Murder by Devil's Food Page 9

  Angie also understood her second sister, Caterina, or Cat as she started calling herself around the time she dyed her hair platinum blond. Like Bianca, she grew up with little material wealth, but then became the most materialistic of all the girls, wanting the best of everything. She couldn't hold a conversation without talking about money or possessions. The world according to Cat was there for the buying.

  Angie even understood Frannie, or more properly, Francesca. She had missed the hardship of the eldest sisters, but wasn't the baby of the family and so hadn't been coddled the way Angie had—a situation she still seemed to resent.

  But sister number three, Maria, had always been a mystery. Maria was highly religious, and everyone thought she would become a nun. Instead, she ran off with a sexy but hard-living jazz musician. He and Maria owned the Jazz Workshop, where Klee's quintet played when they weren't touring. He cut down his crazy travel schedule a bit after their son was born. Still, at times, Angie wondered if Maria didn't regard her marriage to Dominic Klee as some sort of penance—maybe for lust. She was happy, though, and Angie couldn't imagine a more disparate couple—except maybe her and Paavo.

  Maria was a blithe spirit. She looked beyond the world around her to a different plane. Little bothered her, and she was the complete opposite of the materialistic Cat. She wore no makeup and rarely cut her long, black hair, wearing it loose or in a single braid down her back.

  Even though Angie didn't understand her, she hoped Maria could give her the advice she was seeking.

  "So what's up, Angie?" Maria asked, pouring her a cup of peach-flavored tea, caffeine free, as she stepped back to study the layout.

  It was one of Angie's least favorite drinks, but she took it out of politeness.

  "I want to know what it takes to be a good friend. How do you go about it?" Angie asked.

  Maria cocked her head as she switched the lettering from the bottom to the top of the ad. "Me? I don't know if I am one, frankly. I have too many faults. I'm not a good enough person." That was typical Maria-speak. Angie knew her sister wasn't half as humble as she pretended to be. "Why are you asking about this?"

  "I'm just feeling a little down, I guess," Angie admitted. She and Connie had had a lot of fun together, and she missed it. "Maybe there's something wrong with me as a person."

  "Who has you questioning yourself this way?" Maria asked, horrified by what she was hearing.

  "Well, Paavo said—"

  "Men! You can't listen to them. They just don't get it."

  "Maybe it's my fault that I don't have lots of friends like you do."

  "Me? Don't look to me as an example. I'm around a lot of people with Dom's quintet, but that doesn't mean they're friends." She sighed soulfully. "I believe my truest friends aren't of this world, Angie."

  That took her aback. "They're not?"

  "No. They're from..." She cast her gaze heavenward.

  "They are?" Angie said, forgetting her dislike of peach tea and swallowing a mouthful.

  "The saints listen to me, listen to my troubles and woes, and my happy times as well. They give me love and guidance. I couldn't do without them." Maria tapped on the keyboard and moved the lettering back to the bottom of the ad.

  "I've heard of people saying they talk to saints, but you sound like they answer you back." Surely Maria was joking, Angie thought, as she stared dubiously at the tea. It was like no peach she'd ever tasted.

  "Of course they do. Otherwise what would be the use of talking to them? I tell them all my secrets, and they never tell anyone else. They're very good that way."

  "I would guess so," Angie murmured.

  "Other people come and go in my life." She removed the lettering altogether. "Some are a pleasant surprise, others disappoint. But the saints are forever. They're my friends, Angie. My true friends. If you made them your friends, you wouldn't have to worry about them ever shitting on you."

  "No," she gulped, shocked to hear her saintly sister use such a word. It sounded all but sacrilegious. "I guess not. I'd better get going."

  "Wait." Maria pulled a paperback from her handbag. "You can borrow this, but I'll want it back. Read it, it'll help you."

  With a sinking heart, Angie read the title of the book: Living a Saintly Life.

  o0o

  Paavo knocked on the front door of a well-maintained home in an upper-class neighborhood. Cautiously, the front door opened and a dark brown eye appeared. Paavo flashed his badge. "Are you Kalvin Fender?"

