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  “Nope. My brother thought I was a real dog, so I got dubbed the hound. His own private joke. Unfortunately, I learned later he shared it with every man he met. It must have made a good conversation starter. And,” continued Lea as if it didn’t matter, “I see your little waitress friend signaling you. Maybe you should go sidle up to her and make a date or something.”

  Nick stared long and hard at her before throwing his napkin down upon the table. “I’ll be right back.” He approached the shapely waitress while Lea stared at the tiny computer so aptly named before dejectedly switching it off.

  It took Nick a full ten minutes to convince Lea Fox of the futility of having both of them drive to the witnesses. She staunchly refused to ride in the vintage car until Nick mentioned that it was a waste of gas and money to take two cars. Since he was willing to drive, she should accept the favor.

  “Alright, Thayne,” she agreed suddenly and tossed her dowdy handbag into the back seat. “I prefer you drive.”

  “Of course, Fox. It will be my pleasure.” She flinched as he gunned the motor, but her face remained expressionless. The F & H, as Nick decided to dub it, was soon in her small hands, and she typed furiously before nodding to herself as he cruised down the street.

  “So, why did you acquiesce so easily? Certainly you can’t be softening up?”

  “Quite the contrary. I find it difficult to drive and type at the same time. Also, it will save gas, since money’s quite tight right now. I suggest that on occasion, when we need to keep a low profile, we should take mine. However, no matter what the vehicle, you can always drive.”

  “Always?” He was surprised. He’d been positive Fox would never abdicate that position considering her stance on the male gender.

  “Always. It makes a man feel in control when he’s behind a big engine. This is a V-8 right? It all has something to do with penis size, I’m sure. However, since I don’t give a damn about that—you can always drive; kinda like my chauffeur.”

  Nick slapped his hand on the wheel and snorted. “Remind me to give you the card of a friend of mine in Girard. He’s a great psychiatrist. Maybe he can help you out.”

  “Did he help you?”

  Nick swore so vehemently he nearly ran a stoplight. Fox chuckled delightedly to herself, and he suddenly saw the twisted humor in it all. Damn if she wasn’t a pill.

  Trish Fisher’s house was on the way to Connie Judson’s flat, so they stopped there first. The mayor had done very well for himself, though the two-story Victorian house seemed a bit of out of place amongst the Ranch and Mediterranean-styled houses lining his block. All had old trees and huge water bills and cost nothing less than two million bucks.

  An expansive lawn slanted upwards toward the gabled entryway, which looked upon a huge circular fountain in which a naked cherub squirted water out of his mouth, barely missing the floating lilies under which bright goldfish dodged the artificial rain. When Nick lifted the heavy bass knocker, a black-clad maid politely answered after the second tap.

  “My name is Inspector Nick Thayne,” he said, “and this is Inspector Fox. We’re wondering if Mrs. Fisher is available?”

  “She’s in mourning,” said the maid hesitantly, her eyes just missing theirs. The Hispanic woman had been trained well.

  “It’s crucial we see her. I understand she’s currently grieving, but need some information regarding her husband’s last hours. Could you please ask her again?”

  “Tell her if Mrs. Fisher doesn’t speak to us now,” blurted out Lea, “she’ll be visiting us at the police station to explain her whereabouts over the past week.”

  “Good God, Fox,” snarled Nick between clenched teeth. “She’s not even a suspect yet. Jesus!”

  The startled maid disappeared and returned less than two minutes later, gesturing for them to follow her. Lea smirked as Nick gritted his teeth.

  “I get things done,” she mouthed much to his chagrin.

  The beautiful house’s cluster of square-shaped panes let in glorious ribbons of light. Mrs. Fisher waited in a large music room near the rear of the house where a huge, ebony grand piano stately waited for competent hands. Lea instantly recognized it as an original Steinway, and her fingers itched to play chopsticks. Trish Fisher had draped herself in black. A lovely amber brooch bound the restrictive high-necked blouse at her throat. Elegance flowed from her like a rose’s sweet scent. Lea instantly went on guard.

