Courting Disaster (9 page)

After talking to the auction director at KQED, then dropping in on Stan and Hannah to make sure everything was all right over there, Angie went shopping.

Some people might say that was a frivolous thing to do in the midst of her neighbor's predicament and her own questions about her engagement party. But she had good reasons.

She was going to be on television, for one.

And Baby Kaitlyn had none of the things all babies need, for another.

It took her no time to find a Jil Sander plum-colored jacket, a knit scoop-necked blouse, and gold accessories that would look tasteful and elegant on television. She also bought matching plum slacks, even though she'd be seen only from the waist up.

Next, she headed for the baby department at Macy's.

Little girl outfits, even for newborns, were so adorable she couldn't resist buying lots more than she'd expected, as well as receiving blankets and
booties. She remembered her sisters extolling the virtues of Target. Once there, she loaded her cart with diapers, formula, bottles, Desitin, baby soap, wipes, plastic sheeting, and whatever it seemed Hannah might need.

Angie saw no choice but to do this. Stan was clueless about babies, and Hannah had confessed she didn't have anything ready. Had she imagined the baby was just a fantasy or what? A mother not preparing for her own child was inconceivable. It only added to her conviction that something very strange was going on.

“Here I am,” Angie said as she walked into Stan's apartment with four shopping bags of goodies. Stan was appalled by the mass of equipment, supplies, and clothes dumped on his living room floor. He had no idea such little creatures could need so much stuff. He was even more appalled when she handed him her car keys and sent him down to the garage to get the box that had been wedged into the back seat—a changing table. He'd never heard of such a thing.

Hannah was speechless and teary-eyed as she opened packages filled with adorable baby clothes. When Stan returned carrying the big box, Angie said, “You'll have to put it together so Hannah can use it.”

“It's not put together?” he asked.

“Of course not. Just follow the directions.”

As Stan puzzled over the nuts, bolts, and myriad pieces of wood and plastic that fell from the box when he opened it, Angie noticed that Hannah was growing increasingly pale. Although she'd been trying to stay up so as not to make Stan
think she was a “burden,” as she put it, Angie sent her straight to bed.

She then went through Stan's kitchen and made a long list of basics that he still needed to buy—things like eggs, lettuce, salad dressing, fresh vegetables, soups, rice, and pasta. No wonder he was always eating at her house! He had nothing in his cupboards but junk food and packaged mixes. She'd have to explain to him that not everything came ready-made.

When she handed him the grocery list, he gawked at it. “Sanitary napkins?” he asked, his voice strangled. “You don't mean…
women's
stuff, do you?”

“Kotex—that kind of thing, you know,” she said.

“She needs that
now
?” he cried.

“Right after having a baby, of course!”

“I have to buy it?” His voice was so high it squeaked.

A short time later, while Angie pulled him away from the instructions he was puzzling over to show him where she was putting the baby things she'd bought, the doorbell rang. Stan answered.

“Diaper service,” the man said. He was big, burly, and bald, and stood before Stan, his chest pushed out, with two enormous sacks of diapers in one hand and a plastic bucket under his arm. “Where'dya want 'em?”

Stan's mouth dropped and he turned to Angie. “Do I want them?”

“Of course! You can never have too many diapers. Put them by that wall,” she instructed the deliveryman. He handed Stan the bucket and did as told.

“Okay,” he said, filling out the bill and handing it to Stan as well. “I'll be back next week ta pick up the dirty diapers and give ya clean ones. We'll figure out if you're gettin' too many or too few. See ya next week.”

“Next week?” Stan, the bucket still in hand, turned to Angie after the man had gone. “I'm supposed to keep dirty diapers here for a week?”

“She's just a baby,” Angie said. “Go put the diaper pail next to the toilet. You simply shake them clean in the toilet, and then put them in the bucket. Some of my sisters liked the disposables, others swore by Di-dee-wash. Now you have a choice.”

“Goody,” Stan muttered.

