Broken Serenade (10 page)

   
“I suggest you start writing crime novels, Nicky boy. With your imagination, who knows? You could hit the jackpot! No kiddin’! In the mean time, dust and clean the office next to this one. Don’t forget to take out the garbage. Miss Hopkins will be here in less than half an hour.”    

   
“Oh, I’ll get some coffee started then.”

   
“Miss Hopkins doesn’t drink coffee. She made that clear yesterday in the store.”

   
“Maybe she did it only to evade the suspects list. We found two coffee cups at the crime scene. One with no fingerprints and no traces of lips or saliva. I just found out that Miss Morgan has drunk from the other one - possibly her last coffee, poor girl.”  

   
“Ok, Alberman, do whatever you want,” the detective said, exasperated. “Just watch out, too much coffee could be to blame in your case.”

   
Alberman didn’t get the detective’s innuendo. He shrugged his shoulders and left the office a bit confused.

CHAPTER 7

      
 
M
enlo Avenue was crowded with cars and people, and Vivien encountered difficulties localizing “Vernisaj” painting studio. When she finally found its address, she had to drive around a couple of times until she discovered a convenient parking place.     

   
She had finished the meeting unexpectedly quickly at the police station. Detective Art Leonard had welcomed her very politely, and then he had abandoned her in the company of officer Alberman. The young cop had invited her at least three times to taste his
heavenly
coffee. His insistence had grated on her nerves.  

   
“You should study a foreign language or try to memorize math formulas,” Vivien had advised him as she had taken her leave.

   
“You don’t say! Seriously?” Alberman had asked her quizzically.

   
“Well, yeah! I hear that it does wonders for one’s memory,” Vivien had replied sharply, handing him back the untouched coffee cup.   

   
The weather had warmed up again in the Bay Area. As she broke into a run crossing Menlo Avenue, Vivien recalled her grandmother’s wise words:
If you don’t like the weather in Menlo Park, just wait three days!

    Vivien
was eager now to escape that hot midday sun. The Italian restaurant placed at the corner of the street provided welcoming shade, and she rushed under its green umbrellas.  

   
A few quick steps and she arrived in front of “Vernisaj” painting studio. She read the note on the door:
Lunch Break.

   
Damn it! Nothing works today!
  She fumed her disappointment and strove to distinguish something inside, picking through the dark red drapes that elegantly covered the huge windows.

   
All of a sudden, the heavy glass door cracked open. A tall, thin young man stepped outside and called her name.

   
“Vivien, come inside! I was waiting for you, ma chérie,” he said, smiling sadly. “I knew you would come.” 

   
“Igor?”

   
The young man opened his arms, and Vivien received his enthusiastic embrace reticently.  

   
“Mon Dieu, what a beauty you’ve become! Tu es très jolie, mademoiselle!” 

   
“You look very good yourself, Igor,” Vivien tried an unsuccessful compliment.

   
Though a good-looking man, with an appealing French allure that surely made him interesting to lots of women, at that moment, Igor seemed downcast – to say the least! A vague smell of perspiration floated around him. He was unshaven, and he burst into tears as soon as she entered the studio. The ample sleeves of his sweater, knitted in all colors of the rainbow, covered his face, but did little to muffle his sobs.     

   
Vivien’s heart melted with pity. She put her hands on his shoulders.

   
“My God, Igor! What’s the matter with you? I haven’t seen you in fifteen years. I didn’t imagine that I would find you again in such a depressed state of mind.”

   
“I’m heartbroken. I lost my angel. I loved her, Vivien. I loved her so much! She was so beautiful, so sexy, provocative, and full of joy and happiness. She was everything I ever wanted in a woman.” 

   
Vivien needed only a couple of seconds to understand that Igor was the
phenomenal
,
unrivalled
, mysterious boyfriend of poor Arlene.

    “You never came to the store.
Why? Arlene has never even mentioned your name. Why all the secrecy?”

   
“I knew that you hated me when we were kids. I didn’t want Arlene to suffer because of my teenage years sins.”

   
“Well, you used to be a genuine jackass if you want to know my sincere opinion. And I was afraid of you back then,” Vivien said, laughing softly at the sudden memory of him. “You practically enjoyed terrorizing me. I thought you were mean and evil.”

   
“I know,” Igor admitted, smiling amid traces of tears. “I had heard that you loved squirrels, and I started shooting arrows at them to scare you even more. I was a moron.
Mon Dieu!
It had gotten into my head that I looked more macho if I displayed misdeeds in abundance. Quelle idée stupide!”

    Without any preamble, Vivien changed the topic of their conversation.

   
“Tell me, Igor, what do you know about Arlene? I’m sure it must be painful for you to talk about her now. It is for me too. Believe me! Arlene and I were friends. We spent a lot of time together in the store, and I had grown fond of her. Beneath that ton of make-up and those extravagant clothes, she had a warm and loving heart. I need to find out more about her, Igor. And I know you can help me. Was she meeting other men? Did the police talk to you?”

   
“No, not yet. I guess they don’t know about me. We kept our relationship secret. I had my reasons, she had hers… All I know is that, at the night club where she danced…”

   
“Arlene danced in a night club?” Vivien asked stupefied.

   
“She didn’t tell you that?”

    “Hell no! I don’t think that’s something I would’ve forgotten.”

