Murder with Strings Attached Page 19

  When the cab came to an abrupt halt just on the other side of the hedge, I almost fainted. If Sanders had spotted us, our chances of making it to the rendezvous with Sara were sharply reduced. My hand grasped Aaron’s tightly as we waited to see whether we should try to run for it. But if we did try, the fact that Aaron was carrying a very vulnerable treasure would be sure to slow us down.

  We breathed easier when we peeked out and saw that the cab had stopped only for the security gate to be opened, and once it was the Prius continued on its way to the house. As soon as it was out of sight, we continued down the drive until we finally came out on La Paloma Road.

  A few minutes later we were across the road and walking up the drive to Little Hyde Park.

  Chapter 37

  As soon as we entered the parking lot of the park, I looked around for Sara’s white BMW. But the only car there was a dark red Chrysler with two people in it. I was about to call Sara to find out where the hell she was when my friend emerged from the passenger side of the Chrysler and ran toward me and Aaron. I was confused as to how Sara had gotten there, but I definitely was glad to see her, whether she had arrived in a Chrysler, a BMW, or a 747.

  After a quick exchange of hugs, Sara briefly explained why she had had to borrow both a car and a driver for this rescue mission. I got the rest of the story later, of course, and it went something like this:

  Apparently the previous evening, while Aaron and I were playing Mr. and Mrs., she had been out with her new friend Roger, he of the luxurious suite in the Mark Hopkins. They had used our car, the BMW, and Sara was so tired when she got back and parked it, she had left the lights on. So when she tried to start it after our phone call, the battery was dead.

  There was no time to find a car rental agency and rent another car. Nor was there time to get the BMW’s battery charged or replaced. Finding a cab could also take time, especially one willing to take her to Los Altos. So she phoned Roger and pleaded with him to lend her his car, explaining that it was an emergency, “a matter of life and death.” He said he was sorry but he couldn’t do that, and besides she sounded too panicky to drive safely. So he offered to drive her wherever she needed to go. What a guy! (Of course, I’m sure Sara said she would make it up to him, and I’m sure Roger hoped so, but that was no time to question his motives.)

  Once they were on the highway headed for Los Altos, Roger could tell Sara was a bundle of nerves, and naturally he wanted to know what kind of emergency mission they were on.

  “Hey, relax. It can’t be that serious,” he said to Sara. “I mean, if it were a medical emergency, I’m sure your friend would’ve called a doctor or ambulance, not you. And if it was some kind of criminal threat, she would’ve called 911.”

  Sara didn’t respond, so Roger tried again:

  “Uh, could you give me a hint just what kind of trouble it is that your friend is in?”

  Sara said she thought this over. Roger was bound to find out once they had rescued Aaron and me. But if she told him then, she was afraid he might turn around and go back. She decided to chance it.

  “Well, I’ll tell you if you promise you’ll still take me there,” she told Roger.

  Roger’s eyebrows went up a bit, but otherwise he didn’t display any alarm.

  “Okay, I promise. But I don’t guarantee I’ll get involved in whatever it is.”

  So Sara went ahead and told him the truth, a commodity in somewhat short supply on this mission. “Well, I’m not sure…that is…anyway, I’ve got this friend, Flo. She makes her living by…well…by taking things. From people’s homes.”

  This time Roger’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline. “You mean she’s a burglar?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’re one too?” He looked over at Sara and almost swerved off the road.

  “No, of course not. I’m just her friend. But sometimes friends are called on to help friends in situations where friendship is more important than the legal technicalities, if you know what I mean.”

  Apparently it was not clear Roger did know, but all he said was, “I see. And is this ‘mission’ we’re on one of those…‘situations’?”

  “Yes. I mean no, not exactly. Oh, it’s complicated.” And so she proceeded to tell him the whole story, from Aaron’s previously-stolen violin to our attempt to steal it back, with two murders in between. When she was finished, and they were only a few miles from Los Altos, Roger was silent for a while. He seemed to be thinking it all over, and Sara says she was sure he was going to refuse to take her any farther. When he spoke, his tone was serious.

  “You know, bastards like this guy Sanders get away with all kinds of shit because they can’t be touched. They’ve got money, they’ve got influence, and they’ve got power. And while I can’t say I approve of your friend’s profession in general, what she’s doing now seems like just what the sonofabitch deserves. And I’ll be glad to help her do it.”

  Sara leaned over and kissed Roger on the cheek. He smiled and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

  And that’s why it was Roger’s Chrysler, with Roger at the wheel, that showed up at Little Hyde Park.

  Chapter 38

  Needless to say, I was seldom so glad to see my friend Sara as I was when she got out of Roger’s Chrysler. As for how and why, I wasn’t sure I’d caught all of the nuances, but I got the drift of what Sara was telling me and assured her we would be honored to be rescued by both Sara and her current partner. Even if I’d been concerned about a stranger learning about my criminal activities, I was in no position to express it.