When Angie left for her apartment, Stan was still trying to figure out how to put the changing table together. She had no idea brand new motherhood was so tiring, she thought, as she lay down to take a power nap.

She became wide awake, however, when a FedEx deliveryman arrived with a package from the Acme Wedding Supply Company.

She tore it open. A message inside said, “As ordered for engagement party.”

When she looked at the contents, she knew it was time for a serious discussion with her mother. Surely she could come up with a simple, nonconfrontational—okay, sneaky—way to find out exactly what Serefina was up to because this had to stop.

Inside the box were one hundred papier-mâché doves—all painted black.

 

Hannah was driving him insane! How could she have disappeared this way?

Tyler nearly tore Marin General apart looking for her, as well as the administrator's office. He told them he was the baby's father and demanded information about the child's whereabouts. But since Hannah had left his name off the document, he had nothing to substantiate his claim. The fact that the administrators had to inform him the child was a girl and not a boy, didn't help his credibility any.

Even threats of lawsuits wouldn't get them to open their records to him.

He went to San Francisco General to see what their records showed, only to learn she'd lied about going there.

The little slut had no money for a nice hospital like Marin General. That meant someone was helping her. Who could it be but that slick character she'd been mooning over? The one with the fifty-dollar haircut and casual clothes that cost more than any suit he'd ever owned.

He couldn't remember ever hearing what the guy's name was, but the woman with him shouldn't be so hard to track down—the onetime restaurant reviewer, Angie Amalfi.

 

“I'd like to speak to you about an acquaintance, Miss Janice Schullmann, who is also known as Elizabeth Schull,” Paavo said, showing his badge to a middle-aged woman working nights in the appliance sales department at Sears. “You were listed on a job application as a reference of hers.”

“I haven't seen her in years,” Lorraine Santiago said.

“This was an old application. Is there someplace private we can talk?”

Santiago told her co-worker she needed five minutes and led Paavo outside. She immediately pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. “What's this about?”

“I've got a complaint about her that I'm investigating,” he said.

Santiago lit a cigarette. “Not a man, is it?”

“It is.”

“Look, I'm not her friend, all right?” She blew a long stream of smoke. “We hung out together for a little while when we both worked shoes at Mervyn's. She was always falling in love with guys who weren't interested. That's as much as I know.”

“You say the men weren't interested, but I've heard she's an attractive, intelligent woman. What was the problem?”

Santiago puffed a couple more times before answering, as if trying to decide how much to tell him. “From what I saw, the guys she picked were always taken. You know, married, or engaged. She'd throw herself at them, calling, practically stalking. Then they'd get mad, and she'd play the victim.”

“This has been a pattern, you say?”

“For as long as I hung out with her.”

“Was she ever dangerous?” Paavo asked.

Santiago looked wary, and then almost relieved by the question. “It's funny you should ask,” she said. “I've always wondered about that myself.
Nothing that can be proved, if that's what you mean. I will say, though, some of the women these men have loved have had weird accidents. And once there was even a fire. I can't say Elizabeth set it, and I hope she didn't, but it was always in the back of my mind.” She dropped the half-smoked cigarette and crushed it. “Like I said, I don't see her anymore.”

“Why not?”

“She started calling my husband when I wasn't home. Soon after, I found a slow leak in a tire—one that would have probably gone flat when I was out on the freeway at night, and that can be pretty dangerous. Luckily, I noticed the tire looked odd before I left work and went over to the tire center to ask if they thought there was a problem. They found a weird hole in the side—not like a rock or nail might have caused, but one from an ice pick or something sharp, hammered in, then pulled back out. It scared me. I transferred to another department at work, we changed our phone number and sent back all her letters as undeliverable. After a while the letters stopped coming. I always supposed she found someone else to torment.”

 

“Now, remember,” Angie told Connie as she drove from Connie's shop to the Athina, “we don't say a word about Stan or Hannah, but we talk to Tyler and try to figure out what the situation is between him and Hannah.”