  “Please, sit down, Detectives,” the widow said stiffly. Mrs. Fisher had been quite a looker in her day, and even now, with her ash blonde hair swept up in a becoming chignon, she was still quite stunning. Her trim figure had just the right curves, and her tiny feet were clad in somber but stylish black pumps.

  “I’m so sorry about your husband,” said Nick quietly and leaned forward to take her hands gently. Lea didn’t bother to offer any condolences, choosing instead to watch Nick in action. The woman, like so many others before her, didn’t even bother to acknowledge her.

  “We’re investigating your husband’s case and have a couple of questions to ask you,” began Nick. “I understand this might be painful, but it’s necessary, since his murderer remains free.”

  The woman didn’t ever bother to pretend. “You want to know where his trashy mistress is, don’t you?”

  Nick stiffened, but Lea instantly warmed to the woman’s style. She said, as bluntly, “That’s right, Mrs. Fisher. Do you have any idea where Connie Judson might be?”

  “The last time I saw that bitch, she was having dinner at Di’Monicos with my husband. He had the nerve to call me and cancel our dinner engagement only 40 minutes earlier. Being hungry, I went out with a friend, and there he was, nestled in a back booth all cozy-like with her. I told him if that’s how discreet he was going to be, he’d better not bother coming home.”

  “How long ago was that?” said Nick, marveling at the lovely woman’s coldness.

  “Over three weeks, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “You don’t appear . . . regretful,” stated Nick carefully.

  “Why should I be? I’m going to enjoy my money and hope his mistress is running fast because I know she did him in.”

  “How would you know that?” asked Lea.

  “Because he had no money! You certainly don’t think this is the first time Thad was fooling around do you? More like the umpteenth time, and after his second adultery, I told him that I didn’t care what he did with his little trollops as long as I kept my money and he was discreet.”

  “Your money?” repeated Nick.

  “That’s right; I was the one with money. Do you think Thad had much when he married me? Oh, he had a fine scholarship education and lots of promise, and believe it or not, used to be quite handsome. He wouldn’t have become mayor if it hadn’t been for my dad’s money opening doors for him. After I saw what a lying whoremonger he’d turned out to be, I made sure my sizeable dowry reverted to me. The brilliant man actually signed a prenup to marry me. And ten years ago, I took out a gigantic insurance policy on him. I actually didn’t think was going to take this long to get back my initial investment since he was cruising for a heart attack or a jealous husband’s bullet.” She leaned forward. “But, you know what the best thing is? I no longer have to put up with all the behind-the-hands’ gossip everywhere I go.”

  Nick squirmed at the woman’s vituperative tone but continued gently. “I’m sorry about your marital problems. So, how did Thad get money?”

  She sighed. “Our deal was that if he remained discreet, I’d make sure he had 10 grand a month deposited into his personal account. Three weeks ago, I froze that money. He had violated our agreement. His mistress had to know the gravy train was over. I’d check his accounts if I were you. I’d lay odds everything is gone! Thad also had a Rolex and a ring, which were worth at least twenty thousand. You might want to check the local pawnshop. Thad mentioned that he did some consulting or something—but I suspect that wasn’t probably enough to keep his ‘friend’ in the lifes
tyle she desired.”

  Nick digested this information before continuing delicately. “I’ve just a couple more questions, Mrs. Fisher. Investigator Fox and I believe it is possible that whoever murdered your husband might have also been involved in the death of a young girl by the name of Ashley Peebles some twenty-five years ago. Certain aspects of the case are similar. Did you know her?”

  “Ashley Peebles? I remember reading about the unfortunate incident in the papers just after I was married, but I’m afraid I know little more than that. I’m sure, however, that any similarities are a pure coincidence. It’s clear my husband’s mistress killed Thad. And unless that whore Connie was a murderer at age eight, there couldn’t be any connection. ”

  “You and your husband have been married how long?”

  “Twenty-nine years, which is about twenty-eight too long.”

  “Did your husband ever speak about the Peebles murder?” asked Lea.

  “Not really. I remember him thinking it shocking that seventeen-year-old girl went missing and was murdered, but I don’t see how it bears any relevance to my husband’s death.”

