Fortune Cookie (Culinary Mystery) (17 page)

As for the painting, she took it into the living room and set it against the wall, away from the items waiting to be hauled out by the charity. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it or not. Did she want a reminder of Wendy to hang on her wall at home? Would that bring her joy or remind her of all the negativity associated with her sister?

She set aside the decision and turned her attention to the closet—the last task in the packing process. It had sliding mirrored doors, with full hanging racks on both sides—and a set of shelves in the middle as well as a long shelf on top. There were numerous storage containers and boxes on the different shelves.

Sadie started emptying the closet by pulling out all the boxes. She worked top to bottom, finally sliding a Rubbermaid box from the floor of the closet at the very end. She wanted to determine the contents of each box before sorting them—nothing was labeled. One box was full of art supplies, mostly paints that had separated out and paintbrushes that hadn’t been properly cleaned and were now petrified. Another box was full of Christmas decorations. One was full of old tax records and checkbooks.

Then she opened a box slightly bigger than a shoebox and was surprised to find it full of pictures. Sadie settled herself onto the floor, unable to resist looking through Wendy’s life chronicled in photos. She thought she recognized Rodger Penrose in several pictures, and she found a few pictures of Ji as a child—he had the same serious expression then as he did now—but mostly the photos were of Wendy with numerous strangers who must have been friends at some point in Wendy’s life.

In some pictures Wendy was laughing; in others she was holding up a drink or looking flirtatiously at the camera. She had been very pretty well into her forties, if Sadie were correctly determining her age in the photos, with a careless air that perhaps made her that much more attractive. But she didn’t age particularly well once she entered her fifties; her lifestyle showed on her face even as she tried to cover it with more makeup and brighter clothes. There didn’t seem to be any photos of the last decade or so.

When Sadie realized that half an hour had passed while she’d looked through the pictures, she reluctantly reminded herself that she could look through them another time. She put the lid back on and moved the box to the living room, where she placed it next to the landscape painting. She put the box of tax records with it, too; she would need to see about having such personal records shredded.

She returned to the office and finished going through the boxes. There was nothing of any value or significance, just storage that Wendy herself likely had little use for, so she put them against the wall. The last box standing was the large Rubbermaid container Sadie had slid from the floor of the closet.

She popped the lid off and was surprised to find it full of papers. She lifted some from the top and identified a letter regarding changes to Wendy’s health insurance, a store mailer, and a letter from the Department of Building Inspection in San Francisco. She scanned the correspondence—apparently Wendy had filed a complaint against her landlord, Stephen Pilings, in early May for not repairing the water heater in her apartment. The letter Sadie held was a confirmation of the department having received her claim and a promise that she would receive a response within forty-five days as to whether or not the department would pursue the matter.

Sadie looked back at the jumbled contents of the box, then at the floor of the closet where she’d found it. This was a recent letter; the date was just weeks before Wendy died. Why was it in a box in the closet?

In the next instant she realized that whatever was in this box hadn’t been organized by the police. They probably didn’t even know it existed. Unlike the boxes the police had sterilized, this box was exactly as Wendy had left it. Chaotic. Disorganized. Representative of Wendy herself?

Sadie felt a naughty kind of rebellion take hold of her as she anticipated learning things from the contents of this box that the police didn’t know about. She immediately cast aside every other task as the anticipation of beating the police to some information took hold of her completely. She pulled the box in front of the desk chair, then settled herself into it—eager to get started, but perhaps even more eager to finish.

Chapter 15

By 10 a.m. Sadie had found all the missing phone bills except January’s in the box. She also really wanted to talk to Rodger Penrose after confirming seventeen phone calls to him in March and twenty-one in April. She considered asking Pete his opinion but then wondered why she felt like she needed his permission. She was Wendy’s sister, after all. She didn’t need police authority to call and talk to her ex-brother-in-law, did she? Assuming it was him Wendy was talking to when she made those calls.

She wasn’t nervous to call, not even anxious, just eager to learn more about Wendy. The line rang three times before going to voice mail, where a female voice thanked her for calling Next Faces and asked her to leave a message after the tone so that one of their representatives could get in touch for them. “Reach for the stars,” the girl said before the message ended and a tone sounded.

“Hi, my name is Sadie Hoffmiller. I’m calling in regards to my sister, Wendy Penrose. I would appreciate a call back at your earliest convenience. I have some questions I want to ask whomever it was she was communicating with at your office.” She left her cell phone number and ended the call, hoping someone would call her back. The sooner the better.

Disappointed not to have been able to talk to a real person, but glad to have planted the seed, Sadie returned to the box full of papers and began sorting once more, using the desk for all the different piles she was making.

After half an hour, Sadie had to stand up and take a short walk around the apartment. Deciding what to throw out and what to keep was so much harder than she’d expected. There was history amid the credit card receipts and confirmations, and those things might mean . . . something.

For instance, Wendy had flown to Las Vegas two years ago. Why? With whom? There was a receipt from a café dated over a year ago that showed two meals—with whom had Wendy eaten and why had she picked up the tab? There was a letter from a refugee organization thanking her for her donation. Did Wendy give donations on a regular basis? What criteria did she look for in a charity, and how much money had she given? Thinking of Wendy as a charitable person was another layer Sadie had to add to her sister’s disjointed persona. She felt confused about what she was really looking for—a connection to her sister, or an aspect of her history that might explain her death? Both? Neither?

