Courting Disaster (14 page)

Paavo and Rebecca reconnoitered in Homicide to talk about Sherlock Farnsworth. Rebecca told him about the goose egg her investigation had become, and he told her about the missing Hannah Dzanic.

Rebecca went back through her notes and read aloud the parts about Farnsworth's concerns about a pregnant woman.

Much as he hated to, Paavo phoned Stan, waking him from a deep sleep, and asked for everything Hannah had ever said about Farnsworth, a.k.a. Shelly Farms.

“All I remember was that he helped her with things like getting her and the baby on welfare, and that she was worried because she hadn't seen him for a few days.”

Paavo and Rebecca nodded. “Let's go,” Paavo said.

The Athina was nothing like the type of restaurant Angie usually frequented. Paavo was astonished by it.

They interviewed Eugene and Gail Leer, Tyler
Marsh and the cook, Michael Zeno. No one could tell them anything about Hannah's whereabouts or Shelly Farms. “I know nothing!” was everyone's favorite line. Tyler wouldn't even admit to being the baby's father, but fell back on the old line that he was one of several men Hannah had been seeing. From the way Angie had described Hannah, as well as what he'd gleaned from Hannah's landlady, that wasn't very likely.

It was also clear the Athina people were nervous about something, and having two cops in the restaurant made it worse. They'd be watched.

 

At the same time, Angie sat in the living room of the beautiful Marin County home of her second sister, Caterina. It was in Tiburon and had a magnificent view of the city across the bay.

“Cat” as Caterina currently preferred to be called, handed her a caramel macchiato latte. She'd just bought herself a nine-hundred-dollar espresso machine and was trying out all her favorite coffee shop recipes.

“I don't know what to do,” Angie said, eying the tall drink topped with whipped cream. “My party's next weekend and everybody's acting so strangely it's driving me crazy. Paavo and Papà are pretending to be friends—you know that's a disaster waiting to happen. Mamma burst into tears, Frannie's jealous, Connie keeps to herself, and Stan has forgotten about food and is lovesick over a woman with a baby who's run out and left him with the kid. Is the world coming to an end?”

“Well, I'm sure your party, at least, is under control,” Cat said. “You're probably seeing preparty stress in Mamma, Papà, and Paavo. And it's about time Stan thought about something besides his stomach. Things will work out.”

“Has Mamma said anything to you about the party?”

“Not a word.”

Angie couldn't believe it. Serefina was one of the great talkers of the world. Keeping all this bottled up inside had to be a horrible strain. “Not even where it'll be held? Surely you know.”

“I don't.” Cat's eyes sparkled. “But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you.”

How many times had Angie heard
that
already?

“What does Paavo think about all this?” Cat asked.

“He's more appalled than anything,” Angie admitted. “I thought he was okay with it, but he acts strangely whenever I bring up Papà. I wish those two would settle their differences. Did Papà treat all of your fiancés this way?”

“You've always been his favorite,” Cat said. “He's more protective of you than the rest of us.”

“I don't think so!” Angie cried.

“It's natural. You're the baby. You don't know how much they missed you when you spent that year at the Sorbonne. They cried over every one of your letters, and read them over and over until the paper wore out.”

“I didn't know that,” Angie admitted.

“It's not something they would have told you. Relax about your party! You're so much like
Mamma, you want to stick your fingers into everything! They want your party to be as lovely and memorable as you do, and it will be. Don't worry.”

Angie was dumbfounded. “
I'm
like Mamma?”

 

Feeling somewhat better after the heart-to-heart with her sister, not to mention the caramel macchiato, Angie set off for a place she'd never been to before: a welfare office.

The waiting room was packed with women and squalling children, and many of the mothers looked like they were children themselves. Most of the youngsters appeared well fed and happy. Some of the mothers were exceedingly well fed, but none seemed happy.

Several glowered at her, and she realized this was not the place to wear an Escada pantsuit with a Gucci bag and shoes. Her handbag alone probably cost close to what these women had to live on for a month. She tucked the offending bag under her arm but then realized they probably thought she was protecting it from them. At that point, she wasn't sure what to do with it.

The line to the front desk was long. It wasn't as if she were there to apply for anything, so she stood off to the side until she caught the eye of an employee in the back. The woman looked stunned to see Angie waving at her and approached.

Angie met her at the end of the front counter. “I need to talk to Dianne Randle,” Angie said.