  “His finger was severed in precisely the same manner as hers. One of the unusual aspects of that case is that Ashley’s ring had been missing for over twenty-five years and was just found upon your husband’s little finger.”

  For the first time, Mrs. Fisher paled. “Good God! I certainly hope he had nothing to do with that young girl’s death, but he always liked the pubescent ones, you know? The younger the better. Once he even propositioned our daughter’s friend from ninth grade right at the dinner table. Leaned over and whispered dirty nothings in her ear. She had the grace to turn red, and I ordered his fat, perverted ass from the table. So, who knows, maybe he did have something to do with that unfortunate girl’s death. Somehow, I wouldn’t put it past him. Good God. Wait until this hits the morning paper!”

  Nick shifted smoothly. “The last time your husband was seen alive was at a home on Chester Street, not far from where his body was found. He was witnessed pulling up in a black limo at number 614. The owner’s name is Collins. The police haven’t managed to locate him. Do you know if Thad had any sort of business attachment to someone by that name?”

  “My husband had many attachments, but whether for business or not is anyone’s guess. I take it he was with her?”

  “Yes, he was, madam.”

  “Well then he was probably having a wild bunny party.”

  “And you hadn’t spoken during your separation?” interrupted Lea.

  “Not even once, and we were barely speaking before that. I found it time to move past my husband’s tawdry world. My father, who’d encouraged the marriage in the first place, died four months ago, so I felt I no longer had to make a pretense. It wasn’t like Thad was mayor any longer. In fact, Thad resembled a leech in every way—that corpulent slug.”

  Nick pulled uncomfortably at his collar while Lea expertly typed in the information into the F & H. Mrs. Fisher’s animosity hung so thickly towards the deceased it could be cut with a knife. Lea glanced up from her mini-computer.

  “The time of death has been pinpointed to last Tuesday night, Mrs. Fisher. What were you doing that evening?” asked Lea, wondering just how painful plucking all but five or six of one’s eyebrow hairs would be. Trish Fisher’s brows were so sparse a forest the woman had to use eyeliner pencil to prove she had any at all.

  “Every Tuesday night I attend our chapter’s weekly Assistance League meetings. We help clothe and educate needy children in the valley. I was there from seven to ten, but you can certainly check the roster, as our secretary Thelma always takes attendance. Before that, I had dinner here, and my maid Carmen, who let you in, can attest to my whereabouts. Around 10:15 I arrived home, took a sleeping pill, and went straight to bed. On Wednesday, I play bridge with my group. We started at six p.m. at Charlise Ruskin’s house, and I remained there until after eleven. Carmen may have noticed my arrival, though I doubt it. She normally retires at ten. Do I need to go further?”

  “We’ll double check those times with the maid,” said Lea, not mincing words as usual.

  Trish Fisher flashed topaz eyes at her, and Nick swore a glint of mutual respect passed between the two women.

  “Thanks very much for your time, Mrs. Fisher. If there is anything that we can do for you, please give us a ring.” Nick handed her his card, and before Trish Fisher had more than a chance to glance at it, Lea offered the black-clad woman hers as well.

  “I’m available twenty-four hours a day, Mrs. Fisher, and if you come up with anything, just let me know. By the way, in the past few weeks has your husband been doing any painting around here? Perhaps whitewashing some walls?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Your husband apparently ingested some paint before his death. I just wondered if he had somehow swallowed some paint flakes by accident while sanding a wall.”

  “My husband perform manual labor? Surely you jest.”

  Thayne interrupted. “Could we see your garden, Mrs. Fisher? Do you have a green thumb by chance?”

  “Not really. I enjoy a lovely garden of course, but use a weekly service.”

  “You don’t keep any tools?”

  “A broom and rake perhaps. I really don’t know. It’s more a storage shed, though you’re welcome to check. Carmen will escort you out. Good day to you both, Detectives.

  Chapter 8

  Nick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his well-maintained Mustang as Lea limped to the car. She had taken a detour to check Mrs. Fisher’s shed, so now he waited.