“How interesting,” Connie said. “I'm pretty good at figuring out people—their emotions, their deep, dark secrets—so you can count on me,
Angie. Mum's the word. I can't wait to learn something about this bizarre Hannah myself.”

After Angie stopped biting her tongue, she had to agree. “She's a mystery, all right. And what's even more curious, I've never seen Stan so quick to offer his help or mine to anyone.”

“How long will she stay at his place?” Connie asked.

“I have no idea. Neither does Stan. Not that it matters. He's bewitched.”

“All I can say is Stan had better watch out,” Connie warned. “If Hannah's had to hide the baby from her father, that must mean he still cares about her and the child. To get between a man and his child isn't smart.”

That might have been the case once, Angie thought, but these days it seemed a lot of fathers couldn't care less about their illegitimate children.

They reached the Athina Restaurant.

“You've been eating here?” Connie sounded shocked. They stood on the shabby side street that led to the restaurant and the wharf beyond. The area was bad enough, the outside of the restaurant worse.

“The food is good,” Angie said. When they entered, Tyler Marsh was on duty. As soon as she saw him, Angie pinched Connie's arm as a signal that he was “the one.” Connie squawked. Angie had been a little too enthusiastic.

Tyler gave them menus and Angie introduced him to her friend.

“How nice to meet you,” he said. “I hope you enjoy the restaurant as much as Angie and her fiancé.”

“My—” Angie was momentarily confused until
she realized his mistake. “My goodness! You think Stan is my fiancé? We're just friends. Nothing more. My fiancé is a Homicide inspector.”

“A Homicide inspector.” Marsh took a moment to absorb that. “I see. Very interesting. Maybe we should ask him to look into something here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our kitchen helper hasn't shown up for a couple of days and no one can reach her. We're all doing double duty.”

Angie caught Connie's eye. “Do you think something bad has happened to her?”

“The others think so, but I don't.” Marsh frowned. “I think she had her baby and took off, that she's planning to live off welfare and not bother to work anymore.” With a grimace, he walked away to give them time to study their menus.

“He means Hannah, doesn't he?” Connie whispered.

Marsh abruptly turned and stared at them. It was probably a coincidence, but Angie told Connie to lower her voice even more.

When Marsh came back to take their orders of
bourekia,
meat and vegetables rolled in phyllo, and
spanakopita
, a spinach and egg pie, he began flirting with Connie, who subtly indicated she wasn't interested. To Angie's eye, the fellow wasn't even good-looking.

Still, he was gregarious, with a good sense of humor, and not in the least put off by Connie's rebuff. Angie soon got sucked into their conversation, and even found herself telling him about her upcoming stint on public TV. As they talked, the
cook stood in the kitchen doorway, watching and listening.

Tyler then asked if Connie was Stan's girlfriend, and they explained that he was simply Angie's neighbor. He said the cook, Michael Zeno—he then gave a nod toward the fellow in the doorway, who turned and reentered the kitchen—had commented on the way the missing waitress had been caught staring at Stan a few times, and that he'd also seen the two talking out on the dock. He asked if Angie or Connie knew anything about that.

Angie said no, and Connie said nothing until Angie kicked her under the table. She yelped, then murmured, “Me neither.”

“Tell me about this waitress.” Angie hoped she'd been sly and subtle about inserting Hannah into the conversation. “Is she married? Do you know the baby's father?”

Just then, an attractive woman with black hair and an olive complexion stormed from the kitchen. “You're taking your sweet time!” She glared at Angie and Connie, then grabbed Tyler's arm and spun him toward her. She wasn't a large woman, but she was obviously strong—and very angry. “How long does it take to write down an order? I was talking to you!”

He jerked his arm away. With a quick glance at Angie and Connie, he tried to keep his voice low as he turned her toward the kitchen. “Olympia, I'm working.”

“The hell with your work!” she screamed. “I know all about it, and I don't care. I'm tired of your lies.”