The clerk's head bobbed up and down several times, taking in Angie from head to toe. “Is she your worker?”

“My what?”

“Your social worker. Does she handle your case?”

Angie glanced down at her clothes. She might have to rethink her casual attire. “I have to speak to her about one of her cases. Hannah Dzanic is missing. It's…it's a police matter.” She half cowered, expecting the wrath of Paavo to swoop down on her for hinting she might have anything to do with the police. She hadn't actually said
she
was with the police, of course, and the woman hadn't asked. Instead, she'd hurried into the back room.

Less than five uncomfortable minutes passed before the woman reappeared and asked Angie to follow her.

Dianne Randle handed the teenage girl sitting at her desk some forms and sent her away, then stood and invited Angie over. The social worker was in her fifties and matronly, with wiry salt-and-pepper hair capping her head. She wore a polyester gray suit, the jacket and skirt looking like one box atop the other. Every so often the jacket would shift and Angie could see a plain white shell under it. A gray and white scarf at the neckline looked more awkward than stylish.

The two shook hands. Randle had one of those enthusiastic I'm-here-to-help-you grips that left Angie's knuckles aching.

“What is this about?” Randle asked as they sat. “Edith told me Hannah is missing.”

“That's right.” Angie intended to tell Randle everything. “I was wondering if you've heard from her.”

Randle's piercing blue eyes studied Angie. “What's your interest in her?”

“I met her and liked her, then she disappeared. I'm afraid something may have happened to her. For one thing, she was genuinely fearful of the baby's father, although she never said why. I was wondering if she came to you for help, or if you have any idea of others she might have gone to.”

Randle looked confused, then her jaw tightened. “Edith said…didn't you say you're with the police?”

“Me? No. The police are looking into this, but they have no leads, either.”

“Where's the baby?” Randle asked.

Angie shifted. “The baby?”

“You said Hannah's missing, but you didn't mention the baby. Where is she?”

Suddenly Angie realized her mistake. If she told this woman that a man who was practically a stranger to Hannah was caring for her child, she'd have Child Protective Services descend on him and take Kaitlyn away. Once Hannah returned—and Angie had to believe she would—she could be charged with child abandonment and ruled an unfit mother. “I'm sorry,” Angie said nervously. “Hannah took the child with her.”

The way Randle's eyes bored into her, it was all she could do not to drop to her knees and beg forgiveness for lying. She was sure Randle was quite successful at keeping her charges well in line.

“I don't believe I can help you, Miss Amalfi.” Randle's firm tone offered no compromise.

Angie stood. It had been a mistake to come here. Randle walked her to the door. The black
Ferragamo pumps she wore surprised Angie. She might not have any taste in suits, but her feet were happy.

With that admittedly strange thought, Angie left.

The two sat on a bench in the middle of the Stonestown Mall holding newspapers in front of their faces as Elizabeth Schull walked by on the way into a party goods store, Paavo scowling, Sal curious.

When Paavo learned Sal was casing his own store to see what Schull was up to during her lunch break, he decided he'd better get over there, much as he didn't want to.

Schull went first to the food mart section for a cobb salad to go, and now this. They'd simply moved from bench to bench, nose in newspaper the entire time, watching her.

“It's good you have a badge,” Sal said as he eyed the party goods store. “You show it to the store owner, and he'll tell us what she bought in there. Then we'll know if it's anything we need to worry about.”

“He doesn't have to tell us if he doesn't want to,” Paavo pointed out. “There are rules against such things.”

“He'll want to,” Sal said. “Or else.”

Yeah, right,
Paavo thought. As if it were that easy.

“Is this like police work?” Sal asked behind the newspaper.

“We rarely do anything like this,” Paavo said, wondering about the man's obsession with his job. He shifted the paper to the side, his gaze on the storefront.

“Ever kill anybody?” was Sal's next question.

“Yes.” After a moment, Paavo added, “It was terrible.”

“I know that Angie saved your life around the time you first met,” Sal sat quietly. “I was worried about her, what she had to do, but she was level-headed.”

“It was clearly self-defense as well.”

“I know. Still…” He sighed. “Do you know how much Serefina and I worry about her? She's impulsive. Doesn't always think things through.”

“She's also smart and clever,” Paavo insisted.