  “Did you have to pick bright red?” she grumbled, lowering herself into the cramped front seat. That morning, she had discarded her crutch, and it was evident her injury bothered her. Her suit looked even more terrible in the harsh Saturday morning sunshine.

  “It’s my style,” said Nick. “We all have a definite style, don’t we? And it appears you have a soul mate. Mrs. Fisher’s certainly not afraid to speak her mind.”

  “She didn’t respect her husband much, did she? But I can understand that,” said Lea. “Most men are swine anyway.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Nick, noting how much Fox enjoyed making that statement. He started the Mustang’s powerful engine and gunned it to see her squirm. He certainly didn’t wish to dissuade her from her stupid opinion.

  “Anyway,” he said calmly. “I’ve asked Carmen to come down and present a statement at the station, and she agreed to take Mrs. Fisher with her at the same time. While it’s clear that Trish Fisher hated her husband, I have sincere doubts she murdered him. There would have been no reason to.”

  “I’d have to agree, since it was clear the marriage was over and her money intact. No evidence of the usual gardening tools in their shed, just skis, brooms, and whatnot. And there’s nary a rose bush in the entire garden. She prefers ferns and geraniums.” Lea seemed mildly pleased. “She most likely got over her jealousy twenty years ago.”

  “She could have left,” said Nick, “but wanted to stay for the money.”

  “It was her money after all,” retorted Lea. “Why should a husband who is unfaithful get any of it?”

  “She certainly forced him to stay in a miserable marriage.”

  “With all his floozies by his side to comfort him during his unbearable agony.”

  “I’d love to continue this discussion of Psychology 101, Fox, but we have another person to visit before lunchtime. Connie Judson resided in some ritzy condos down near Madrid Street.”

  Nick revved the engine, and Fox buckled up so hurriedly he had to laugh.

  Unfortunately, the landlord didn’t have much information to give them. The last time the balding man had seen Connie Judson was over a week ago, though he indicated she’d mentioned embarking on some big trip.

  “Said she was going down to Mexico to some pricey resort,” said the stoop-shouldered landlord as he slowly shuffled some invoices.

  “How long has Ms.
Judson lived here?”

  “About a year. I think her boyfriend bought this place for her.”

  “And would that boyfriend have been the ex-mayor?”

  The skinny landlord shrugged his sagging shoulders. “I’m not supposed to notice things like that, but it sure appeared like he rewarded her with a nice little love nest. Always bringing her presents, he was. Of course, that didn’t stop her from seeing the other gent.”

  “The other gent?” shot back Lea. “What other gent was that?”

  “Some military guy from San Francisco assigned to the Presidio. Looked like maybe he was a

  chief or colonel or something. Whatever his rank, he certainly had lots of fancy decorations on his uniform. Came here several times, always carrying flowers and chocolates, and she would throw her arms around him like some long-lost friend. Of course, he never arrived when the mayor did.”

  “What tangled webs we weave,” Nick quoted. “You wouldn’t by any chance have caught the name of the other guy?”

  “No, but I do know what kind of car he drove. It was one of those black Toyota Land Cruisers, brand-spanking-new with all the extras, tinted windows, and luxury seats. Anyway, she stayed careful, and I don’t think the mayor ever got wise to what she was doing,”

  “Or maybe he or the second friend got real wise,” murmured Lea under her breath.

  “Could you open up the place for us?” asked Thayne.

  The landlord seemed uncomfortable. “Don’t you have to have a warrant or something?”

  “Right here. Bless the chief’s heart. He had them issue me two of these things. One for Connie’s here, and one for the Jenkins’. Man’s thinking ahead.”

  Lea flinched. Thayne was enjoying flaunting his influence with the chief in front of her.

  “We’re not going to find anything at the mistress’s apartment, Thayne,” she said smugly.

  “Oh, really,” said Nick, casting a glance at her as they followed the landlord through the beautiful grounds. A cascading scarlet bougainvillea brushed his sleeve, and potted ferns, azaleas, and dianthus peeked from every nook. A beautiful, flowering plum, its rich colored purple leaves casting brilliant shade over Connie’s entryway, just cleared Thayne’s head. “And just what makes you think that?”