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  “Connie was a smart girl, and while it’s apparent she was two-timing both men, there’s no way she wanted to lose her meal ticket. If she was flashing a plane ticket around, it is very likely that Thad either never knew about it at all or he was the one who purchased it for her.”

  “And just what makes you so sure about what Connie may or may not have done? I wouldn’t think your acquaintance with that type of woman would be that broad.”

  “I concede it’s not as extensive as yours,” she said. “But basically, all women are alike. You know what they really desire from a man?”

  An evil grin crossed Nick’s face. “I have an idea,” he chuckled.

  “Not that, you miscreant; that’s what men want! Women desire security more than anything. You can call it anything you want; money, a home, a family, but it all boils down to one thing. Every woman seeks security, and Connie wasn’t about to give up her secure lifestyle even if there was a more handsome hunk from the Presidio visiting her when Thad wasn’t around. Unless Presido Boy was loaded, her officer wouldn’t be able to provide for her like the ex-mayor.”

  Nick had known a lot of women, and he would swear security wasn’t what all they wanted; in fact, he was positive about it, but then again, what did this frumpy private investigator really know about men, anyway?

  “You think I’m way off base, don’t you, Thayne,” stated Lea as if she could read his mind. The skinny landlord fumbled with his keys before finding the right one to unlock Connie’s door.

  “Well, Fox, I think there is a lot about people you probably don’t know. I think that maybe your experience has been somewhat limited, since you spent all your time studying at Harvard Law School and perfecting your gadgets. I can’t imagine you getting out and playing much.”

  “I’ve done my share,” said Lea vaguely. “But that’s not the point. The point is that men and women have basic but diametrical needs. If you focus on what those needs really are, you’ll discover the motive to most crimes.”

  “Exactly my point. So it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Connie took off to be with her Presidio boyfriend. He gave her youth and that little something extra an older man can’t provide.”

  “The door’s open,” voiced the landlord. He faced them, his lined face bland. “Wow, so this is real police work in action. Hypothesize all you want, madam, but that woman was bonking two men at the same time and accepting money and presents from both of them. She was just damn smart, I think. And if you took one look at that broad, you’d want to bonk her, too. No offense miss, but a man takes what he can get when he can get it. Just wish she’d looked my way—I’d have shown her a real good time. One thing I’ll tell you, though, neither one of those guys lost out. Not one iota.”

  Nick smiled like the cat that’d swallowed the canary. He withdrew his wallet and handed his card to the landlord.

  “What’s your name again, sir?”

  “Marty. Marty Corelli.”

  “Well, Marty, if this friend from San Francisco shows up, you give us a call okay?”

  “Sure. I’m positive he’d love to talk to you.” Marty grinned and sauntered down the wide steps lined with brimming pots of gardenias.

  “He should have been a bartender, since he knows so much,” stated Lea grumpily. Nick made to enter the cool condominium.

  “Wait, Thayne. Before you go inside, let’s go over what we know for a minute. One. . . Thad Fisher is dead, and even though we know his wife despised him, she probably didn’t kill him because of the money.”

  “Since it was her money in the first place?”

  “Right. She stays married to the bum even though she’s aware of his adulterous nature. That is, until he refused to stay discreet. Two . . . Connie the mistress was on the receiving end of Thad Fisher’s meal ticket. I’d lay odds that we’ll discover she owns more than forty pairs of shoes, her closet is loaded with expensive designer clothing, and she possesses a well-stocked jewelry box.

  “On her answering machine, we’ll hear messages from both Thad and the unknown army officer. Connie is not the killer because everything points towards her desire for security. There’s no way she would have plugged him, simply because she needed him. I don’t think Mrs. Fisher would have done her husband in, either, no matter how much she despised him. I get the sincere feeling that, while Mrs. Fisher didn’t care for her marriage, she in many ways may have been thankful to Connie for providing services for her husband that she herself didn’t want to perform anymore.”

  “The F & H conjured all that up?”

  “The what?”

  “The Fox & Hound. You touch a button and two suspects are exonerated just like that?”