The task was giving Sadie a headache because she argued with herself over the significance of almost everything. In the end, she’d set aside far more than she’d thrown out, and it frustrated her to know that everything she kept would have to be looked at again, considered again, stressed over
again.
And what if she’d thrown away something that ended up being important? Maybe having had the police go through everything first
was
better than being the one who had to decide. Had the police thrown things away too, she wondered, or had they filed everything they gathered?

Sadie retrieved some Tylenol from her purse and looked at the clock. It was eleven o’clock. No one from Next Faces had returned her call, and Ji hadn’t arrived either. Would it seem impertinent of her to call him to see if he were still coming? Why would he have changed his plans and not told her? She didn’t want to do anything that interfered with the progress they’d made so far.

She decided to call Jack, but caught him in the security line at the airport. He sounded upbeat, and she imagined Carrie with him, both of them nervous about this step they were taking. Not wanting to interrupt what the two of them were building, Sadie gave him a basic overview and informed him that Wendy had money to cover her own final expenses. Jack was relieved, thanked her and Pete for all they were doing, and apologized again for not helping. Sadie didn’t even let him finish that final thought and ended the phone call soon after.

Talking to Jack had eased some of her tension, and perhaps the Tylenol had kicked in too because she felt ready to go back to the sorting. She knew she’d feel a lot better once this task was finished. Twenty minutes later, Ji buzzed from downstairs, and Sadie ate a granola bar from her purse while waiting for him to come up the elevator, grateful she hadn’t called him prematurely.

“Good morning,” Sadie said as she let him into the apartment.

Ji looked at the miter saw in the middle of the living room floor, and she explained about the ongoing bathroom remodel. Mario had come and gone a few times today along with another man who had helped him bring up a new tub and a vanity, but the bedroom door was currently shut, muting the sounds of music, voices, and construction.

“I can’t say I love how eager the landlord is to rent out the apartment, but I’m glad we haven’t gotten in each other’s way.” She headed toward the office, glad to have Ji’s help even though he was two hours late. Maybe he would take over the paper sorting for her. Even as she considered it, however, she realized that despite how much she disliked the task, she didn’t want anyone else doing it. The idea that Ji might throw something away that she would deem important was a risk she wasn’t willing to take.

Ji followed her into the office and leaned against the doorframe. “When I came by for the keys to Wendy’s apartment, Mr. Pilings asked me for half a month’s rent for July.”

Sadie settled into the desk chair. “Are we obligated to pay it?” It seemed rather heartless, considering the circumstances. Mr. Pilings had obvious conflicts with Wendy, was quick to move in the next tenant, and was pushing for rent even though Wendy had been dead for several weeks? Pretty callous. Sadie made a note to ask Pete for more details regarding the conversations the police had had with the landlord. She also wanted to talk to him about the letter she’d found about the claim Wendy had filed against the landlord. Since the police hadn’t found the letter, they might not know anything about it.

Ji shrugged. “I don’t have the money to pay her rent.”

“I don’t think we’re obligated to pay it, though we can ask the detectives about it. If so, Wendy had quite a bit of money in her account,” Sadie assured him.

“She did?” Ji asked, obviously surprised.

Sadie nodded. “I’m not sure what it will take for us to be able to access it, but Detective Lopez might know.” She thought about how she and Ji needed to make some decisions regarding Wendy’s burial, but it didn’t feel like the right time. Though they’d ended yesterday at a better place, there was still a fragility between them. Talking about Wendy’s desecrated body could wait until they found a better groove with each other.

Sadie explained how Pete had moved everything from the bedroom into the common area. “It was wonderful that the two of you were able to finish that room yesterday,” she added. “It puts us into the homestretch in regard to finishing up.”

“So, we’re just left with the office,” Ji said, scanning the room.

“And I think we’re almost done with that,” Sadie said, looking at the clothes still on hangers and the boxes stacked on the floor of the room. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten a little distracted sorting through this box.” She waved toward the storage container that was still halfway full and picked up some random papers. “It seems as though she was really organized in some ways, but completely scattered in others. This whole box of papers was in the closet, but it’s recent bills and things. I can’t figure out what it was doing in there.”

Ji crossed his arms over his chest. “When I was little, she’d have times when she cleaned obsessively, was always on the go, hanging out with friends, buying new stuff, and then she’d crash and spend weeks in bed, not shower, not answer her phone, not make me go to school.”

Sadie hated to admit a tiny bit of self-recognition in his description. Though she was much more even-keeled, the obsessive way in which she’d focused on the different investigations over the last few years and the way she’d then crashed after what had happened in Boston were similar in some ways to Wendy’s behavior. She also thought of the assessment she’d made regarding the cycles of Wendy’s life she’d seen reflected in the different statements.
It’s not the same,
she told herself, but it made her uncomfortable anyway.

“That must have been hard to cope with,” Sadie said out loud.

Ji shrugged. “I remember trying to wait things out until she got happy again. But then she was pretty unpredictable when she was feeling good, and she’d be gone a lot. It was hard to know what to wish for.”

Sadie resisted apologizing again for not having been a part of his life. If she’d had any idea . . . But she
had
wondered. She’d just chosen to keep things out of sight and out of mind. It made her feel terrible now that she knew the truth, but apologizing again didn’t seem as though it would help.

“Do you, by chance, remember if certain times of the year were worse than others?”