Fortune Cookie (Culinary Mystery) (9 page)

A closet gave away the fact that this room was a second bedroom by design, but obviously not used as such. Wendy having a home office was further evidence of the idea that Wendy’s life might not be so different from Sadie’s. It was an incredibly uncomfortable thought.

After observing the space, Pete stepped past Sadie into the living room and crossed to the other closed door. He wasn’t as slow opening the second door, and this time Sadie was right behind him. The door opened inward and blocked the back portion of the room.

It was a bedroom with a large queen-sized bed set near the bay windows and a chest of drawers a few feet past the footboard, set against the shared wall of the living room. Across from the doorway where Pete and Sadie stood was a closet twice the size of the one in the office.

Pete stepped into the room and Sadie followed so that he could close the bedroom door, revealing another door. Was
that
the bathroom? Accessed through the bedroom?

The paint smell was stronger here, thankfully blocking out any other scents that might be in this portion of the apartment. Pete opened the final door, and Sadie tensed even as she stepped forward to look over Pete’s shoulder. She relaxed when she realized that the bathroom had been completely gutted.

There was no toilet, tub, or sink—just pipes sticking out of freshly painted walls. Big sections of drywall were missing, exposing the wooden framework coated with a green substance, perhaps some kind of chemical. On the far wall, above where the tub would be, Sadie assumed, was a small window, no more than eighteen inches square. It had a handle that when turned opened the window a few inches—Sadie’s parents’ home had had the same type of windows.

Pete stepped over the threshold onto naked subflooring. “They took everything out.” He pointed up at the bathroom fan in the ceiling, still whirring. “I wonder if that was on the whole time she was here? If the window was open and the fan on, it might explain why no one smelled anything and why the smell didn’t seep into the apartment too much.”

Sadie nodded to confirm she’d heard the morbid observation and looked at the thick rubber strip nailed to the bottom of the door. It would create a good seal when it was closed. Was that coincidence or design?

“If the fan vents to the roof,” Pete said, still looking up at the ceiling, “it’d also help explain why no one noticed the smell. This bathroom is on an exterior wall of the building and as far from the other tenant on this floor as it could possibly be.” Pete looked around. “But that doesn’t explain why no one would miss her or check up on her.”

One of the newspaper articles Sadie had read about Wendy’s death pointed out that no one had reported Wendy missing. Didn’t she have any friends? Anyone she interacted with on a regular basis?

Maybe it wasn’t just family Wendy had pushed out of her life.

Sadie turned back to the bedroom and her eye caught the enormous painting hung across from Wendy’s bed and above the chest of drawers. She immediately felt herself blushing, then glanced at Pete to see that he, too, was avoiding looking at the painting. Like the canvases in the living room, it was unadorned with a frame. She took a breath and looked again in order to confirm that the nude portrait was indeed of her sister, though she was a young woman in the picture.

“Maybe we could take that down,” she said.

Pete nodded, and between the two of them, they were able to lift it off the wall and lean it against the footboard of the bed. Why on earth would Wendy want to stare at herself naked? Especially a younger version of herself? It served as a reminder that there were things about Wendy that Sadie would never understand.

“Well, I guess we might as well get to work, huh?” she said to break the awkwardness that had descended. She crossed to the bedroom windows and twisted open the blinds to let in the natural light. Her breath caught in her throat as the view from the window commanded her attention. The living room window had mostly showed the buildings across the street, but this perspective was magnificent. She could see over the tops of several buildings, across the city, and out to the ocean. Even though the fog cover was still apparent, the view was relatively clear. She heard Pete come up behind her.

“Wow,” he whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “That is spectacular.”

Sadie nodded. It really was breathtaking, and for a moment she forgot why she was there and just took in the beauty of the place. Perhaps she even gained a small sense of what it was Wendy loved about this city—and what Pete loved, too. His arms came around Sadie’s waist, and she hugged them to her. They stood in silence for a few seconds before Pete kissed the side of her neck, sending a shimmer of heat down her spine and causing her to close her eyes to better focus on the feel of him so close, the smell of his cologne, the comfort of his affection. In just a few weeks, Pete would be her husband. She could scarcely believe it, and yet she wondered how she could not have known from the moment she met him that they would live out the rest of their lives together?

The sound of a vibrating cell phone interrupted the moment, and Pete pulled away before reaching into his pocket. He gave the phone a quick look before sliding his thumb across the screen to answer it and putting it to his ear. “Pete Cunningham,” he said into the phone, then paused a moment before giving Sadie a quick smile and turning toward the doorway of the bedroom. “Yes, Detective Lopez. We made it safe and sound.” He pulled open the bedroom door and disappeared into the common area, leaving Sadie alone in Wendy’s bedroom. She turned to the window again.
This is the view Wendy saw every day,
Sadie thought to herself and felt a tiny glimmer of connection.

And yet how much connection could there be to a sister who had shut Sadie out of her life completely? Sadie had always assumed that Wendy had such limitations that she couldn’t live a normal life. What if the real answer was that she simply didn’t want anything to do with her family? The idea that there could be something about them that Wendy hated wasn’t completely foreign—Sadie had thought it before—but it raised her defenses, and she felt the sentimentality pass through her as whatever connection she’d reached for faded away. She wanted to know why Wendy was the way she was, something solid and diagnosed. It was harder to justify Wendy’s actions when Sadie was presented with such a convincing defense of normalcy.

