Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate Page 6

  Johnny nodded eagerly. “That’d be great. It was the Macallan 18.” He pushed his chair back and smiled down at me. “I need to use the boy’s room. Be back in a minute.”

  I watched his back retreat and shook my head in wonder. “Is he always like this?”

  “Not quite this bad,” Rick said with a laugh. “He honestly is very nervous. He’s a huge fan of your work so he’s star-struck. Plus, what he said was true, he has a habit of getting tongue-tied in the company of a woman he’s become interested in. Give him a chance, he’ll calm down.”

  “Without the help of medication?”

  “Yes, without medication. He’s a little naive and inexperienced, but he’s a good guy and he’s sort of like a little brother to me. I’m trying to be a mentor to him at work.”

  “How nice of you to take him under your wing!” Mary Ann said. “And taking him out for his birthday was nice, too.”

  “A whole bunch of people from the office took him out for drinks on his real birthday yesterday but I had other plans. This is my way of making it up to him and apparently I’m being rewarded for my good deed.” He leaned in a little closer to Mary Ann. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t think it was right to ask for your phone number at a funeral, but I’ll admit that I wanted to.”

  Mary Ann blushed prettily and took a sip of her cola. She really did like him, which was understandable since he was kind of likable. Unlike…

  “I’m back!” Johnny sat down at my side. “Miss me?”

  I bit my lip to prevent myself from answering honestly.

  After I consumed two chocolate martinis Johnny went from being insufferable to being vaguely annoying.

  I had been hoping that Rick would switch to alcohol at some point, since I needed his lips loose, but he and Mary Ann steadfastly stuck to soda. He did seem a little drunk, though, but it was Mary Ann that was causing the intoxication. When one of the singing waiters (all the waiters at Max’s Opera Café sing, thus the name) approached the mike in order to perform a rendition of a Broadway show tune, Rick would turn his eyes to them politely, but the rest of the time he kept his focus on my friend as she devoured Max’s signature Meaty Lasagna. I had hoped to discreetly control the conversation so that I could get everyone talking about Eugene without having to ask pointed questions. I realized that discretion would not be mine when we got to the point of ordering dessert without a single word about Eugene.

  I waited for Mary Ann to finish telling us all about the features, advantages and benefits of Lancôme’s Juicy Tubes before asking pointed question number one. “How long ago did you two first meet Eugene?”

  “Huh?” Rick was preoccupied with Mary Ann’s juicy lips. “I’ve known him most of my life. He worked with my father when they were in the FBI.”

  “I didn’t meet him until I got the job with Fitzgerald,” Johnny said. “He was always nice to everyone on Fitzgerald’s team, just a really swell guy.” He laughed. “Did you hear that? I just used the word swell. Does anyone use that word anymore? Well, I guess I do, don’t I? Let’s see if I can use it again. These bread sticks sure are swell.”

  It took everything in me not to use one of the swell bread sticks to whack him on the head. “What did he do between leaving the FBI and joining Fitzgerald’s team?” I asked, angling my body away from Johnny and toward Rick.

  Rick fiddled with his fork. “Aren’t you friends with Melanie?”

  “We’re like family,” I confirmed.

  “Then how come she never told you any of this?”

  A damn good question. “When I say family I mean she’s like a favorite aunt. I love her to death but I don’t see her all the time. For the most part Melanie and I have been out of touch since she moved and married Eugene. I never got the full scoop and asking her now feels a bit insensitive.”

  “Poor Melanie,” Johnny sighed. “I think she just wants some company. She’s such a nice lady. Kind of reminds me of my mom.”

  “I bet she’d like your mom,” Rick mused. “They’re both religious and passionate about reading. Maybe you should introduce them.”

  “Great idea! I take my mom out to lunch all the time,” Johnny explained. “I think I’ll ask Melanie if she wants to come with us next time. She could probably use some more friends. Don’t you think so, Sophie?”

  “Yeah, sure, great idea.” I tried to imagine the kind of parents that would have produced a man like Johnny. No, better not go there. I turned back to Rick. “So, anyway, you were telling me about Eugene’s work.”

  “Yes.” Rick f lashed Johnny a sympathetic smile. I think it was pretty obvious that he was striking out. “Eugene worked on a lot of political campaigns,” he explained. “He had so many areas of expertise, but I personally think his greatest strength lay in his research ability.” He smiled fondly. “The man should have been a librarian.”

  “Wait a minute. What kind of research?” I sat back in my chair as a new realization hit me. “He dug up the dirt.”

  “Excuse me?” Rick dropped his eyes to his food. Johnny just looked confused.

  “Fitzgerald hired him to be an operative of sorts,” I said, “to get the goods on the competition. In this case the competition would be Anne Brooke.”

  “Eugene and everyone else working for Fitzgerald have the same basic job,” Rick said a bit too sharply. “To convince the voters to put their faith in our candidate…no, more than that, our job is to make them love Fitzgerald. Tearing down the opposing candidate isn’t going to do that.”

  “Are you telling me that Fitzgerald didn’t hire Eugene to dig up dirt?” I asked incredulously. “Because while dissing Brooke may not, in and of itself, score Fitzgerald enough votes to win, it does seem to be enough to keep things in a dead heat.”

