Nursing a Grudge is Murder (A Maternal Instincts Mystery) (7 page)

The view was breathtaking. I could see the Golden Gate Bridge and the bay waters below me. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped pictures that immediately posted to my Facebook wall.

Within a minute I got a ping from Jill.

W
HERE ARE YOU
?

Yikes! I hadn’t thought she would see my status so quickly. How would she feel about me taking the same hike as her boyfriend before he’d fallen to his death?

If indeed he had fallen…?

While I hesitated and thought out my reply, I received another message from Jill.

I
HOPE YOU
’
RE NOT HIKING
L
AND
’
S
E
ND
.

What could I do? Shoot back a lame reply of “long story” or something like that? Commenting on the weather would sound completely asinine.

I figured calling her would be best.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, Jill,” I said lamely.

“What are you doing? Are you at Land’s End?”

“Yeah. The Medical Examiner doesn’t have any results back yet and I thought I’d take a look at the site.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Jill’s voice was shrill and nervous. “It could be dangerous. Perry was an experienced hiker and if he fell, then…”

Then what hope did I have?

That was the unspoken piece.

“When was the last time you saw him, Jill?”

“Uh, the last time?” Her voice broke up and I feared she was about to cry.

When was I going to get better at this investigative stuff?

“Jill, are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said in almost a whisper. “Uh, he spent the night at my house. So I saw him that evening. I knew he was going hiking in the morning, but I didn’t know where. I figured he’d go to Mount Tam. I left the house before he got up, because it was my first day of taping at the Foodie Network.”

Well, that answered that. If Jill had been with Perry the night before the hike, then it was pretty likely that he hadn’t been dumped here as Galigani had feared.

I could see a bench on the trail up ahead. Good. Somewhere to rest.

“I wish I hadn’t left him here at the apartment,” Jill said. “I…I didn’t even say goodbye. He was asleep—”

“You couldn’t have known—”

“I know. You’re right, of course you are,” Jill said. “But I can’t help thinking…well, anyway,” She sighed. “I had to be at the studio. I had a meeting with the producer. It looks like I might have a sponsor. We’re in negotiations.”

I reached the bench and collapsed on it. Man, this hike was steep.

“A sponsor? Jill, that’s fantastic!” I said with what little breath I had left in my lungs.

She was quiet for a moment.

“Jill?”

“I’m here,” she said her voice filled with sadness. “It’s that…it’s just that it sucks, Kate. You know? Professionally, things are really jiving. Really couldn’t be better. And then personally…”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

There was silence on the line and I let it be. I dug my toe into the earth. The trail was hard and compact, like rock instead of dirt.

The sound of a sniffle came across the line.

“I’m going to go lie down. Will you call me when you get home, so I know that you’re safe?”

I agreed and we hung up.

I pulled water out of my pack and, after hydrating, continued up the hill.

Two hikers, a man and a woman, were on their way down. They smiled at me as they passed and I overheard them chatting about the views.

I soon reached Painted Rock. There was an official San Francisco Park and Recreation warning sign. It was dark wood with bright orange lettering that read, “People have fallen to their death from this point. Keep out.”

It seemed pretty clear. There was a trail but the warning sign was directly in its path. You couldn’t
not
see the warning sign. Perry would have had to have leaned into the shrubs to avoid it, so he had to have seen it. Why had he gone down the path?

I glanced at the dirt around the base of the sign and noticed that it seemed soft. How was that, if the trail dirt was rock hard? I pressed a finger against the sign and it wobbled back.

Could it have fallen? Perhaps Perry hadn’t seen it? I took a step backward and studied the fork on the trail. One path led uphill, where the two hikers who’d passed me had come from. The other path was short and looked like it went right off the cliff.

Dare I take a peek at the edge?

As I mulled over my options I noticed the earth was dark in two small circles at the base of the uphill trail. I stuck my sneaker into one circle. The dirt was soft, almost like mud, and it stuck to my shoe. I crouched and fingered the circle. It was a hole with fresh dirt in it. The soil around it was as rock hard as the rest of the trail.

