Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) by Joanne Pence Page A
Authors: Joanne Pence
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himself some travel by phoning
Bedford’s clients in Ukiah, Eureka and Shasta. Same story in
all three places. Bedford was not the winer -and-diner
his wife thought.
While in Healdsburg, he went to the
Mountain Shadows Resort, where Bedford booked rooms every fourth Friday,
Saturday, and Sunday nights.
“Oh, yes, I know Mr. Bedford,” the desk clerk said solemnly,
his black eyes wide as he looked from Paavo’s badge to the stern detective.
“He’s a regular guest here, I understand. Once every month
or so, he stayed the entire weekend,” Paavo said.
“Well, um.” The clerk cleared his throat. “I’m not sure you
could say that. He comes here once every four weeks, and he always pays for
three nights. But”— cough, cough —“he doesn’t stay the whole time. He
comes by, signs his credit card statement as if he’s staying, but then he goes
to the room, showers, and changes his clothes to something much more casual.
His wife meets him in the parking lot. He leaves his car here and the two drive away. I don’t know where, of course. He comes back
Sunday night, spends the night, and leaves early Monday morning.”
“He would pay for three nights, but stay one?” Paavo wanted
to make sure he heard correctly.
“That’s right. The maids started to talk about the guest who
rarely slept in his bed. I was curious about it, and watched. They were right!
As I said, on Sunday evening, he returns.”
“Are you sure his wife was the person with him?” Paavo
asked.
The clerk looked even more uncomfortable. “Um, maybe I
shouldn’t have said that, but the woman…she wasn’t the type that looks like a
girlfriend. She was kind of, I don’t know…frumpy?”
“I see,” Paavo said, even more confused. “Did you see the
woman more than once?”
“I did. Every time.”
Paavo nodded, then thanked the clerk as he handed him his
card and explained that he was investigating Taylor Bedford’s murder.
As he left, he wondered who the woman was. He couldn’t
imagine anyone ever describing Mrs. Larina Bedford as
frumpy.
o0o
Angie was in a
house-hunting mood after her talk with Paavo the night before, but she wasn’t
one to settle on the first place she liked and could afford. When she learned
Paavo would be out of town and probably not return to the city until quite
late, she called Cat and informed her she wanted to spend the entire day—as
long as it took—to check out every house that she could afford in the city,
regardless of neighborhood, condition or anything else.
The hour was late
when Angie stumbled back to her apartment and flopped down, exhausted, on the
bed.
She had seen more
houses than she thought possible, but refused to stop until she viewed them
all. Caterina was ready to kill her before they reached the last one.
But now she knew.
The house at 51 Clover Lane was more of a buy than she ever dreamed.
She wanted it.
Somehow, she
would get it.
Chapter 8
GAIA WYNDOM HAD left a message on
her bosses’ phone early Monday morning saying she was ill and would need to take
sick leave. Her boss thought it odd when she didn’t show up or call on Tuesday,
Wednesday, or Thursday, but hesitated to do anything because she was such a
private person. Strangely private, in fact. He knew
she lived alone and had no family. Finally he got up the nerve to phone her
house on Thursday to see how she felt.
No one answer his call. The only emergency contact number in
her personnel file listed a neighbor who sounded completely shocked that Ms. Wyndom would have given anyone her number as a ‘contact.’
The two never said more than “Hello” to each other.
The neighbor did say, however, that she had noticed Gaia’s
living room lights remained on all night for the past few days, which wasn’t
like Gaia at all. She normally shut off all lights by ten p.m. at the latest.
The supervisor thought and thought about it, and finally
called the police. They sent someone who knocked on the door, but
Bedford’s clients in Ukiah, Eureka and Shasta. Same story in
all three places. Bedford was not the winer -and-diner
his wife thought.
While in Healdsburg, he went to the
Mountain Shadows Resort, where Bedford booked rooms every fourth Friday,
Saturday, and Sunday nights.
“Oh, yes, I know Mr. Bedford,” the desk clerk said solemnly,
his black eyes wide as he looked from Paavo’s badge to the stern detective.
“He’s a regular guest here, I understand. Once every month
or so, he stayed the entire weekend,” Paavo said.
“Well, um.” The clerk cleared his throat. “I’m not sure you
could say that. He comes here once every four weeks, and he always pays for
three nights. But”— cough, cough —“he doesn’t stay the whole time. He
comes by, signs his credit card statement as if he’s staying, but then he goes
to the room, showers, and changes his clothes to something much more casual.
His wife meets him in the parking lot. He leaves his car here and the two drive away. I don’t know where, of course. He comes back
Sunday night, spends the night, and leaves early Monday morning.”
“He would pay for three nights, but stay one?” Paavo wanted
to make sure he heard correctly.
“That’s right. The maids started to talk about the guest who
rarely slept in his bed. I was curious about it, and watched. They were right!
As I said, on Sunday evening, he returns.”
“Are you sure his wife was the person with him?” Paavo
asked.
The clerk looked even more uncomfortable. “Um, maybe I
shouldn’t have said that, but the woman…she wasn’t the type that looks like a
girlfriend. She was kind of, I don’t know…frumpy?”
“I see,” Paavo said, even more confused. “Did you see the
woman more than once?”
“I did. Every time.”
Paavo nodded, then thanked the clerk as he handed him his
card and explained that he was investigating Taylor Bedford’s murder.
As he left, he wondered who the woman was. He couldn’t
imagine anyone ever describing Mrs. Larina Bedford as
frumpy.
o0o
Angie was in a
house-hunting mood after her talk with Paavo the night before, but she wasn’t
one to settle on the first place she liked and could afford. When she learned
Paavo would be out of town and probably not return to the city until quite
late, she called Cat and informed her she wanted to spend the entire day—as
long as it took—to check out every house that she could afford in the city,
regardless of neighborhood, condition or anything else.
The hour was late
when Angie stumbled back to her apartment and flopped down, exhausted, on the
bed.
She had seen more
houses than she thought possible, but refused to stop until she viewed them
all. Caterina was ready to kill her before they reached the last one.
But now she knew.
The house at 51 Clover Lane was more of a buy than she ever dreamed.
She wanted it.
Somehow, she
would get it.
Chapter 8
GAIA WYNDOM HAD left a message on
her bosses’ phone early Monday morning saying she was ill and would need to take
sick leave. Her boss thought it odd when she didn’t show up or call on Tuesday,
Wednesday, or Thursday, but hesitated to do anything because she was such a
private person. Strangely private, in fact. He knew
she lived alone and had no family. Finally he got up the nerve to phone her
house on Thursday to see how she felt.
No one answer his call. The only emergency contact number in
her personnel file listed a neighbor who sounded completely shocked that Ms. Wyndom would have given anyone her number as a ‘contact.’
The two never said more than “Hello” to each other.
The neighbor did say, however, that she had noticed Gaia’s
living room lights remained on all night for the past few days, which wasn’t
like Gaia at all. She normally shut off all lights by ten p.m. at the latest.
The supervisor thought and thought about it, and finally
called the police. They sent someone who knocked on the door, but
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