“She always has been. She used to follow me around all the time, more than any of the other girls ever did. I'm not sure why, but for whatever reason, I'm closer to her than the others. Maybe because I spent so much time working when the older girls were growing up, I didn't see them as much. But as my business started to make money, I was able to hire more help and that meant I had time to go to her ballet recitals and listen to her sing in school plays.”

Sal chuckled, more to himself than anything. “She was so awful in ballet it was funny. She looked pretty, but when she tried to leap, well, it was more like ‘the galumph of the sugar plum
fairies.' For school plays, she always got big singing roles because she has a loud voice. It's too bad that she doesn't sing in any key—more like between the cracks.”

“I've heard her sing,” Paavo said with a smile. “She won't even talk about her ballet lessons.”

“How did you two meet?” Sal asked.

“When she put a bomb in her dishwasher. I was sent to investigate.” He remembered thinking Angie was a crazy woman—who “drowns” a mail bomb?—except that her bizarre action saved her apartment and her life. And completely changed his.

Sal shook his head. “We were worried then, too.”

“So was I.”

“You're the man she loves, but I'm her father. You must understand what it's like for me,” Sal said. “For any father. For your own father, perhaps.”

Paavo glanced at him. “I never knew my father.”

“Yes, that's right,” Sal murmured, silent a long moment. “Angie told me.” He added, “I'm sorry.”

Elizabeth walked out with a big cardboard box. Sal and Paavo shifted the newspapers up in front of their faces as she passed by. Paavo prayed she wasn't observant enough to notice that the same two men were reading the exact same newspaper sections wherever she went in the mall.

She left the building and got into her car, Paavo and Sal in hot pursuit.

Actually, it was more like lukewarm pursuit. They followed at a crawl. She drove straight home and into the garage.

“Who does she think she is?” Sal bellowed. “I have to race like Mario Andretti to keep up with her!”

Paavo held his tongue.

 

“Thank you so much for looking after the baby,” Stan said to Bianca as he wrapped Kaitlyn back in the Snugli.

“My pleasure,” Bianca replied, rubbing her ears. “I can't get over how she stopped crying as soon as you picked her up. She cried most of the time she was here.”

“I don't understand it, either,” Stan said, looking dismayed. “Believe me, I wish I did.”

“I take it you didn't find the mother yet?” Bianca asked with a glance toward Angie.

“No,” Angie answered. “Paavo's helping, but he says we're going to have to wait for some kind of a break. In the meantime, I have no idea what to do.”

Bianca's eyes were sad as she gazed at Kaitlyn. “She's a beautiful little girl. I hope her mother is found. I'd hate to think of her going from foster home to foster home.”

As Angie gathered the baby bottles, formula, diapers, and such, she could imagine doing this for her own child, hers and Paavo's. Bianca followed. “Don't ever leave that baby with me again,” she whispered so Stan wouldn't hear. “She cried all day.”

“I was afraid of that,” Angie admitted.

“I've never seen anything like it.” Bianca just shook her head. “So tell me, how's the engage
ment party search going? I talked to Frannie and Caterina. They couldn't stop laughing!”

“It's not funny!” Angie cried. “They wouldn't laugh at all if it was their party.”

“No, that's for sure. Listen, don't think it'd necessarily be better if it was in your hands. I'll never forget how I wanted everything green—even the cake. Heaven only knows why. I thought it was my favorite color, my ‘identity.' Wrong! The party looked like an Irish wake. Mamma had tried to talk me out of it, to her credit, but I wouldn't listen. To this day, I get hives when I see too much green. Then Maria,” she said, referring to Angie's third sister, who was on tour with her husband Dominic and his jazz band, “refused to have an engagement party at all, saying they weren't cool. Mamma disagreed, but couldn't get Maria to change her mind. She's regretted it ever since.”

“Coolness has its price, I guess,” Angie said.

“What I'm trying to say to you,” Bianca continued, “is that you never know what will happen, no matter how much you plan—or don't. That goes for marriages, too. So relax, and enjoy the ride. It's a wild one.”

 

“It's breaking and entering!” Paavo shouted.

Soon after arriving home, Schull left again, presumably to return to work. Paavo expected Sal to follow, but he didn't. Instead, he took a large set of keys from his glove compartment and got out of the car.

“Keep your voice down!” Sal said as he walked toward Schull's apartment building. “It's not breaking and entering because I'm her landlord.
I've got a key, see?” He lifted it. “I'm going to find out what was in the big box she bought. I want to know what she's hiding in there.”