  “Eugene may have stumbled onto a few details regarding Brooke’s personal life,” Rick hedged, “but I don’t think any of Brooke’s past indiscretions are important enough to seriously affect the polls. Fitzgerald is managing to give Brooke a run for her money because of his proposed policies and positions on the issues. I know that people in San Francisco see him as a conservative extremist, but you have to remember that people in Contra Costa County see San Francisco as a beacon of liberal extremism. Fitzgerald’s family-values platform strikes a chord with the folks he wants to represent.”

  “Fitzgerald really does have a lot of great things to say about family,” Johnny piped in. “He knows God and family are the most important things, but he’s not one of those dowdy politicians who thinks the only way to have fun is to take the wife to a church picnic in the beige family Oldsmobile. He drives her there in a green Sportrac! It’s like he’s the cool evangelical husband who knows how to live it up!”

  “Give me a break,” I scoffed. “Brooke’s personal reputation is so bad it’s even made the San Francisco papers. If voters liked Fitzgerald so much he’d have a huge lead on Brooke, but as it stands now he’s never been ahead by more than three points, which is within the margin of error for most of those polls. Brooke may be more liberal than what the people of Contra Costa are used to, but they’re more comfortable with her love of labor unions than they are with Fitzgerald’s hatred of contraceptives. Based on his positions he should be losing this race. The only way he’s going to win is if Brooke self-destructs, which she seems to be doing,”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s self-destructing,” Rick mumbled.

  “I would,” Johnny said. “You’d have to be pretty self-destructive to marry that broccoli guy! You do know she’s married to the guy who wrote Broccoli for Life. Can you imagine how much gas he must have? I know, I know, it’s a gross thing to think about, but it’s funny since—”

  “She was arrested for drunk driving at seventeen,” I said, completely ignoring Johnny and holding up my fingers to count off Brooke’s faux pas. “When pressed, she admitted to taking all sorts of drugs in college, she had an abortion at the tail end of her first trimester when she was in her early thirties, and a former c
oworker from her private-sector days is claiming that she slept with her boss in exchange for promotions and raises. Furthermore, we know that she cheated on her previous husband at least two times. This woman makes Clinton look like a poster boy for moral behavior. And now there are accusations that she cheated on her taxes and broke one of the fifty million rules regarding campaign fund-raising. But no one knew any of that stuff before she announced her run for Congress. Now, look me in the eye and tell me that Fitzgerald didn’t hire Eugene to dig that information up so it could be leaked to the media.”

  Rick swallowed hard and evaded my obvious attempts at eye contact. “Brooke’s problems have helped our camp,” he said begrudgingly, “but that has nothing to do with Eugene or what he did for the campaign.”

  Just then a large group of waiters materialized carrying a huge piece of chocolate cake and singing a perfectly harmonized version of “Happy Birthday.”

  “You guys did this for me?” Johnny asked. “This is great! Isn’t this great?”

  No, it wasn’t great. Rick was lying to me; I was sure of it, which meant that I was right about the dirt-digging stuff. Some of the accusations floating around about Brooke were so bad that if anyone was able to prove them she would most likely lose her freedom right along with the election. If Eugene had been able to prove that she had done something really awful she might have felt the need to shut him up quickly. Ruthless political ambition mixed with a healthy dose of survival instinct. It was a dangerous combination. And one that scared me, a lot.

  The rest of the evening passed without any more revelations. Johnny continued his pathetic attempts to flirt with me and Rick and Mary Ann became more and more enamored. We eventually parted ways after Mary Ann and Rick exchanged numbers. I gave my number to Johnny as well, but only because he said he might be able to convince Maggie Gallagher to agree to an interview. All I wanted to do was go home, curl up in front of the television. But any hope I had of achieving a state of calm went out the window when I saw Anatoly sitting on my doorstep.

  “You lied to me,” he snapped.

  “How is that possible?” I quibbled. “I haven’t been talking to you.”

  “You spoke to me for five minutes the other day, which is apparently all the time you needed. Did it ever occur to you that the reason I wasn’t ready to commit was because you were so rarely honest with me?”

  I blinked in surprise. “That’s the reason?”

  “No, but if it was it would have been a logical one.”

  “I think I hate you.”

  Anatoly’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Another lie.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Your friend Melanie O’Reilly called me.”

  “What! Why?” The pounding in my temples increased in force. “How the hell did she even get your number?”

  “I’m listed in the phone book under private detectives. That is my vocation if you recall.”

  “Yes I recall,” I emphasized the last word to underscore my feelings about his condescension, “but Melanie doesn’t need a private detective. She has me.”

  Anatoly lifted his eyebrow. “Explain to me how this is helpful.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been gathering information for her!”

  Anatoly took a step forward and put a hand on each one of my arms. “I know I’ve said this before, but since you never listen I’ll say it again. You are not a detective. You are a writer. You have no business running around the city trying to solve murders.”

  “I’m not trying to solve a murder. I’m just doing a little research.” I unlocked the door to my building and tried to close it in Anatoly’s face, but he was too quick for me and scooted into the lobby.

