Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) (19 page)

The two had died thirty years ago, but their friends and
possibly others in their families were most likely still alive. For all she
knew, they had brothers and sisters who could shed light on them. Even the
former homicide inspectors on the case might be available to talk with,
although the less she involved Paavo or Homicide, the happier she would be.

Angie was a woman on a mission as she went to City Hall and
got copies of Natalie and Eric’s death records. With the information on them,
she went to genealogy programs on the internet and began to search for family
members so she could talk to them and find out what, if
anything,
went on in Eric and Natalie’s lives that might have made them a killer’s
target.

She knew that sometimes when tragedy first strikes, people
are too shocked, too hurt, to think clearly. But the passage of time can help
the mind make connections that were lost in the emotion of the moment.

Eric’s parents, Benjamin and Irene Fleming, lived in San
Rafael, just north of San Francisco. She telephoned and was surprised when
Irene answered. She took a deep breath. No way could she tell a mother that
some people suspected her son haunted his former abode. Instead, she came up
with a story of being a journalist and writing a magazine article on unsolved
murders in San Francisco, and wondered if the Flemings would talk to her.

Both were available at six o’clock that very evening.

Angie drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and arrived right
on time.

“I’m surprised anyone is interested in Eric’s death this
many years later,” Ben said. He and his wife were well into their 80’s and
still living in the same house as they did at the time of Eric’s murder.

Angie was prepared for this. “I know that for many people,
finding out why a tragedy happened and the person responsible helps bring
closure. I’m hoping that you feel that way and would be willing to help me
out.”

Irene perched on the edge of the sofa. She found a Kleenex
in her pocket and held it scrunched up in her hand. “I often thought my husband
and I were the only people in the whole world who remembered Eric, or cared
about what really happened to him. Many seem to believe he committed suicide.
He would never do such a thing. Someone murdered him;
he
and Natalie both. I’m glad you’re looking into the case. It might help.”

“I hope so,” Angie said. “I’m sure the police asked this
question time and again, but can you tell me anything about him the days before
his death? Was he happy with his wife? Did he ever say anyone scared him or
threatened him?”

“He seemed happy and devoted to Natalie,” Irene said.
“And never seemed afraid of anyone.”

“Irene?” Ben said as he looked at her long and hard. Finally,
she gave a reluctant nod. “There was one thing we should mention,” he said
softly to Angie. “It didn’t come out at the time because we didn’t think it
important and it would only cast a cloud over his life, but he had a lot of
women around him.
A lot
of women.
He was very
good looking, and had money.” Ben shrugged. “It was to be expected, I suppose.”

“I see,” Angie said, suddenly uncomfortable over the way
this nice couple opened up to her. “And you think that might have contributed
to his death?”

“Not really, but we thought someone who might be able to use
the information should know about it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling even guiltier now. She
decided to end this sham of a conversation. “Tell me, was Eric an only child?”

“No, we have a son
who’s
one year
older than Eric, and a daughter who’s eight years younger.”

“Would it be possible for me to talk with your son?”

“Certainly, but I have no idea what he could tell you that
we can’t.”

Angie gently said, “I have four sisters, and I must admit that
we don’t tell our parents everything.”

Irene wrote down her oldest son’s name and address. “Here
you go.”

Bill Fleming, Eric’s older brother, lived in Vacaville.
Since Angie was already in the
north bay
, she asked
Irene to phone and see if Bill was home and willing to speak to her. He was.

“Thank you for looking into this for us,” Irene said to
Angie after she hung up the phone. “I know Eric didn’t kill his wife or
himself. People who say that simply didn’t know him.”

“I believe he’s innocent as well,” Angie said. She was about
to step out the door when a question came to mind. She nearly dismissed it, but
then decided to ask. “I’ve read that Natalie had a dog who was very devoted to
her. Do you know what kind of a dog it was?”

“Oh, yes,” Irene said with a small smile. “I remember him.
He was a sweet little thing. All the neighbors took care of him until he died
of old age. His name was Jock. He was a West Highland Terrier, and white as
snow.”