  The young man pulled the door wide enough so Paavo could see most of his face, pale with sleepy eyes. He had on a misshapen black sweatshirt and black slacks. "Yeah, that's me." His words were heavy and slurred.

  "Did you know Ted Colton?"

  "Yeah." Fender's voice turned soft. "I heard he bought it."

  "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

  He stiffened. "I don't know nothing."

  "You might know more than you think. First, how old are you?"

  "Twenty. Why?"

  "In that case, your parents don't need to be here while we talk. Can I come in?"

  "You have a search warrant?"

  Paavo stared coldly at him. "I'm not here to search, just to ask a few questions. You can handle this however you'd like, but we will talk."

  Fender opened the door wide to let Paavo enter. "My Mom's at work. So's my Dad."

  Paavo entered a spotless living room furnished in yellow gingham with ruffles and frills galore, and yet with a strangely staged feel to it. Despite the hominess of the décor, he felt little warmth in this household.

  He began by taking down basic information about Fender, who he learned worked at the same Vampyrika call center as Ted did. "Tell me about Ted," Paavo said. "Had he talked about killing himself?"

  Fender had hopped onto the sofa, legs crossed under him. "It's not unheard of these days."

  "So he talked about it?"

  "We all do, man. Life's not worth much, you know. Not the way things are." Fender brushed a lock of blue hair aside. It was the only long lock of hair on his head. The rest was about a quarter-inch long and looked like black stubble. His hands, as he pushed aside his hair, were grungy with dirt under the nails and a chunky silver ring on every finger and thumb. Paavo couldn't help but wonder what a woman who would furnish her home this way thought of her son's appearance.

  "Do you think he committed suicide?"

  "Probably. It's kinda 'in' these days, you know."

  Paavo didn't want to think about that. "Any idea what would drive him to it?"

  "I don't know. Maybe he was scared," Fender offered.

  "Scared of what?"

  "That he'd be found out."

  "Tell me."

  "He was...a vampire." Fender stopped talking, obviously waiting for Paavo's reaction to this so-called revelation.

  "I thought vampires were supposed to live forever, and that they killed others, not themselves," Paavo said with as little emotion or cynicism in his voice as he could muster. No one had ever told him how much of an actor he would need to be in his job.

  "Yeah, but it's a crappy life," Fender said.

  "Are you one as well?" Paavo asked.

  Fender smirked. "If I was, I sure wouldn't admit it to a cop. A lot of people are, though. It's part of our way."

  "Our?" Paavo asked. "Who do you mean?"

  Fender suddenly backed off. "I don't know. I mean, we're just a group of guys, a few girls. Friends. We hang out, that's all."

  "Except that one of your friends might have killed himself. Or was killed."

  "He was wigged out, man. Probably got some bad ... uh ... liquor."

  "Where do you and your friends meet?"

  "Nowhere special. We go to each other's places, that's all."

  "Tell me some of their names."

  "I can't do that, man. I can't rat on my friends to the cops. They'd never talk to me again."

  "Look, Ted Colton is dead. We want to find out why and how. And we especially want to make sure he
wasn't given an assist off that building, understand?"

  "Well, if he was, it wouldn't have been from any of us." Fender abruptly broke off his words.

  "Oh?" Paavo asked.

  "Ted said he saw some weird old dude hanging around. He thought the guy was some vampire slayer or something. He told us to watch out for him. I thought it was a joke, you know. Something he said to make life a little exciting for us. It gets real dull sometimes. Life sucks, then you die, you know?"

  Paavo waited.

  Fender began to play with his thumb nail. "But what if it's not a joke?" he said quietly. "What if it's true and a vampire killer found Ted? That could be what happened."

  Paavo knew the kid was acting. He was willing to go along, up to a point. "Do you know his name?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever seen him?"

  "No."

  Paavo drew in his breath. "If you believe one friend was a vampire and therefore murdered, what about the others? Aren't you all in danger?"

  "Holy shit, man, we're in for it! I'm really scared."

  "Knock it off, Fender."