She took a deep breath of the paint-scented air. This is where Wendy lived, yes, but she didn’t live here anymore. These things had once been hers, but now they were just stuff. She hadn’t taken her stylish apartment or nice furniture or self-portraits with her, and the things she could have had—relationships, love—had not factored into her priorities. She’d died alone, perhaps tragically. What a horrible end.

Sadie couldn’t push away the emotion completely, but neither was she willing to let it take over. She needed to distract herself with work and headed out of the room, giving one ear to Pete’s side of the conversation while she picked up a couple of the boxes they’d brought and put them in the office. She took the other boxes and the garbage bags—they would work for the clothes—into the bedroom while determining where to start. Sadie had expected that Wendy’s apartment would be full of things easily thrown out and given away but that wasn’t the case. Did Ji really not want any of these things? He’d been here, so he knew the quality of Wendy’s belongings when he said he wanted to arrange to donate them.

“ . . . you bet. Thank you for making time for me.”

Pete ended the call and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re going to meet with Detective Lopez?” she asked.

“Yeah, he has some time in about an hour. Want to come?”

Sadie absolutely wanted to go with him—well, rather she absolutely didn’t want to stay here—but Ji would be coming at some point and the work wasn’t going to get done if she didn’t buckle down and do it. “I better get started here.”

Pete frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you being here alone.”

All it took was him to act protective to trigger Sadie’s feelings of self-sufficiency. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

“Sadie,” he said in a concerned tone. “We don’t know exactly how Wendy died, but someone came in last week and lit her remains on
fire.
”

“I’ll lock the door after you leave, and Ji will be here eventually. I’ll be fine.” She considered reminding him of her self-defense training—something that had saved her life in the past—but worried it would come across as argumentative.

“You’re sure?” Pete asked, still looking skeptical.

Sadie crossed the room to him and put her arms around his neck. She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Ask your new police buddies where you should take your fiancée for dinner in this town. I will be just fine.”

Pete relaxed and kissed her back, though it was far more exciting than the chaste kiss she’d given him a moment earlier. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”

They kissed once more—maybe three more times—and then Sadie locked the apartment door behind him, took a deep breath, and did what she always did—jumped in with both feet. There was work to do, and it was time to get moving.

Chapter 8

It was nearly three o’clock when a buzzing sound made Sadie jump from where she was packing up dishes in the kitchen. She looked around in alarm and saw a speaker with buttons near the door to the apartment. Remembering a similar speaker by the outside door of the building, she hurried toward it, took a moment to figure out which button did what, and then pushed the button labeled
talk.

“Hello?” she said.

“It’s Ji,” the voice said. “Can you buzz me in?”

“I think so,” Sadie said. She let go of the
talk
button and pressed the
unlock
button, hoping it would open the exterior door of the building. She held it for ten seconds, assuming that would be enough time for him to enter, then let go. Anxiety washed over her as she waited for Ji to come up.

When he knocked on the apartment door a minute later, she took a deep breath and put on a wide smile, ready to meet her nephew for the first time. She pulled open the door to reveal a handsome man, almost six feet tall. His Chinese heritage was obvious in his coloring, but his resemblance to Sadie’s brother, Jack, was there too in his strong jaw and wide forehead, which made him seem familiar. He had light brown eyes and dark hair, cut short.

She held out her hand. “I’m Sadie,” she said, refraining from referring to herself as Aunt Sadie because it felt presumptuous.

He took her hand and shook it once before dropping it. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get away. We stayed pretty busy today.”

“I’m just glad you were able to come,” Sadie said and stood to the side of the doorway so that he could enter.

He walked past her into the apartment before coming to a stop and sniffing the air. “It smells better than it did when I was here last week.”

Sadie grimaced. “Was it horrible?”

“Not as bad as I expected it to be, but, yeah, you could tell stuff had happened. I’m glad it’s better now, though. I was worried about you coming into that.”

Sadie was touched by his concern. He turned away from her and his eye caught Wendy’s jewelry box still on the counter. He paused and his eyebrows pulled together as he took a few steps toward it. He picked it up, regarded it for a few moments, and then looked up at her. “You bought this at the restaurant today?”

“No,” Sadie said, shaking her head. “I did buy one—you’re very talented—but it’s in the car.” She waved toward the box in his hands. “This was Wendy’s. Didn’t you give it to her?”

“No,” Ji said, sounding confused.

“Maybe she bought it,” Sadie suggested.

“She hasn’t been to my restaurant in years,” Ji said, shaking his head and putting the box back on the counter.

“Did you come
here?
To Wendy’s apartment?”

“No,” Ji said simply.

“But you both lived right here in San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Sadie said, not wanting to be pushy but confused all the same.

Ji faced her and blessedly gave her more information. “If either of us had wanted to see the other, we could have. The landlord told me she’d lived here for twelve years. I had no idea. As it was, we were two people amid 800,000 who live in this city; it’s easy to avoid people if you wish. I live in Chinatown. I work and raise my children there. She always knew where I was. When she wanted to find me she did, but it was rare that she would come by, and when she did, it would be because she needed money—which I never gave her. I had no interest in pursuing a relationship with her. She stayed in her community; I stayed in mine. It wasn’t as though we would accidentally meet.”

“That makes sense,” Sadie said, focusing on the logistics he’d mentioned rather than the sadness of their relationship. Wendy didn’t have a car, so it stood to reason that she’d stay close to home. “It seems most neighborhoods around here are quite self-sufficient, with grocery stores and restaurants that are accessible to those who live there.”