Angie felt a cold chill ripple down her back as she walked
out of the house.

 
o0o

Angie drove Highway 37 to Bill Fleming’s home, arriving
about an hour later. Bill didn’t have his brother’s good looks, or if he once
had them, they had long dissolved into a mostly bald pate, large, round
stomach, and weak eyes covered by thick tortoise shell glasses.

 “Eric…he was the golden boy,” Bill said. He and Angie
sat in his living room. “Most of the time, people say, it’s the eldest son that
gets all the attention. In olden times, the eldest was the heir apparent, and
younger sons didn’t much matter. That wasn’t the case at our house.

“Ironically, things only got worse after Eric died. From
that point on, no one could ever live up to him. Sometimes I thought my parents
wished I had been the one who died instead of Eric, but eventually I realized
that wasn’t the case. They put him on a pedestal precisely because he was dead.
He couldn’t disappoint them any longer, but remained frozen in time and was, to
them, perfect.”

“Wow, you sound as if he wasn’t the ideal son they thought him
to be,” Angie said.

Bill’s mouth crumpled with distaste. “Maybe I’m being too
harsh, but I got pretty sick of him over the years. I didn’t do so
bad
in my life! I’ve retired from a good
job,
I’ve got a wife, two kids, seven—”

“Maybe you can tell me more about Eric,” Angie suggested.
When she saw the hurt look on Bill’s face, she knew what the problem was. No
one was interested in him. And neither was she.

“Fine, then,” he said angrily. “You want to know about
Prince Eric, I’ll tell you. He threw away his money, drank too much, did pot,
even LSD for a time. After he started to make a lot of money on those stupid,
nerdy, Silicon Valley start-ups, he turned to cocaine. That burned through his
money like nobody’s business.”

“I see,” Angie was shocked. She hadn’t expected that. “Does
that mean his marriage wasn’t as perfect as everyone liked to say?”

Bill squeezed his eyes shut as if he was struggling with his
answer, then he gave a shake of the head and looked at her. “He was a charmer,
our Eric, but I think he really did love his wife. I can’t see him shooting
her. And definitely not shooting
himself
. Come to
think of it, none of this is particularly helpful to you. He was clean by the
time he died, I’m sure.
Anyway, just thought I’d mention it.”

“Thank you,” she said. “There’s one other thing I wonder
about. Your brother and his wife were both wealthy, so I’m surprised to learn
he lived in a rental. Do you have any idea what was going on there?”

“That’s easy. They bought some land near Carmel, on the
water, and were having a home built. It was going to be a beautiful place, over
5000 square feet. They died before it was finished.”

“How terrible,” Angie said. Somehow, the thought of
newlyweds trying to find a place to live, touched something deep inside her.

“Yes, it was. Eric liked cars and women. Not until he met
Natalie did he settle down. He wasn’t a bad person, just wild when he was young
and single. I can say that now; now that over thirty years have passed.”

“Thank you,” Angie said, and gladly left the bitterness of
that house.

 
o0o

Back in Homicide, Paavo told
Yosh
all he’d found out from Greenburg.

“There’s something about these twins,” Paavo murmured, as he
studied both pictures on the murder board. “I don’t know what it is, but they
bother me.”

“I know one thing,”
Yosh
said,
“paying someone $300,000 to obliterate your twin’s name from government records
shows a degree of hatred that’s stunning.”

“At the same time, the two obviously spent time together,”
Paavo said. “Gaia even cut her hair to look like her sister’s.”

“Weird. And we’ve found no close friends, and no social
activities beyond the one person she apparently loved. Who lives like that?”

Paavo grimaced. It was hitting more than a little close to
home. “She supposedly had a couple of cats, but I saw no sign of them,” Paavo
said. The irony that he, too, had a cat wasn’t lost on him.

“I think I did see a payment to a veterinarian on one of her
credit card bills,”
Yosh
said. “I could find it and
check if she had cats, and if so, what happened to them—although I don’t know
that it would matter to the case.”