  The kid stared at him. Paavo returned the look, and before long Fender dropped his eyes.

  "What's really going on?" Paavo said. "This isn't a game anymore."

  Fender continued to worry the thumbnail, as if looking for guidance on how much he should or shouldn't tell. Finally, he shrugged. "The hell with it. The closest me and Colton came to being vampires was eating raw meat from Albertson's. We once got our hands on a bottle of human blood from a blood bank and tried to drink it. Do you know what that shit tastes like?"

  "So why would Colton kill himself?"

  "Hell, man, I don't know!"

  "Where did you hear about this vampire killer?"

  "I'm not sure. A bunch of people were talking about him."

  "What people?"

  "At work. Ted found a little bottle of holy water on his car and started asking who put it there. It freaked him out."

  Paavo had learned quite a bit about Catholic rites and symbols since attending pre-marital classes at Angie's church. "How did you know it was holy water?"

  "Ted said so. He brought it into the shop and was waving it around, questioning people. It was in a little glass bottle with a gold cross on it. A Christian cross."

  "What did he do with the bottle?"

  "I don't know. Hell, he probably threw it in the garbage. I would have."

  "Colton said he knew Heather Kim. You, too?"

  "Ted had a thing for her, but she wouldn't give him the time of day."

  "Did you go to the Danse Macabre with them?"

  He gawked, surprised at the question. "Not often. It was a nothing place."

  "I'd like a list of others who went there and knew you, Ted, and Heather."

  "I told you I can't do that, man," Fender whined.

  "If there's some guy who thinks he's a vampire slayer lurking around, he might not be play-acting, Fender. One of your friends might know something to stop whoever is behind this. You owe it to them to tell me."

  "I should call them first."

  "Look, you can give me the list now—a complete list—or you can call and get their okays from the police station. Your choice."

  o0o

  Paavo was back at work when the information he had requested came in. He immediately phoned Angie. "I checked up on your new employee and the one you're thinking about hiring." As she began to complain, he added, "I know how trusting you are of people—often too trusting. I just needed to be sure these two are who they claim to be."

  Without waiting, he launched into his findings. "Kylie Zee isn't shown in birth records or DMV licenses in this state, but she did use the name when she worked for a few restaurants in the Los Angeles area. It's not unknown to change names, I guess. But, I'm sorry to tell you, Edward Bowie, aka 'Danger,' has no records that I could find."

  "That's hard to believe considering I saw his driver's license," she said with more than a little sarcasm.

  "It could be phony."

  "Or the DMV records just might be wrong. Everyone knows they're a mess. He's a nice guy, Paavo. A little mixed up in the way he dresses and does his hair, but that's not a crime. I like him, and I know Kylie does, although she pretends not to."

  "I don't care how 'nice' he seems. I don't think you should hire him."

  "Trust me on this, Paavo. I've got a good feeling about him."

  "I worry about you."

  "I know. I love you. We'll talk about it more tonight."

  And how, Paavo thought.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "You have sisters?" Kylie asked, as she and Angie were baking cupcakes the next afternoon.

  After her discussion with Paavo about Danger the night before, Angie had needed to make some arrangements that morning. Now, everything was in place.

  "Four sisters; no brothers," Angie replied.

  "That must have been fun when you were growing up," Kylie said, her voice suddenly wistful. "Do they all look like you?"

  "Kind of, except for one who dyed her hair platinum blond." Angie shuddered.

  Kylie smiled. "Do you see them very often?"

  "Sometimes more than I'd like to. They all live nearby—in the city or close to it. How about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

  To her surprise, Kylie's eyes reddened, and she hastily lowered her head. "A sister. She's a kid, only seventeen," Kylie said.

  "Is she in Los Angeles?" Angie asked, wondering if the cause of Kylie's tears was homesickness.

  "No." Firmly, Kylie shook her head, squaring her shoulders. "She's out on her own. Our mom died, and our father remarried, and his new wife—well, we both went out on our own at an early age."

  "I see," Angie said, not sure that she did, but feeling bad that she'd upset Kylie and not wanting to cause her any more heartache.

