie,” Joey said when it was his turn to nearly smother her in his arms. “Thanks for inviting us.”

  She showed them into her apartment. It seemed like only yesterday they were last here, yet an amazing number of things had happened in the interim, not the least of which was her engagement to Paavo.

  Rico took a couple of steps into the living room then stopped as his gaze went to her large picture window. He put his hands on his hips and took in a view of San Francisco Bay that stretched from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Bay Bridge, with Alcatraz Island claiming the central spot. “You know, Miss Angie, with our job we get sent to a lot of fine places, but your apartment is one of the nicest. I used to enjoy coming here—not, I’m not saying, that you was in a good situation—but if I had to work, working for you was as good as it gets.”

  “Except for the time the pizza delivery man knocked you out,” she said with a grin—and then realized it might not be anything he wanted to be reminded of.

  But Rico chuckled. “That’s right. And he didn’t even leave the pizza.”

  Joey pointed at him and laughed aloud. Then, just as they did back when they were guarding her, the two men went straight to the sofa. It faced the television set, and she was sure the TV had never been played as much as when they spent time in the apartment.

  “Is that an engagement ring on your finger, Miss Angie?” Rico asked.

  She held out her hand to show off a beautiful Siberian blue diamond ring in an elegant marquise cut and Tiffany setting. “Yes. The Inspector and I will be married in four months,” she said. She always called Paavo “the Inspector” back then.

  “Congratulations,” they both told her.

  “We knew it was going to happen,” Joey said. “You two belong together.”

  “I always thought so, too,” Angie admitted.

  She offered them beers, which she remembered them liking, although they never drank on the job. “No, thanks,” Rico said.

  “Me neither,” Joey added.

  “I guess you have to go to work this afternoon,” Angie said.

  “No. We have to look for work this afternoon,” Rico admitted sheepishly.

  “Look for work?” Angie was astonished. “Why? What happened to Hallston and Sons?”

  “Nicky had to fire us.” Joey’s voice was low and sad.

  “He didn’t really want to, but he couldn’t send us out on a job no more,” Rico added.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “You two are wonderful bodyguards.”

  “It’s a long story,” Rico said. “And we don’t want to bother you with it.”

  “But it wasn’t our fault,” Joey added.

  It was on the tip of Angie’s tongue to ask if the firing had anything to do with the Cambry situation, but instead she said, “Let’s have lunch, and you can tell me all about it.”

  The two men oohed and aahed over the delicious meal. As the chicken and waffles vanished from their plates, Angie let them eat as she told them a bit about her life since she last saw them, even talking about the house she and Paavo would be moving to. They were surprised that she would leave such a great apartment. She explained that as much as she loved it, this was her father’s building, and she and Paavo wanted a place that was their own.

  She decided not to go into any detail about the house, and especially not why she and Paavo were able to afford it.

  Finally, the two men’s eating slowed. Soon, both sat back in their chairs, smiles on their faces, and hands on their ever-expanding stomachs, showing their complete enjoyment of the meal.

  Angie cleared the dishes then brought out coffee. “So, tell me what’s going on with your job situation. If you need references, I’d be glad to provide them.”

  “Thank you, Miss Angie,” Joey said. “But I don’t know if that’ll help.”

  “We need to prove we didn’t do nothing wrong,” Rico said. “Because we didn’t. But nobody knows that, and nobody believes us, and now, nobody cares no more what really happened to our client, Oliver Cambry. So we got a big black mark on our records and it’s not going nowhere.”

  “I care what really happened,” she said. “Paavo mentioned to me that you were working for Oliver at that time. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  Joey looked downcast. “All we know is, we was watching Cambry—a rich guy in a big house. He went to bed. The place was all locked up. Everything was quiet, like always, until that morning …”

  “Go on,” Angie urged.

  “I thought it was kind of odd that I didn’t hear him. He was usually awake by five-thirty or six. So, about six-thirty, the housekeeper, Vera, went upstairs with his morning coffee. She found him dead. All of us thought he must of had a heart attack, but later they found out he was poisoned.”

  Angie found that interesting. “Was the housekeeper a live-in?” she asked.

  “No. She’s got a condo around the corner,” Rico said. “The Cambrys own it and let her stay rent-free. The only ones in the house that night was Joey and Oliver Cambry—and whoever robbed and killed him.”

  “But the housekeeper must have a key, right?” Angie asked.

  “Sure,” Joey said.

  “Did the police question her?”

  “Yeah, a lot. But she’d been with the family for thirty years. Nobody thought she would suddenly decide to kill Oliver. From what we saw, she treated him better than anyone else in the family.”

  “Did you know that Vera’s the mother of Cambry’s son-in-law, Kevin Blithe?” Angie asked.

  The two bodyguards glanced at each other. “She told us. We always knew she was more than a housekeeper,” Rico said. “But she never talked about Kevin or Madrigal. All we knew was that she seemed pretty close to Oliver.”

  Angie’s eyebrows rose. “You mean romantically?”

  “No, nothing like that. Not any more, at least. They were more like old friends—good and true friends. I guess she seemed more an equal than an employee,” Joey said.

