Died with a Bow (24 page)

One thing I knew I’d love would be to admire the famous stained-glass skylight Neiman Marcus is famous for. But I could do that now. I didn’t need a husband or a new job, just a lunch date. I made a mental note to put it on my to-do list
along with the classes I was going to take, the ride-along program at the police department, the swim across the Bay and more cooking classes.

“Rita,” Harrington said, startling me out of my reverie by kissing me on both cheeks. “Good to see you. You’ve saved me from a disaster.”

“What do you mean?” I couldn’t face another disaster.

“It’s too awful to talk about,” he said. But he did talk about it for at least fifteen minutes while we sat on a bench in the foyer of the high school as my precious lunch hour ticked away and I hadn’t had even a glimpse of the yearbooks.

“First my lead, the guy who plays Mozart, is out this week. The official story is he’s got the flu, but you know what? He’s probably at the family’s ski house at Tahoe. Spring skiing. Why not? What does he have to lose? I’m the one whose reputation is on the line. Then the costume department, which consists of volunteer parents, is upset because the girls don’t like their costumes. They don’t think they’re sexy enough. Like they have a say in it?” He paused and shook his head. “Come on, let’s have lunch. You don’t want to hear any more of my troubles.”

He was right, I sure didn’t. I tried not to leap up from the bench, but I was anxious to get on with it. Eat lunch and get those yearbooks. I’d already been here for twenty minutes and I hadn’t even asked him where they were or if I could have them.

The cafeteria was practically deserted despite the attractive display of healthy choices.

“Too healthy for the kids,” Harrington explained once again as he loaded his tray with a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread, a fruit salad and an iced tea. I followed his
lead and got the same things. He waved me on through past the student checker, saying I was his guest so I didn’t have to pay.

I ate my sandwich and told myself to get on with it. Ask him about the yearbooks. Why not? Otherwise I could be stumbling around this campus forever and end up being arrested for stealing a yearbook. I could just imagine what Detective Wall would say when he was called to the school after a robbery complaint and had to slap a pair of handcuffs on me.

“I wonder if you know where the old yearbooks are kept and if I could borrow a few to show my friend, the one who’s looking for a good high school,” I said.

“How old? I’ve got some in my office.”

“Four or five years ago.”

“That old? Why not take last year’s book?”

“Of course, last year’s and a couple of older ones.”

“No problem.”

“Good, that sounds great.” I couldn’t believe how simple it was. Why hadn’t I just walked in and asked for them? They say there’s no such thing as a free lunch, but I’d just gotten one—along with what I really wanted: the yearbook that might unlock the mystery of the murder of Vienna Fairchild.

“By the way,” I said as he handed me two yearbooks from a shelf in his office, “how come the flag’s at half-mast?”

“Didn’t you hear? One of our alums died last week. Finally got what was coming to her—that’s what they say anyway.”

“You mean she had enemies?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but so goes the rumor mill. Yeah, it was one of her classmates who did her in. No big
surprise. You know how teenagers are. They never forget. Hold grudges like you wouldn’t believe. These girls are long gone from Prep, but once a Preppie, always a Preppie.” He sighed dramatically. “I don’t suppose you remember the good old days in high school.”

I didn’t like the sound of that remark. As if I looked like I was too old to remember. Even in my carefully chosen teen-type clothes and hair.

“You mean someone knows who did it?” I asked, holding my breath.

“No names, no names. Just someone who finally confronted her for being a bitch and let her have it. But what do I know? I don’t listen to gossip,” he said.

I’ll bet you don’t, I thought.

“I’m not surprised. There are cliques, there are catfights, there’s angst and anger, jealousy and hate. Oh, yes, it’s a regular TV drama, only it’s for real. Never a dull moment,” he said with a smile. You might almost think he enjoyed the drama. Why not? Drama was his field.

A scant five minutes later I was walking down the street with two yearbooks under my arm. I was dying to go through them and zero in on Vienna’s killer, obviously a girl in her class like Danielle who had a grudge against her, who’d had a run-in with her or whose boyfriend Vienna had stolen. Or a guy Vienna had cheated on. Or someone whom she’d cheated off of. The possibilities were so numerous I was almost skipping down the street, I was so excited.

The downside to my euphoria was that Jack had these same yearbooks and he was poring over them looking for the same clues I was. Of course, what did it matter if he found the killer before I did? Sure, I wanted the credit, but most of all I wanted the cloud of suspicion to be lifted from over my head.

Once on the bus, I leafed rapidly through the pages. I turned to the index where “Fairchild, Vienna” had several
references. One was her graduation picture. She was dressed in some kind of drape, which I didn’t recognize. It was probably provided by the photographer. She was looking over her shoulder with a provocative smile I did recognize.

I was surprised she wasn’t wearing a designer dress, but maybe she wasn’t such a fashionista in those days. And under her picture was a quotation she’d chosen: “‘One must have a good memory to be able to keep the promises one makes.’—Friedrich Nietzsche.”

What did that mean? That Vienna had made promises, but she couldn’t remember what they were? Or she remembered but would use her poor memory as an excuse not to keep them?

Under the quotation was a list of her activities. “Spring Fling Princess, Senior Class VP, Cheerleading Squad, Girls’ Acapella Chorus, Asian Appreciation Club.” Nothing surprising except for that Asian Appreciation Club, one I would have joined if only to appreciate the Asian food I was sure they’d serve at their meetings. But why did Vienna join? Did she have an Asian boyfriend at the time? Did she still have one, and if so, who was he?

I looked to see what others had chosen. Here was her friend, a disgruntled-looking Emery, staring not at the photographer but off into the distance. His quote: “‘Nothing is too small to know and nothing too big to attempt,’—William Van Horne.” What was he so mad about, or was he just being a cool high school senior afraid to show any emotion other than anger?