  “Nope. I just know. And, it may have been just one meeting with her, but there have been many women who have exactly the same story. If you think that all women begrudge their husbands keeping a mistress, think again. Some wives are downright grateful, and therefore I’d be inclined to believe that neither woman had anything to do with his death. They both had too much to lose.”

  Whatever Thayne’s thoughts were, he kept them to himself and simply swung open the door. Lea followed his tall frame inside, limping slightly and confident Thayne would have to eat crow in about 15 minutes.

  Nick had to admit he was a little more than put out by the time they’d finished examining Connie Judson’s lovely condo. Lea’s estimation that Connie would have hoards of shoes was right on target; in fact, it proved an underestimation, as she possessed over a hundred pairs. Her huge, theatre-like closet revealed an array of outfits extending from formal evening gowns to sleek daywear, all costly and sporting designer labels. Even Connie Judson’s costume jewelry was exquisite, nestled alongside expensive pieces such as a pair of lovely emerald earrings and a matching pendant necklace. No woman in her right mind would have left those expensive trinkets behind. Three messages glowed on the answering machine. Lea listened carefully as Nick played back the recordings.

  “This is Thad. Don’t forget our date tonight, sugar,” droned the nasal drawl of the ex-mayor. “I’ll pick you up in the limo at five-thirty. Why don’t you wear my favorite color?”

  After the next beep came the professional tones of a travel agent. “This is Kathy from Taylor’s Travels. Your tickets are ready and can be picked up any time after twelve noon today. If you have any questions, just give me a buzz.”

  A well-modulated voice spoke briskly, as if rushed. “I’ll be in town on Sunday, Connie. I’d sure love a home-cooked meal from my favorite chef. Call me when you’ve got a chance.”

  “Now, isn’t that interesting,” said Lea, flipping open the plastic lid to retrieve the small tape and tuck it inside her oversized blue handbag. Nick glimpsed the metallic end of a small handgun before she zipped up the top.

  “Nice kitchen,” said Lea, strolling through the circular room. “I wonder what our chef’s picked up at the local supermarket. It’s amazing how a fridge reveals one’s style.” Fox wandered over to the shiny appliance and jerked open the door.

  “Strawberries, even though they are out of season, with cream. A bottle of Brut Champagne cooling. Hmm, must be at least a hundred bucks a pop on this one. Filet mignon. Yuck. It’s starting to turn. Sweet peas, caviar from Russia. This lady lived high on the hog. No wonder Trish Fisher was miffed.”

  Nick peered at the over-laden countertop. “And check out at all these gadgets.”

  He pointed across the immaculate granite. Everything from juice squeezers, a gigantic bread maker, to a state of the art food processor covered the iron gray surface.

  “And lookie here,” said Lea. She plucked something from off the magnet on the gleaming side of the immaculate refrigerator. “A graduate of Ethel Morton’s School of Cookery. Why, our Connie really is an amateur chef. No wonder Mr. Fisher seemed a little bit too portly for his own good.

  Uh-oh, her house plants are wilted.”

  “They are at that,” agreed Nick. “This place is too clean.”

  “She must h
ave a maid who just came or is the most wonderful of housekeepers.”

  “Yeah, a real Martha Stewart slash Holly Homemaker. Every man’s dream.” Nick moved away from Fox’s smug countenance and phoned Randy, instructing him to have the place dusted for prints. Lea met Nick back at the bright red Mustang after he returned the key and informed Marty an officer would be back later.

  “So, I was right wasn’t I?”

  Thayne frowned. “What are you searching for, Fox? Validation that your hunches are correct? Well, you were right, this time. Thad wasn’t killed here, and Connie was well taken care of. And I would agree that she likely didn’t kill him.”

  “Because of her lavish meal ticket.”

  “No . . . because she loved him.”

  “What?”

  Thayne tossed a letter onto her lap. She opened it carefully and then cleared her throat. “Not a bad poet.” Nick added a couple additional syrupy cards and Lea bit her lip. “So, big deal—he was fond of her, too. I guess one should never underestimate the power of love.”