  “All we know is, we was responsible for locking up the house and keeping him safe, and we failed.” Rico’s voice shook from how incredulous he found the entire episode.

  “I’m sorry,” Angie said.

  “That’s why we was fired,” Rico said.

  “Two months ago,” Joey added.

  “For two months you haven’t worked?” Angie asked. She wondered how they made ends meet.

  “Only a few short jobs here and there,” Rico said, then shrugged. “It’s kind of hard to get work when your rep’s been trashed.”

  The three glumly sipped some coffee. “What do you believe is the truth?” Angie asked. “I heard you mentioned Oliver’s dead wife.”

  “We stopped talking about her, Miss Angie,” Rico said. “Too many people looked at us as if we was crazy … or guilty.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Soon after Joey and Rico left Angie’s apartment to go job hunting, she put in a call to her sister, Caterina, who was a realtor. Cat was the second oldest of Angie’s four sisters. She lived north of the city in Tiburon, a wealthy township on the Bay, with her husband and young son.

  After obligatory inquiries on the health and well-being of her sister’s family, Angie got to the point of her call. “I’m curious about the Cambry mansion on Pacific Avenue. I heard that the family wanted to sell it while Oliver Cambry was alive. Do you know if it’ll be going up for sale one of these days?”

  “You can’t afford it,” Cat said firmly.

  “I don’t want to afford it. I’m just wondering what’s happening with the house.”

  “Don’t tell me you aren’t happy with the place you’re buying,” Cat all but wailed
. She had spent a lot of time helping Angie make the purchase. “You aren’t having second thoughts about your house, are you? I hope you aren’t letting those rumors about ghosts trouble you. You really shouldn’t allow it to bother—”

  “Cat, stop! I love my house and I’m not worried about ghosts. I’m just curious about the Cambry mansion.”

  “I can’t imagine why you’d care,” Cat muttered, clearly not liking having been interrupted. “But, if you must know, the place is already on the market.”

  “Already? Has it been for sale long?”

  “Probably a couple of months. It went on sale soon after Cambry’s death, but it’s way over-priced,” Cat said. “And, I’ve heard about Madrigal Cambry’s husband having a heart attack last night. Does that have anything to do with why you’re asking?”

  “One has nothing to do with the other,” Angie replied.

  “Are you saying you know someone who might want to buy it?” Cat suddenly sounded enthusiastic. “Actually, it’s a fabulous home. Huge. And I’d love to get part of the commission on its sale. In fact, I’ll even give you some of it if you bring me a buyer. They’re asking sixteen-point-nine million.”

  “What?!”

  “That’s right! If I can sell it, my company would get three percent, and I’d get a small sliver of that, but a small sliver is still plenty of money. So, who should I contact about seeing it? I can show it anytime.”

  “I don’t know anyone interested,” Angie said.

  “Oh.” Disappointment dripped over the cell phone ethers.

  “The price is more than I ever imagined. Almost delusional. Like looking for a buyer with too much money and too few brains.”

  “The market is way up these days. God bless speculators. Are you sure you don’t know anyone who’d like such a home?” Cat asked.

  “Are you sure that’s the price?” Angie asked. “It really sounds like a joke.”

  “I never joke about money,” Cat replied, and Angie knew truer words were never spoken.

  “Have you seen the inside?” Angie asked.

  “I haven’t wasted my time.”

  “You know,” Angie said, “maybe if I saw what it looks like, it might help me to come up with someone who’d be interested in it.”

  “Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?”

  o0o

  Paavo and Yosh went to Madrigal Cambry Blithe’s home to talk to her about her husband. Her housekeeper, Vera Carson, opened the door and informed them Mrs. Blithe was with her attorney making funeral arrangements and wasn’t expected back home for another hour or two.

  “We do need to speak to her as soon as possible about her husband,” Paavo said. “Yesterday, you told she was too heavily medicated to speak. So we’re more than a little surprised that she’s out today.”

  “The attorney is an old family friend,” Vera said. She was of medium height, but portly. She wore a high-collared, long-sleeved black dress that probably fit a lot better when she was some ten to fifteen pounds lighter. “He knows how to take care of Madrigal. This has been a great shock … a terrible loss for all of us. I’ll see what I can do about having Mrs. Blithe contact you as soon as she returns.”

  The detectives thanked Mrs. Carson, barely having time to hand her their business cards before she shut the door on them.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Angie drove her silver Mercedes CL600 coupe to Pacific and Laguna streets. In the middle of the block was an imposing Edwardian style home with ivy-covered brick forming most of the facade. Rounded oriel windows with stained glass upper panes were on both sides of an entry with stately white pillars. Beneath the windows were thick shrubs. The shrubs as well as the ivy appeared to be dry and badly neglected. They would soon be as dead if nothing was done to save them. A “For Sale” sign was stuck in the ground in front of a particularly dead bush.

  Angie waited in her car until she saw Cat pull into the home’s driveway, then went to meet her sister.