  "You're lucky to have family around you," Kylie said. "And I imagine you have a lot of girlfriends to have fun with as well. You're a lucky person."

  "I don't know about that," Angie said ruefully, her mind going to Connie. She couldn't discuss her. The subject was too hurtful.

  "Really?" Kylie said. "Do you—"

  She was interrupted by the doorbell, which was followed by Stan's shave-and-a-haircut knock on the door.

  "Hi. The luscious smell of freshly baked cupcakes wafted across the city from your place to mine," Stan said. "I thought I'd see how you're doing since you aren't at Connie's anymore."

  "Come in. We'll have some cupcakes left over, I'm sure."

  "Left over cupcakes. My favorite," Stan said as they entered the kitchen.

  Kylie grinned. "Now, that's funny."

  Angie made introductions.

  As she peered at the two of them, an idea popped into her head. "Stan was my neighbor before I moved to this house," she said. "I don't see him much. His job at the bank takes up a lot of his time." That'll be the day. "He's an assistant vice president, almost."

  Stan gawked at her. "Why—"

  Angie kicked him.

  "A vice president," Kylie said, measuring water into the mixing bowl. "That's impressive."

  "He lives alone," Angie continued, "and comes over here for home cooked food. He especially loves pastry."

  "Does he?" Kylie glanced up at him as she stirred the buttercream frosting.

  "I like good food of all varieties." Stan puffed out his narrow chest.

  "Are you a man who likes to bake?" Kylie asked playfully, adding a little more water. "I didn't know there was such a thing."

  "I like to eat," he answered.

  She laughed.

  Kylie's ability to laugh at Stan's awful jokes was a definite plus, Angie thought.

  "Stan can help us decorate the cupcakes," Angie said. "He's quite artistic."

  "I am?" Stan looked stunned.

  Angie nudged him closer to Kylie. "You help Kylie with the frosting while I mix another batch of cupcake batter."

  Stan smiled as the two w
orked. "This is great, Angie. Your kitchen hums. I'm glad you've finally found someone who actually wants to be helpful."

  "What do you mean?" Kylie asked.

  "Her friend Connie hated helping her. I thought they were buddies through thick and thin," Stan said. "Was I wrong!"

  The room began to swirl as blood rushed to Angie's head. This was too much. Even Stan knew Connie didn't really like her! How gullible she'd been. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

  "Who's Connie?" Kylie asked.

  "No one I want to talk about," Angie announced curtly. "Let's finish frosting these cupcakes and putting the Star Wars fondants on them. They'll need to be delivered soon to make the birthday party."

  Angie's doorbell caused her to leave them. Danger was a little early to pick up the birthday cupcakes, which she took as a good sign. She had asked him to leave off his earrings, eye makeup and colored hairspray, and wear clothes a little less off-putting to her customers. He showed up in blue jeans, a Nike tee-shirt, and brown leather bomber jacket, with his hair combed to the side instead of spiked. To Angie's amazement, he was actually good looking.

  "I leased a minivan for the business this morning," Angie said. Paavo had been insistent that she not deliver cupcakes to stranger's homes, so she felt hiring someone else to do it was a decent compromise. And she was sure that Paavo was worried about Danger only because he'd never met the man. She had, and particularly after watching him and Kylie interact, she was sure he was no danger to anyone—despite his name. "That's it parked across the street. You'll be using it to make deliveries."

  "Nice," he said.

  "The keys are on the table by the door. Let's go into the kitchen. We've got custom cupcakes for the birthday party in the Richmond district, and plain pink and green ones for the senior center on California Street. You'll have only those two deliveries today. By the way, Kylie's here, and so is my former neighbor, Stan."

  "Oh?" Danger walked into the kitchen to see Kylie plopping a glob of frosting into Stan's mouth. Stan smiled at her, his gaze beyond ecstatic.

  Danger frowned. "Hey, Kylie."

  Angie couldn't help but notice Danger's jealous reaction. Of course, she was certain Stan's lustful gaze was far more for the frosting than the woman feeding it to him.