  Nick started the engine while adding disdainfully, “These cards practically gush with Thad declaring his undying devotion. So, that means both women are off our list.”

  “Maybe Connie is, but I think it makes Trish Fisher a more credible suspect. Most women will forgive an indiscretion or even a husband’s habitual adultery, but a scorned wife, whose husband loves another, can become a lethal killer. Trish is back on my list.”

  “Women and all their damn emotions and moods.”

  “Inconvenient, aren’t they?” she agreed as if she’d never held those noxious faults herself. Fox sat quietly upon the cream-covered leather of the ’68 Mustang, lost in thought. She fussed over the F & H for a couple minutes before slapping shut the cover. “Where to next, Thayne?

  “I want to check out the field. You haven’t seen it yet, and I’d like your opinion. Who knows, maybe our Connie’s pushing up the soil close by.”

  “And I need to need to talk to Philemon Jenkins,” added Lea.

  “About what?” asked Nick. “You think he might be withholding information?”

  “Perhaps, or it may simply boil down to the fact he may not have known he was contributing to a crime.” said Lea. “Dr. Koh suggests some sort of heavy instrument was responsible for the detachment of Thad Fisher’s finger. Perhaps pruning shears might have done the trick and who better to supply that tool except for a gardener?”

  “But he found the body by chance.”

  “It appears that way, but you have to remember the proximity rule.”

  “The proximity rule?” asked Nick.

  “That’s right. A person in the proximity may not be directly responsible for a crime but might have unwittingly contributed to it, or worse, been motivated by circumstance. For example, if you wanted to get rid of someone, maybe you were in a garage and in that garage you grabbed something as a weapon, like a screwdriver. Later, wanting to remove the finger or an object upon that finger you grab another convenient object such as pruning shears. Philemon seems innocent, but we can’t rule out his later robbery of that fancy ring Thad wore. I believe Mrs. Simms, Philemon’s employer, has a gardening shed?”

  “I’d believe she does.”

  “Then we need to have a chat.”

  Personally, Nick would lay money on an irate mistress or disgruntled other lover rather than an opportunistic gardener.

  “So, how much did this put you back?” asked Lea as she fidgeted in the cramped front seat.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The Mustang. You told Tyson it was a ‘68?”

  “Yup. I purchased it in mint condition. I managed to find one with a 4-speed manual, and though it cost a good chunk of money, it’s worth every penny. About thirty grand at the time and in prime condition.”

  “You like cars I take it?”

  “Yeah, I enjoy fiddling with them. Cars respond if you take good care of them. Give them a nice coat of wax and keep ‘em tuned up, they’ll be your best friend forever.”

  “Kinda like a mistress,” mused Lea.

  “Believe me, they’re a whole lot cheaper and tons easier to deal with. We’re coming onto Chester Street now.”

  Noontime, Saturday

  The police had cordoned off the entire field adjoining the Simms and Collins houses on the cul-de-sac. Randy Phelps stood overseeing the meticulous analysis of the field.

  “Any luck yet?” Nick asked the younger officer.

  “Nothing. We found some rusted old cans to the north of the field near the river in an unsavory area where people have been walking their dogs, but other than that, except for the site directly under the Magnolia tree, nobody has disturbed more than a top inch of soil for a long time.”

  “No wayward finger?” asked Lea, though she hadn’t expected them to find it.

  “No, not at all,” said Officer Phelps seriously, “but you’ll be the first to know.” He was a short, broad-shouldered man not much taller than 5’5” and one of the only officers to directly address Lea Fox.

  She appreciated it.

  “Thank you very much, Officer Phelps. I’ll be speaking with you later.”

  “Friend of yours?” asked Nick. He wished he’d opted for his blue jeans instead of the gray suit. Comfort sometimes needed to override style. He glanced at Fox’s awful outfit and shuddered. Hers was neither comfortable nor stylish. Jeez.