  “Quite the place,” Cat murmured appreciatively as they climbed the few steps to the front door. She knocked and rang the bell. “I called the listing agent. She said the housekeeper lives around the corner and keeps an eye on the place. The realtor told me if no one answers we should just go in.” After a short wait with no answer, Cat used the real estate agents’ keycard system to unlock the front door.

  “Helloooo,” Cat stepped inside, then turned to Angie. “Looks like we’re here alone.”

  Angie followed on Cat’s heels, but felt a chill as she entered a large foyer. Formal rooms were on both sides of the foyer while straight ahead was a long, stately staircase to the second floor. To the side of the stairs a hallway extended to the back of the house, most likely to the kitchen.

  Angie folded her arms against the cold. The outside might have been warm and stately, but the interior was dark. The bottom half of the foyer walls consisted of dark wood paneling and the upper halves were covered with yellow and brown floral wallpaper. “Now that I’m here, I wonder if this was a good idea.”

  “Of course it was,” Cat insisted. “The house is beautiful!”

  “It’s creeping me out,” Angie admitted. Cat in her “sales mode” was really hard to take.

  “Don’t be silly.” Cat went into the parlor, running her fingers over the furniture. “Worth every penny, I’m sure. A dream house for some lucky person.”

  Again, Angie followed. The parlor was surprisingly small with a cozy fireplace. Doors opened from it to a well-stocked library. Angie made a U-turn and headed to the opposite side of the foyer. There, she found a large formal living room with double doors that opened to an equally formal dining room. She imagined grand Victorian-era dinner parties were once held here.

  From the dining room, Angie entered a small butler’s pantry, then a breakfast room, and finally a large albeit old-fashioned kitchen. Throughout the ground floor, many of the public rooms were furnished with large, dark pieces of furniture, dark-hued paintings hung on walls, and Grecian-style statuary lurked in nooks and crannies. Heavy drapery blocked any sunlight from entering the house, resulting in an overall sense of dread and oppression.

  Dream house, indeed, Angie thought.

  Also, for some reason, despite the number and dimensions of the rooms, Angie was struck with the sense that something was “off” about the house, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  As Angie went from room to room, she looked for possible entrances or any means for someone to have slipped past Joey and Rico. There weren’t many. Aside from the front entry, the kitchen had a door that led to a rather small two-car garage, and both the kitchen and dining room had doors that led to a covered porch and the back yard beyond it. The ground floor windows could also have been potential points of entry, although all were part of a security system.

  Cat, who had stopped somewhere on the tour to take a phone call, caught up with her. “Imposing, isn’t it?”

  “That’s one word for it all right,” Angie muttered.

  She and Cat then climbed up to the second floor to check out the bedrooms. Rico and Joey had been right about the stairs—the squeaks were loud and persistent. On the second floor, the stairs ended at a central hallway. On one side, overlooking the street, were two nicely appointed guest bedrooms with a shared Jack-and-Jill bathroom.

  In the middle of the floor she found a large storage closet and bathroom, plus two plainly furnished tiny bedrooms, hardly bigger than closets themselves, as if they had been used as “servant’s quarters” in older times, or in more modern times, for live-in help or not-to-be-trusted children.

  At the back of the house facing northward were two generous suites. The furniture in the smaller of the suites was covered with sheets as if waiting for an owner to return from a long journey. The other suite, Angie was sure, had been Oliver Cambry’s. It was lavishly furnished with rich drapery and a high four-poster bed covered with pillows.

  Cat flung open the drapes. “The listing agent really needs to open thes
e before showing this place. Just look at this view. If you stand over here and lean a bit to the left, you can even see a little of the bay. How nice! Too bad so many houses are in the way.”

  Angie joined her at the window. Looking downward, she saw a large back yard surrounded by a wooden fence. The grounds were in need of weeding and a lot more water than they seemed to be getting. Beyond the fence, she could see the tops of other large, valuable homes.

  She was stumped. This wouldn’t be an easy house to break into, and even if it were, walking on the floorboards heading up the stairs and even in the upper hallway sounded like a poor rendition of the Anvil Chorus. She couldn’t imagine Joey or Rico missing someone tramping through this place. No wonder they decided the killer must have been a ghost. And looking around, she could understand why anyone would say the house was haunted.

  “What do you think of all this?” Cat asked.

  “It looks like a museum piece,” Angie said. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting—” She heard a sound, one of the squeaky floorboards on the stairs. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Cat no sooner got the words from her lips when there was another sound. This one Cat heard. “It must be another realtor.”

  “Why didn’t she ring the bell and call out the way you did?” Angie asked in a whisper.

  “Well, she should have, but who knows?” Cat whispered back.

  Just then, they heard footsteps in the hall. The steps grew louder as they neared the master bedroom.

  “Hello?” Cat called.

  No one answered. Cat and Angie moved closer to each other as the oppressiveness of the house, the foreboding sense of mystery that filled it, struck them both.

  Cat grabbed Angie’s hand. The sisters stood side-by-side, shoulders touching, wondering who—or what—might be coming toward them.

  A tall, dark form created a silhouette against the dim hall light.

  “What are you doing here?” a woman’s voice demanded, and then she strode into the bedroom.

  Angie recognized her. “Madrigal!”