“You can't break into her apartment!” Paavo said firmly. “I'm sorry, but that's just going too far. I won't allow it. Tenants have rights.”

“I walk into my tenants' apartments all the time.” Sal waved his hand dismissively. “Before they move in, I tell them I do that to check on or repair any the equipment that comes with the apartment—the heat, gas, electricity, what have you. That's what I'm doing now. Checking to make sure the heat supply is adequate. It's been cold lately. Haven't you noticed?”

Sal took out his key and entered the building. Paavo followed him up to the apartment.

“What if she walks in while we're here?” Paavo asked.

“She's at work. Relax or leave. You're making me nervous. I didn't know cops were such nervous Nellies.”

“Only the ones who are breaking and entering,” Paavo said under his breath.

The first thing he noticed was that the apartment was sterile to a fault, looking as if no one lived there. The few pieces of furniture were lined up against the walls. Nothing was out of place, and tabletops and even the hardwood floors appeared so clean, waxed, and shiny they all but squeaked.

“She is a good tenant, as you can see,” Sal said.

“Did she live in the apartment before she came to work for you?” Paavo asked. He quickly surveyed the room for any of the spy equipment that
was available off the Internet. They looked like radios, smoke detectors, and the like, but contained hidden cameras and videotape. In his experience, paranoid and troubled people like Schull often used them.

“She did, then she was downsized from her job at a bank when there was a merger and said she'd have to move if she couldn't find work. She had shoe experience, so I offered her a job as a clerk, and that was that. She did well, and now, thanks to rent control, she gets this beautiful apartment for a song.” Sal frowned. “That's the downside. But if she ever does move, I won't have to do a thing to the place other than touch up the paint on the walls.”

Sal gasped, hand to his chest.

Paavo froze. “Your heart?”

“No. I forgot to lock my car! What if someone steals it?”

Not many car thieves have such a sense of humor, Paavo thought, trying to calm himself after the fright Sal gave him. He headed for the door. “You're right to worry. Let's go.”

“On second thought, this is a safe neighborhood.” Sal started to open drawers. “It should be fine for a little while. Let's see what we can find.”

We?
Paavo watched anxiously. What if she came back? How would he explain his presence, even if she believed Sal? If she went to his boss, he'd be in so much trouble, he'd be busted back to patrol. Midnight shift.

That'd make his father-in-law-to-be feel even more warm fuzzies about him. He hadn't spotted
any surveillance equipment, and so he slipped the chain lock in place. At least with it, if Schull decided to come back they'd hear the chain rattle and have time to duck out the back way.

As Sal went through the living room and kitchen, Paavo methodically made sure everything was put back the way it had been so it would appear as undisturbed as possible. If they were going to do this, they should at least do it right.

As Sal went through a kitchen drawer filled with recipes and coupons, Paavo said, “You know, most people who hide things put them in their bedroom. Especially in their underwear drawer.”

Sal tossed aside the papers. “Is that so? Makes sense. Let's go.”

Before following, Paavo quickly put the materials back the way they'd been.

The bedroom was even starker than the living room. It had one twin-sized bed, a chair, and a narrow single dresser. The bed was covered with a white sheet, white pillowcase, and white blanket folded at the foot. Nothing more. It felt eerie.

Sal was rummaging through the underwear drawer when Paavo turned to the closet. “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing,” Sal said.

“Cops and criminals learn to think like each other.”

“So, you'd make a good criminal,” Sal mused.

A moment passed before Paavo answered. “You could say that.”

Very few clothes were hanging, and they were all either white or black. She had three pairs of
black shoes with various-sized heels. In the back of the closet, he found the party goods box.

“She's not a good advertisement for my shoes,” Sal said sadly. With Paavo's find, he left the oversized bras and enormous cotton briefs in a jumble.

“Or anything else,” Paavo murmured, glancing at the drawer and not relishing the thought that he'd be the one to make it neat again.

“She always looks nice, though. And always matches,” Sal added.

The box was so light that Paavo was afraid it was empty. Inside, under reams of tissue paper, he found a wedding cake topper of a man and a woman standing under a bower of flowers.

This one had obviously been customized according to Schull's directions. The man wore a tuxedo. He was thin; his hair was gray and he had a little gray mustache. The woman was a bit heavier, very busty, with blond hair pulled back into what could easily be a French twist. She wore a full-length formal gown. The strangest part, though—the part that caused a chill down Paavo's spine—was that the wedding dress was black.