  “No, just a man who knows how to be professional. I met him right after he’d hired onto the station. His older brother is a lawyer and was a friend of my brother Lane. So, this is the Simms property?”

  “And across there is the Collins house. I’d like to try there first before we head to Mrs. Simms.”

  Lea stood for a long moment analyzing the fortress-like house and its ten-foot walls. The other houses on the block had low fences or none at all, their lovely gardens exposed to the wide street. A small child on a tricycle pedaled furiously in the hot afternoon sun, oblivious to the police activity or the heat.

  “Let’s see if anybody’s home,” said Lea marching up to the gate and ringing the intercom. Distantly, she could hear the bell chiming unanswered in the house. She lifted her bespectacled eyes upwards and scanned the second story of the sturdy house. Every window was draped in heavy curtains probably designed to block out the hot sun.

  “Are the police planning to gain entry?” she asked Thayne who’d just finished cleaning his sunglasses. From the looks of it, they’d cost at least a couple hundred dollars.

  “Chief Rollins is trying to contact the owner, Mr. Collins. We’d prefer not to break the door down since the residence is equipped with a high-powered security system. Plus, we don’t have a warrant yet. Not enough probable cause.” He pointed to the camera.

  “I would love to get inside that house,” murmured Lea. “I just wonder . . . ?”

  “What?” asked Nick, pushing his hands into trouser pockets and squinting against the bright early afternoon glare.

  “It’s strange. It appears more like a prison than a well-protected house. Hopefully we’ll obtain the access code from the owner this afternoon. Meanwhile, let’s go have our visit with Mrs. Simms.”

  Chapter 9

  “Philemon Jenkins certainly does his job well,” commented Nick a couple minutes later as he tried to hold a civil conversation with Fox, who seemed hell-bent on solving the case before nightfall.

  They strolled up the beautifully cobbled sidewalk. The sweet scent of strong fragrant roses filled the afternoon air. While Nick couldn’t name most of the hybrids lining the path, a couple near the house was familiar from his own mother’s garden. He spotted a Mr. Lincoln and Joseph’s Coat drooping against the relentless heat. Near the front porch, a lovely flowering plant called Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow bloomed magnificently even though it was late in the season. The tri-colored flowers sent out their own profuse, sweet scent in challenge to the heavy fragrance emitting from the roses.

  Every inch of the ground was c
ultivated and well kept. The deep, dusty greens gave way to the sweet, fresh leaves of half a dozen pink and white camellias occasionally disrupted by a solitary blood-red hibiscus. Roses, geraniums, and irises vied for space as a golden butterfly, whose pointed tips were shot through with purple velvet, rested lightly upon a magenta geranium before airily lifting itself up over the slanted roof and disappearing beyond the great chimney. Nick lifted the heavy brass knocker after searching for an absent doorbell and heard the responding shuffle of slow moving feet.

  Mrs. Simms opened the door feebly. In the bright fall sunlight, she appeared overly pale. Her make-up had been applied like armor, so caked and flaky it suggested she hadn’t worn her glasses when smearing the cream over her lined face. Her jet-black wool dress, unseasonably warm, hung haphazardly upon her bony shoulders, but her hair, in contrast, was tidy while her legs, though painfully thin, were well shaped and free of spider veins. It was obvious she’d once been a pretty and vivacious woman, and even now, at her advanced age, the fine features of an aristocratic face broke through the layers of make-up. She cordially invited the two investigators into her spacious foyer.

  “My name’s Inspector Nick Thayne and this is a fellow investigator, Lea Fox. We’re working with the MCPD in the investigation surrounding the murder of the ex-mayor, Thad Fisher. I hope we’re not disturbing you too much, Mrs. Simms, but we need to ask you a few questions.” His voice, so congenial and soothing, immediately disarmed the elderly woman.

  “And oh, what a horror, a horror it is,” she stated wringing her pale hands. “Please, please come in.” She led them into her sitting room and sank down upon a lilac couch, her blue-veined hands trembling slightly. “Would you like some tea or coffee or something?”

  “We’re fine,” declined Lea, watching the old woman intently.