  “I’m not in the mood for this, Anatoly,” I snapped. “If you want to talk to me you call me. You do not get to just show up at my place unannounced.”

  “I called your home and cell. You didn’t pick up.”

  “Bullshit.” I reached into my purse and fished for my cell phone. “I’ve had this on all day and you didn’t…oh.” I looked at the words “one missed call” printed across the screen of my Nokia. The restaurant had been a little noisy. “So you phoned,” I grumbled. “You still shouldn’t have come over without talking to me first.”

  “We can talk now,” he said. “Melanie told me that Flynn Fitzgerald hired Eugene to get the goods on Anne Brooke.”

  Melanie told him that? “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned his back against the wall of mailboxes. “I think there’s a chance Eugene’s death might be politically motivated.”

  “Really?” I tried to swallow my panic. Hearing that idea vocalized by someone else gave it a validity that I didn’t want it to have.

  “Melanie offered me a significant sum of money to look into Eugene’s death. She said she wanted to hire me before but you told her I was unavailable.”

  “You aren’t available…at least not emotionally.”

  “I’m going to take the case,” Anatoly said.

  “You are?” Maybe this was a good thing after all. He was forcing the issue of my talking to him, anyway, so now I could give him the information I had collected so far and start focusing on my next book. And if I did have to talk to him, this was the way to do it, in my lobby while he was being too obnoxious to be attractive.

  “But I’m going to tell her I have one condition,” he continued. “I don’t want you involved in the case at all. You are not to question people or research Eugene O’Reilly’s death in any way.”

  I blinked in disbelief. “Excuse me? What gives you the right to tell me that I can’t be involved?”

  “Sophie, in the past few years you’ve ticked off several people and a few of them have been murderers.”

  “So I’ve had a few guns pointed at me. You even pointed a gun at me once.”

  “You were wielding a broken bottle at the time.”

  “It wasn’t a rock-paper-scissors game. There was no need for you to trump me.”

  Anatoly shook his head in annoyance. “What I’m saying is that you have been very lucky. You have behaved stupidly in extremely dangerous situations and yet you have managed to stay alive.”

  “Which is more than they’re going to be able to say about you unless you change your tone.”

  “This time you may need more than luck,” Anatoly said, completely ignoring my threat. “If the motivations for this killing can somehow be traced back to Eugene’s actions in the FBI, or worse yet, his position on Flynn Fitzgerald’s campaign, then Eugene’s death isn’t so much a murder as it is an assassination. As dangerous as it is to antagonize serial killers, it’s even more dangerous to antagonize professional assassins. I may not be able to protect you this time.”

  I laughed bitterly. “What the hell are you talking about? The closest you’ve ever come to protecting me is when you put on a Trojan!”

  “This is too dangerous, Sophie. Let me handle it.”

  “And what makes you more qualified to handle this than me? Oh, let me guess, it has something to do with the Y chromosome.”

  “No, it has to do with my service in the Russian and Israeli armies.”

  “Being a mercenary doesn’t make you more qualified to deal with professional killers.”

  “First of all, I’m not and have never been a mercenary. I was a citizen of both countries at the time of my service. Second, of course it makes me more qualified! What the hell do you think a mercenary is?”

  I leaned forward and looked him in the eyes. “I told Melanie that I’d help her and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Getting me to take her case is helping her. You’re done now.”

  “Um, I don’t think so.”

  Anatoly glared at me. “You’re making a big mistake with this, Sophie.”

  “If that’s true it’s my mistake to make. I’ve already interviewed Flynn Fitzgerald and his top adviser, and I have an appointment to interview Anne Brook
e.” Okay, that last part was a lie but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m in this now. If Melanie wants to hire you, fine, she can do that. But if you actually plan on solving this case and not just bilking her for thousands of dollars for no reason, then you might want to start working with me instead of treating me like a spoiled five-year-old.”

  “It would be easier to treat you like an adult if you’d start acting like one.”

  “This from the man who three months ago bought a bunch of lawn chairs to use for his living room furniture.”

  “They’re comfortable!”

  “They are so not comfortable. I’m going upstairs now.”

  Anatoly smirked. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Yes. I’m inviting you to walk out of my building before I call the police.”

  “The police?” Anatoly laughed. “Are they still taking your calls?”

  “Out!”

  Anatoly shook his head resignedly. “There’s nothing I can do to convince you to stop investigating this case, is there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine.” Anatoly yanked the door open. “I’ll call you about the information you’ve gotten so far and accompany you to your interview with Anne Brooke.”

  “You’re not going on that interview.”

  “If you don’t invite me I’ll tell her people about the time you signed a petition supporting the death penalty, and then you know she’ll refuse to see you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Anatoly raised one eyebrow and then strolled out onto the street, leaving me seething in frustration.

  It wasn’t until I was back up in my apartment that I realized that I had just insisted on doing something that I didn’t want to do.

  I cursed under my breath and plopped myself down on the love seat where Mr. Katz was sleeping. What if the cat message on the phone had been a death threat after all? What if the caller was actually Eugene’s killer and now he had decided that I was going to be his next victim? I should call Anatoly right now and tell him I’d changed my mind.