“If they were healthy and with her, where are they now? We
should find out,” Paavo said, as he focused on the case again. “Although her
co-workers seemed to scarcely know her, all remarked at how upset she was,
starting a few weeks ago. We need to figure out what happened then.”

“The bartender that Bedford confided in said the same thing.
Two weeks earlier, Bedford was upset,”
Yosh
said.

“We’ve got to find out—”

“Tomorrow!”
Yosh
insisted, standing up and putting on his jacket. “Let’s call it a day.”

“Sounds good,” Paavo said, grabbing his jacket as well.
“Say, are you free tonight, by any chance?”

“What, is Angie giving you some time off?”
Yosh
asked with a chuckle.

“Something
like
that,” Paavo said.

“Lucky you.
I’ve got to get home.
The wife will remove my thick head from the rest of my very ample body if I
don’t go with her to a parent-teacher conference tonight for our youngest. He’s
a good kid, but he likes to act up in class, and the wife’s worried about how
bad the teacher’s report will be.”

So much for social activities, Paavo thought. “Good luck
tonight!”

As
Yosh
walked away, Paavo felt a
cold chill down his back. Would he have to face teachers talking about his kids
some day? He couldn’t imagine being a father. Maybe that was because he’d never
known one. He knew nothing about trying to raise a kid, or what a father should
be like. He’d probably only disappoint Angie in that, just the way he disappointed
her with her wedding plans.

His father figure was Aulis, who was already a fairly old
man when Paavo and his sister Jessica moved in with him. Aulis gave him love
and support, especially after Jessica died. But Aulis didn’t have a clue what
Paavo did when he was a teenager, or the types of kids he ran around with. His
life could have turned out a whole lot different than it had if he hadn’t
joined the army. That’s what saved him.

Saved him?

Sometimes he wondered. If he had kept running with the gangs
he’d gotten mixed up with in high school, at least he’d have friends. At least
he’d have a best man.

Now, he had no one but co-workers…and Angie.

At times like this he wondered, was it enough?

Chapter 21

ANGIE SAT ALONE at a table by the front
window of Wings of an Angel, the restaurant owned by three ex-cons who had
become friends, Vinnie
Freiman
, Bruce
Pagozzi
, and Earl White. She went there for lunch, a plate
of spaghetti in front of her, but she morosely picked at it.

“How you
doin
’,
Angie?”
Vinnie said. He was short, stocky, in his sixties, and generally
considered the brains of the operation.

“Not so good,” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah, Earl said you
was
lookin
’ kinda glum. Anything you
wanna
talk about? Ol’ Vinnie’s here for you, you know?”

“I know, Vinnie. I appreciate it. Have a seat, please.” She
gestured towards the empty chair at her table. He sat. “My friends think I’m
crazy, and they may be right.”

“Miss Angie, we all know you always been a little wacky, but
since when’s that a problem? What’s
goin
’ on?” He
picked up a piece of French bread from the basket, tore off a morsel and
plopped it in his mouth.

“I found a house, a beautiful house, in the Sea Cliff part
of the city. Paavo likes it, I love it,
we
can afford
it. But there’s something odd in its past, and now Connie and Maria think the
place is haunted!”

“Come on, now, Miss Angie, you don’t believe in
no
ghosts. What do the people say who’s
livin
’
in it now? Are they afraid of these ghosts?”

“Nobody lives in it. No one has for thirty years.” She took
a sip of her pinot noir. “The owner wouldn’t sell, and now her daughter is
trying to sell it.”

“The owner’s dead, is she? Is she the ghost?”

“I don’t think she is dead, just old. And she’s not the
ghost. Everyone suspects the ghosts are tenants who died near the house in a
murder-suicide over thirty years ago.”

“Forget the tenants,
they’s
done
for,” Vinnie said. “You
gotta
focus on the living.
Every time I think I saw a ghost, it was somebody
playin
’
tricks, somebody who wanted to scare the crap outta me. Pardon my French. Why
didn’t the owner
wanna
sell the place if no one was
livin
’ there? You
gotta
be nuts
to sit on land that’s a gold mine. That ain’t
makin
’
no
sense.”