I crudely measured the distance between the two circles with my sneakers. Two full feet and a half, the second hole reached my instep.

I moved to the warning sign and measured the distance between the two posts. The same.

Could someone have moved the sign?

If so, the sign would have blocked the uphill path and left the path that literally went off the cliff unblocked.

Why was there a path that went off a cliff? What kind of sense did that make? Surely, someone could sue over this.

I thought of Gary Barramendi, a high-powered attorney I’d had the privilege of working with. Maybe he could help Jill.

Actually, since Barramendi specialized in criminal defense, he probably wouldn’t be keen about a wrongful death case. I decided to let the idea go and focused instead on the sign.

Could I dust it for prints? I’d need to receive my dust kit first. Not to mention, get training on how to use it! I’d have to ask Galigani.

I took several pictures of the warning sign and saved them. I grimaced as I declined the automatic message to post the pics to Facebook.

How awful would that be?

Chapter Seven

When I reached my car at the bottom of the trail, I called Galigani and got his voicemail. I left him a quick message telling him the warning sign to the trail had been moved and asking him if we could fingerprint wood.

My stomach growled. I glanced at my watch. It was only 10am, nowhere close to lunchtime. Still, cold toast wasn’t a substantial enough breakfast for a mother who was breastfeeding, and I was starving. I needed a
real
breakfast and the fact that
Philosophie
was across the street was too much to pass up. I had to go investigate.

Digging inside my diaper bag/purse I rooted past an old ball cap and found my notebook. The thought of the waitress who snapped my photo nagged at the back of my mind.

What if she’d circulated my picture claiming I was a food critic or something?

For good measure I pulled out the ball cap and buried my hair inside it. It seemed a ridiculous disguise, but at least something was better than nothing.

I walked across the street toward the restaurant. The lights were dim and there was no traffic in front.

Could it be that they weren’t open yet?

Maybe they didn’t serve breakfast.

I pulled open the door. They were open all right, just empty. Looked like Jill’s review really had wreaked havoc.

The decor was a bit confusing. There were panels of quotes along the wall and the tables were made of scrap wood that some designer thought would look good together. The effect was dizzying.

I looked around for a hostess and saw none. While I waited, I read some of the quotes along the wall “
All the easy problems have already been solved
.” “
Be nice to unkind people, they need it the most,
” and my favorite, “
When your dreams turn to dust, vacuum.”

It seemed that there was no hostess was on duty, so I seated myself and hoped for a waiter.

After a few minutes a man in his twenties approached me, wearing the customary server uniform of dark pants with a white shirt.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” He handed me a menu.

I gave him my best smile. I considered asking to speak with Brent Miles, but then I wouldn’t know what to say to Brent if he were here. I was totally unprepared. Totally in over my head.

Oh well, at least I could eat.

I perused the menu.

Soup, sweet corn fritter, chorizo, white fish crudo.

I waved the server back to my table.

“I was looking for the breakfast menu,” I said as sweetly as I could muster. Better to make a friend of him if I wanted to get any intel.

His lips turned into a thin line, an expression somewhere between apologetic and sympathetic, and then he whispered, “It
is
the breakfast menu.”

“Soup for breakfast?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “I know.”

Dear God, no wonder Jill had panned the restaurant.

I forced a smile. “Well. I’m open to new things. I’ll try it. Omelet soup it is.”

The server looked relieved. “Okay, great. It’s not as bad as you might think. Can I offer you a cappuccino, espresso, or regular coffee with that?”

“Sure, I’ll have a cappuccino.”

He returned in a few minutes with a steaming bowl of soup along with a cappuccino.

“How did you hear about us?” he asked, placing the soup in front of me.

I really hadn’t thought this through. I had no idea what to say.

“I live in the neighborhood,” I lied.

“Oh, I haven’t seen you before.”

“I don’t get out much.” At least that much was true. “I just had a baby.”

Although now that sort of felt like a lie, too. Paula was about to have a baby. Laurie was already four months old, not even a newborn anymore.

The server placed a bottle of hot sauce in front of me. “Some like it hot,” he said.