I tried to figure that one out, considering Emery was up near the top of my suspects list. Whether he had an alibi or not. I’d watched enough mysteries to know that people faked alibis all the time. Friends lied for them, and they eventually
confessed they were lying. Another thing I’d learned was that people can’t keep secrets forever. Eventually they have to tell someone. Which made me worried about Dolce. Would she be able to keep her secret about spending the night with William, or would Jack get her to confess she was with him to save her from arrest? In which case William wouldn’t be able to get a favorable divorce settlement and he’d lose his private plane, and Dolce too.

As for Emery’s quotation, what was the big thing he’d attempted? Winning Vienna’s love? Dumping Vienna for not returning his love and getting his revenge in the future? Or none of the above?

Emery’s activities were as follows: “Archery Club, Chess Club, Marching Band.” If he was an archer and he wanted to kill someone, why not use his bow and arrow? Because it was too obvious, of course. Better to strangle the victim.

Maybe I was out of date, being ten years older than these kids, but in my day marching band was not a cool activity. Neither was chess club or archery. They were definitely for nerds. For such a cool guy as Emery, those were unusual choices. Was he so cool he was not worried about what people thought? If so, I was impressed, and I wondered vaguely what instrument he played.

I moved on to Raold’s page. At least he was looking straight at the camera as if he had nothing to hide. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater and a scarf. With his long hair and a name like Raold, he came across as at least part European. An exchange student? Or merely the product of an interesting blend of cultures? Was that what Vienna liked about him until she didn’t like him? And then he killed her and took the first plane out of here for Argentina? Was he the one with the European sports car? Here’s what he
belonged to at Prep: “Mock Trial Club, Outdoor Adventure Club, Surfing Club.” His favorite quotation: “‘Ask not what your teammates can do for you, ask what you can do for your teammates.’—Magic Johnson.”

What had he asked his teammates to do for him? Lie about his whereabouts on the night of Vienna’s murder? And how was I supposed to track down these guys and grill them when that was Jack’s job—a job he was probably doing while I was riding a bus back to work?

After the initial high of getting what I’d gone to the high school to get, I was falling into a letdown phase upon realizing finding Vienna’s killer wasn’t quite as easy as I’d thought. But I wasn’t finished yet. I still had Geoffrey.

In his graduation photo, Geoffrey Hill looked just the way I’d expected he’d look. Long hair, intense eyes and an “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me attitude” visible even to me. He hadn’t changed that much. His activities were “Film Club, Earthbound Club, Computer Club.” I imagined him after high school, moving past the usual computer-geek activities and experimenting with all kinds of digital painting and drawing tools, which was obviously just what had happened, since he’d ended up as a web designer.

Just as confused as ever, I put the yearbooks back in my bag and got off the bus. Back at Dolce’s, I apologized to her for being late, but Dolce was distracted. She had a frown on her face as she took me aside into the Accessories section of the alcove.

“Pam Jennings is in my office,” she said. “She said she saw Vienna’s necklace in a pawnshop in the Tenderloin.”

Shocked, I leaned backward and almost fell over. “What was—”

“What was she doing there?” Dolce said. “She says she was looking for a piece of silver to match her grandmother’s
service.” She shrugged. We were both aware that some of our customers had fallen on hard times during this economic downturn and were reduced to selling off some of their excess belongings from time to time, but we pretended not to know. We pretended that all was well. After all, what is a neighborhood boutique for anyway if not to provide a safe haven for its customers? To make them feel appreciated and welcome whether they bought anything or not. Everyone was treated alike. At least that was our goal.

“I was going to say, ‘What was the necklace doing there?’” I said.

“That’s what we have to find out. Should we tell Vienna’s father or her mother or no one?” Dolce shook her head. “I just don’t know. What I want you to do is to go to the pawnshop and check it out. You’ll know if it’s really Vienna’s, won’t you?” she asked, clutching my arm.

“Yes, I think so.” The image of the necklace hanging around Vienna’s neck was so clear in my mind. The way the diamonds sparkled, the depth of the beautiful pink stone. There couldn’t be another one in the world like it. There really couldn’t be another like it in this city.

“What if it is hers?” I asked.

“Find out who pawned it. Find out how much they want for it.”

“Should I buy it?”

“Yes—here, take my credit card,” she said, reaching into her purse. “I’ll pay for it. Unless…” She bit her lip. I wasn’t going to buy it without her explicit consent; the necklace looked like it cost millions. Despite what Athena had said. “I know Vienna’s family will want it. If they don’t…” She paused, then continued after catching her breath. “Go. Go now.”

After a brief talk with Pam Jennings, I took the credit card Dolce offered and set off in a taxi. By now you’d think I’d be used to the seedy neighborhood where Jack’s former police station and my favorite Vietnamese restaurant was, but I still felt a little frisson go up my spine as I got out of the cab in front of Bayview Loan and Jewelry. I hoped no one I knew would see me there. After all, weren’t the people who frequented pawnshops most likely to be thieves or addicts, and the guys behind the counter were the ones who took advantage of them?

No wonder Dolce sent me. She didn’t want to be seen in a place like this. Neither did I. But I wanted that necklace, and even more, I wanted to know who brought it in here and pawned it. Because then I’d know who killed Vienna. I pressed my nose up against the window with the words “CASH TO GET BY” scrolled on the glass, hoping to see the famous necklace lying on a swatch of black velvet. At least that’s how I would have displayed it in all its pink-and-diamond glory. But the window was full of high-end watches, necklaces, earrings and pins, but no stunning necklace. Was I too late?

I walked in. A bell rang. The clerk looked up and gave me a quick scan, then since I must have looked harmless, he went back to his customer, a man leaning over the counter speaking in low tones.