Murder Under Cover

“Me, too,” I said, smiling at her.

Derek swirled his wine again and sipped it. After a moment of what I figured was wine contemplation, he put his glass down on the counter. “This suspected turf war the inspector referred to may have more to do with the tensions occurring in the motherland than with anything happening here.”

“Do you think that’s why Alex was killed?” I said, then glanced at Robin. “I don’t mean anything mobrelated, but he might’ve gotten caught up in neighborhood politics. It wouldn’t be the first time politics turned to violence.”

Derek shook his head. “I have no idea, but I can look into it.”

“I still don’t believe it,” Robin insisted.

“Okay. Well, how about pasta and a salad for dinner?”

“That’s something I can believe in.”

I smiled and Derek nodded agreeably. We left it at that impasse and began preparations for dinner.

The next morning, Derek left for work and Robin asked to borrow my computer to check out some tour itineraries. Vinnie stopped by to feed Pookie-thank goodness-and after she left, I decided to spend some quality time studying the Kama Sutra for the first time since Robin brought it over Friday night.

Let me be the first to say that, given all the implications of my growing up in a commune, you’d think I would know more about the erotic aspects of the Kama Sutra. But you’d be wrong. What can I say? It wasn’t that kind of commune. Intellectually, I knew the book was an ancient primer on moral behavior and etiquette in marriage, as well as being something like a pictorial guide to sexual ecstasy, but beyond that, I didn’t have a clue.

As I opened the book, I wondered if it might be a good idea to stop at a bookstore later that afternoon and pick up a copy of The Kama Sutra for Idiots, just for reference.

I decided to concentrate on the book itself first. I believed the restoration itself would be easy, but the evaluation process would be more difficult. The book had no copyright date, which was not unheard of in a rare, vintage book from another country. But because there was no date to work from, I would have to examine the bindings, the paper, the ink and paint used, the style of the gilding, even the age and origin of the language itself. All of this was essential when appraising a book like this. Which meant I would also need to pick up a good French dictionary with a detailed etymology.

Okay, enough dithering about appraisals and evaluations. I wanted to check out those pictures. I turned the pages carefully to the middle of the book and stared, captivated, at the incredibly detailed and realistic paintings. I couldn’t help but ogle page after page of intricate illustrations of couples engaged in the most erotic sexual poses I’d ever seen. Some positions were so convoluted, I couldn’t figure out how they managed to get into them. Pulleys, maybe?

“What are you doing?”

I jumped about three feet off my chair. “Nothing.”

Robin laughed and circled my chair to see exactly what I was doing. “Oh, right. You were looking at dirty pictures.”

“They’re not dirty.”

“So why did you jump like I caught you doing something bad?”

“You just startled me.” I closed the book and wrapped it carefully in the cloth.

Robin continued chuckling. “Your face is red.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, and laughed as I picked up the book and took it back to its safe nest in my steel-lined hall closet, under the false floor where I locked my most important documents and the rare books I worked on.

“I’m going stir-crazy,” Robin said, following me down the hall.

“Did you get what you wanted off the Internet?”

“Yeah. Now I feel like walking or something.”

“We could walk to South Park for coffee.”

“Sounds great.”

We threw on jackets and strolled two blocks over to the small city park that was my favorite discovery when I moved to the area. It was a green belt of trees, grass, and a playground one short block long, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of city traffic and surrounded by town houses, local businesses, shops, and restaurants. The coffeehouse stood at the far end of the block. There was one empty table outside, so we grabbed it and sat to enjoy lattes and scones.

“I’m sorry about last night and the whole mob thing,” I said, once I’d taken a few sips of my double-shot latte.

“No, you were just trying to figure things out. I thought about it later, after I went to bed. Sorry. I should’ve been more open to the possibilities.” She shook her head in regret. “I didn’t even know this guy. I don’t know why I was being so defensive.”

I tore off a bit of scone and munched as I thought about it for a moment. “I’d say you were defending yourself as much as him. In your mind you’re thinking that if Alex was a bad guy, then you made a bad decision. But you didn’t. None of this is your fault.”

“Oh, please.” She laughed without humor. “For all I know, he could’ve been a serial killer. Those guys are supposed to be charming, right? Hello, Ted Bundy?”

“True enough.”

“Alex was definitely charming,” she admitted.

“Fine, but he wasn’t a serial killer.”

She sat back in her chair. “He was something.”

“Still doesn’t make it your fault. This isn’t about you picking a bad guy. There’s something bigger going on.”

“Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy, but he was definitely the wrong guy. And, Brooklyn, I brought a guy I didn’t even know into my home.” Her laugh was short and desperate. “My home? I brought him into my bed! What the hell was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that he was cute and fun and sexy and charming and-”

“I should have been smarter about it.”

“I’ll agree with you there. Did you use protection?”

“Of course! I’m not that stupid.”

“Then what else are we supposed to do? Should we have guys fill out questionnaires before we go out with them? Once in a while we meet a nice guy and we take a chance, that’s all.”

She nodded, gripped her latte with both hands, and sipped. “I… I was tired. Jet-lagged. I’d just spent three days with my mother. She makes me crazy, makes me feel… you know, inferior, somehow. She fills a room until there’s no air left for me to breathe. So I guess when some good-looking guy expressed some interest in me, I just… grabbed that attention with both hands, you know?”

I touched her arm. “I know. You can’t keep dwelling on this or you really will go crazy. So please stop beating yourself up over it.”

She rolled her eyes, then smiled tightly. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

She sighed. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure why, but you’re welcome.”

“Just for hanging in there with me.” She stared down at her latte as if looking into the past. At that night. She shivered.

“Come on, let’s go back,” I said. “It’s cold out here.”

She stood and zipped up her jacket. “It’s springtime in San Francisco. Of course it’s cold.”

As we strolled up Brannan, I pointed out the new and elegant tower of condos being constructed one block south of us. I wasn’t happy with the high-rise aspect, but any construction was a good sign that the neighborhood was once again vibrant after a year or two of economic uncertainty.

“This is a great area,” Robin said, gazing around.

“Yeah, I was so lucky to find my loft. I really love it around here.”