I smiled at his corny line.

“I’ve never had soup for breakfast,” I said. “But I’ll try it hot.” I dashed some sauce into the soup and stirred. My spoon caught on something at the bottom of the bowl and I frowned.

The waiter laughed. “That’s the hash browns.”

This sent us both into a fit of giggles.

I had been trying to give the place the benefit of the doubt, but really, hash browns at the bottom of a soup bowl?

The waiter covered his mouth and whispered conspiratorially. “I could get the chef to make you a plain breakfast. Hash browns, sausage, omelet. Hold the soup.”

I laughed. “Yes. Who wants soup first thing in the morning?”

He shook his head. “Our owner is a fitness fanatic; he thinks that eating hot soup in the morning can rev up the metabolism.”

“Oh really?” I studied him a moment. Was he joking?

He nodded.

Wait a minute! If we were talking about revving up a metabolism, who isn’t game for that?

I stirred the soup. “You know, it is good to try new things from time to time.”

The waiter shrugged noncommittally.

“Who owns this place?” I asked, trying to bury myself in the soup and look as nonchalant as he did.

“Brent Miles.”

He said it offhandedly, like there was no reason for me to probe further. But, of course, I did.

“Oh. Mr. Miles. Right. I thought…” I hesitated, letting him fidget a bit. “I thought I read something online about him opening up a restaurant in the neighborhood, but I didn’t make the connection.”

It looked like he was about to come unglued. Especially when I mentioned the words “read something online.” Almost as if he were waiting for me to mention Jill’s review.

When I didn’t, he said, “Yeah. There was a lot of hubbub about him opening the place.”

I tasted the soup again then gave it a liberal dosing of hot sauce. Who knew what was good for the metabolism; maybe it was simply hot sauce.

He looked around the restaurant, double checking that no one had come in during our conversation. Then he leaned in. “In fact, I’m not sure if we’re going to make it. One of the reviewers wasn’t too kind to us.”

I feigned surprise. “Really? With this creative menu and all?”

“Well, that’s one of the things she hated!”

I pressed my lips together to avoid putting my foot in my mouth.

He continued, “That, plus the fact that we’re owned by Brent Miles. I think she had it in for him.”

“How so?” I asked.

This was something Jill hadn’t mentioned. Did she have an axe to grind with Brent? Why?

“Well, I don’t really know. Just something I overheard him complaining about.”

“Is he here?”

The waiter laughed loudly. “Here? He’s never here. He opens one business and then he’s off to the next. He doesn’t care what goes on here. Unless we fail. It’s a pride thing.”

“Is he opening up another restaurant?”

“Yeah. Fine Mexican dining. Yucatan style. New chef. I think it’ll be a hit.”

Ramon, the empanada king!

I took another taste of the soup and grimaced. Too much hot sauce. I gulped down some water and watched the waiter raise an eyebrow at me.

When I was sure I could speak without coughing I asked, “Where’s the new restaurant located?

“Pac Heights.”

I nodded.

I tried to take another sip of my soup, but I had completely ruined it with the hot sauce. Well, not that it was great to begin with, but now it was simply inedible.

<><><>

I got into my car and turned toward home. I was disappointed that the outing to the restaurant had not satisfied any needs, including the growling in my stomach. Jill had been correct with her review of
Philosophie
—maybe even kind!

But what the waiter had said bothered me. What kind of history did Brent Miles and Jill have?

As I pondered that my cell phone buzzed. I looked at the display. Jill. I pulled out of traffic and stopped in front of a fire hydrant.

“Hey Jill, I have good news.”

“What?” she asked.

“I found the area where Perry must've gone off-track at Lands End. The warning sign looks like it might have been tampered with.”

Jill gasped. “What do you mean?”

“Well, all I'm saying is that there is clearly a sign there now that says…gosh…I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the sign says ‘
People have fallen to their death from this point, keep out’
. The sign is loose around the base. I felt like I could've pulled it straight up and out, but I didn’t want to do that because of the prints. I’ll send Galigani up with a dust kit, see if he can get anything off of it,” I said.