    “OK, I guess she was afraid you might give her the boot. She was an exotic dancer at the Gentlemen’s Club in Redwood City for only two hours per night. An extremely well paid part-time job that I personally detested. It was also supposed to be temporary. There is more to this story… Anyway, I have something for you. It’s a tape. You have to watch it. Aaaah… What can I tell you, Vivien? She stumbled upon it in my movies collection. Then she came up with this crazy idea to dance at the club wrapped up only in a yellow silk scarf. The next day she confessed that an effeminate photographer with a cocky English accent wanted to take pictures of her. That’s all I know. Last time I saw her, she came to my apartment, and we had a fight because of that. Oh, God!” Igor fell apart again, his sobs even more heartbreaking now.   

   
Vivien gathered him in her arms in a desperate effort to comfort him. It was quite unnerving to see a man crying like that.  

   
“Igor, Igor, it’s not your fault,” the young woman said empathically. “She fell into the killing hands of some psychopath.”  

   
“You don’t understand, Vivien! It is my fault,” he insisted. “I should’ve destroyed that tape before she could find it. But it has Nadine on it, you’ll see. She’s dead too. I can feel it deep in my soul. Nadine wouldn’t have abandoned me for anything in the world. Nadine truly loved me. And I loved her too. So much… And God knows, not only as a brother…”

   
“Igor, shush now! Please say nothing more! You may regret later that you’ve confessed to me.” 

    “I’m sorry, Vivien,” he said
, trying to compose himself. “How did you find me? You found the painting, didn’t you?”

    Vivien nodded.

    “You’re such a talented artist, Igor. The painting is splendid! It mesmerizes the viewer.” 

    “Merci, chérie!” H
e thanked her with a perfect French accent, and his eyes shone for a second, moved by her sincere compliment. Then he quickly dismissed the matter, as quite unimportant. “Your grandmother was such a smart woman. She gave me the best advice. And I listened to her, I knew she was right… I had a premonition… But for the life of me, I just couldn’t finish the job. I could not destroy that damned tape. Now it’s too late. And now, I want you to see it too. No one should know about it, just you and me. You can actually keep it. Do whatever you want to do with it. You’re smart. You’ll make the best choice.”  

   “Thank you, Igor. I am so curious now. What in God’s name is on this tape?”

   
He let out a deep sight. “One night, before Nadine’s planned wedding, I followed them to the beach…”

   
The chime of the front door brusquely cut his narration. Igor got up and wiped his face with his sleeve once again. Vivien produced a Kleenex from her purse.

   
“It works much better than your sleeve,” she said smiling. 

   
The man before her answered with a nod, chuckling embarrassed.

   
“Let’s meet tomorrow around noon at Whole Foods in Redwood City. It’s a quiet place across from Old Navy and Borders.”

   
“I know where it is,” Vivien assured him.

   
“Does 12:30 work for you?”

   
“It’s perfect. Then…
à demain
! Take good care of yourself, Igor,” she advised him with a concerned look.  

   
“You too, ma chérie. Don’t trust anyone, Vivien,” he told her and embraced her quickly. 

   
A young woman with a sickly thin appearance announced in a hoarse, smokers voice:

   
“Hey, Ig, I brought you hot donuts and coffee.”

   
A black T-shirt and a pair of over-used jeans covered her skinny body with the same grace and elegance as if they were hanging on a stick. 

   
Vivien turned back and whispered in his ear:

   
“Don’t eat that garbage, Igor! Go to the restaurant next door and buy a soup.”

   
Igor gave her a short kiss on the cheek.

   
“You don’t imagine the joy you brought to my heart just coming here,” he told her, pushing a fine strand of hair from her face.

   
“Ig, have you told the young lady about my creams?” the skinny girl asked.

   
“Oh, I forgot! Clair sells Avon creams. I’ll let you two discuss the matter.”

   
Evidently ignoring the sign in the window, an older man entered the studio.

   
“I’m sorry sir, but we’re closed – lunch break,” Igor explained.

     Clair intervened immediately.

    “I invited the gentleman.”

   
“OK,” Igor replied and went behind the curtains.

   
“Good afternoon, doctor!” Clair greeted beaming.

   
The man smiled too. He leaned nonchalantly on an adjacent desk and ran his hand through his white and thick hair. Clair started to converse with him, giving the idea that they knew each other very well. From their bizarre dialogue, Vivien couldn’t quite understand if the man were Clair’s gynecologist, dentist, or her pussy’s veterinarian. As he exchanged colorful jokes with the other woman, he fixed his small, light-blue eyes on Vivien, boldly examining every curve of her body. The situation made Vivien feel extremely uncomfortable. She tried to escape as soon as possible.   

   
“Maybe we should leave the creams for some other time, Clair.”

   
“No, no, no,” Clair said quickly. “Just a minute, I want to give you some samples. Maybe you like something, and you’ll be ready to buy it next time you come by.”

   
The girl opened a drawer and took a handful of cream samples.

   
“Doc, could you pull that handle you’re leaning on and give me a plastic bag, please?” Clair demanded politely.

     The man did what
he had been asked to do. Moreover, he opened the plastic bag and proceeded himself to put the samples inside it. With a content grin, he handed it to Vivien. She took it, thanked, and left right away.  

   
That is a particularly strange and creepy character,
she thought, feeling repulsion and the acute need to wash her hands after his damp and cold fingers had touched hers.  

   
As she crossed the street back where she had left her car, Vivien realized that she didn’t have a rock-solid plan for her next escapade. Playing by ear was not her style, but this time, she would have to deal with the situation in an impromptu fashion.
Normally, Timothy shouldn’t be home at this hour in the middle of the day,
she reasoned with herself. With anyone else, she was sure she wouldn’t have any problem. She recalled an article recently published on the Internet. The reporter had specified that – surprisingly - most of the burglaries happen around noon. He had gone on to explain that many people leave the house for only an hour or so, and often they forget to lock a door or a window, making it easier for the intruder.