  Although there was no time to waste, both Aaron and I had gone a long time without a bathroom break, and there were two rest rooms beckoning to us just yards behind where Roger had parked. I for one simply couldn’t wait for our next chance, and I imagined Aaron was in a similar condition. We quickly excused ourselves and ran for the privies, Aaron first laying the velvet-wrapped violin carefully down on a nearby picnic table and telling Sara to keep her eye on it. Seeing that there would be a delay anyway, Roger got out of the car and ducked into the men’s room after Aaron. Sara apparently had had the sense to go before leaving town, so she stayed to stand guard.

  In retrospect, this was another dumb move, and all three of us should’ve just wet our pants. Perhaps a minute after we entered the rest rooms, the Sanders Mercedes sped up the driveway of the park and came to a screeching halt in back of Roger’s car. Benny leaped out of the driver’s door and approached Sara, who was standing alone next to the Chrysler. Sara, having recognized the Sanders Mercedes from our reconnaissance, tried to run away, which Benny, who despite his appearance wasn’t incapable of putting two and two together and getting four, correctly interpreted as guilt. Before she could escape, Benny caught her by the arm.

  Sara started to scream, but Benny put a huge hand over her mouth. “Well, well,” he said in a loud, menacing voice. “I was just lookin’ for someone who might’ve seen a coupla strangers runnin’ down the road, and look what I found instead. I’ll bet you’re waitin’ for them now. Well, we’ll just wait together.”

  Sara struggled to break free, but Benny was much too strong for her.

  “Settle down now,” he growled, “or they’ll be takin’ you home feet first. And you’re much too pretty for that.”

  During most of this action, Aaron, Roger, and I were watching and listening from the rest room doors, which were only a few feet behind Benny’s back. None of us knew exactly how to respond. But as soon as Sara’s life seemed to be in jeopardy, inaction was no longer an option. I was the first to start toward Benny, the sound of my movements masked by the wind in the surrounding trees. But before I could take two steps from the rest room door I was grabbed by a strong hand and pulled back. Roger motioned me to stay there and be quiet.

  Roger had taken off his shoes so as to make no sound as he crept up behind Benny. He had something in his hand. In the fading light Aaron and I couldn’t see exactly what was taking place, b
ut a few seconds later Benny had let Sara go and was lying face down on the ground, while Sara ran to join Aaron and me.

  As I soon learned, what Roger was carrying was a small-caliber pistol; and what he said to Benny was, in effect, that he could let Sara go or he would be the one leaving the park feet first. Benny chose the former, after which Roger ordered him down on the ground.

  “Sara, move this guy’s car away from behind ours, will you?” Roger said.

  But Sara was too shaken to drive even a few yards, so Aaron did the honors instead. He hustled over to the Mercedes, which was still running, and parked it at the end of the lot. He got out and threw the keys into the underbrush, a little impromptu touch that I had to admire. Then with Benny still lying on the ground, Sara, Aaron, and I got into the Chrysler. Roger, still holding his gun on Benny, backed up to the men’s room door, where he slipped back into his loafers, said something threatening to Benny that I didn’t quite catch, and while keeping an eye and his gun on the prostrate figure on the ground, got behind the wheel of his car. He pulled the door shut and with squealing tires the Chrysler headed for the parking lot exit.

  Benny got up from the ground.

  Before the Chrysler got to the exit, however, it came to a screeching stop, and then quickly reversed direction and retraced its path, stopping abruptly just in front of the rest rooms. The rear passenger door flew open, and Aaron leapt out, a frantic look on his face. Benny, having already had more than he bargained for with these crazy people, took off running. But Aaron wasn’t chasing Benny. Instead, he ran straight to the picnic table where he had left his Guarneri. He grabbed it and its velvet cover, hugged them to his chest, and dashed back into the car, slamming the door well after the car was already moving at speed back toward the exit.

  Just how embarrassing would it have been, after all we had been through, to have left the prize behind on a picnic table?

  Words could not have described it.

  Chapter 39

  The drive home was relatively uneventful, considering the circumstances. We stopped at the Terrace Inn to pay the bill and collect “Mr. and Mrs. Levy’s” luggage, then headed north. On the way we gave Sara and Roger a brief outline of our adventures in Chez Sanders.

  After that, we were all silent, thinking our own thoughts, until I said, “So, Roger. We’re really very grateful for your help, but did Sara tell you what we were doing down there and why we needed to be rescued?” Remember, I hadn’t yet gotten the full story from Sara, and I wouldn’t until later that evening.

  “She did,” he said. “And at first it sounded like she was asking me to help you make a getaway from a burglary.”

  “And you came anyway?”

  “Well, when I heard the whole story I realized that I’d be helping the good guys, not the bad guys. And it sounded like an adventure. I love adventures.” He looked back at me and smiled. I could see why Sara had been attracted to him.

  Aaron said that he personally was less enamored of adventures than he had been a few days earlier.

  Sara then took her turn at questioning Roger. “You didn’t tell me you were carrying that gun. In fact, you told me you were the CEO of a big company. Do CEO’s always ‘pack heat’?”

  Roger laughed. “Well, no. But the kind of business we do has certain…certain personal risks attached to it. I find it prudent to carry a means of self-protection.”

  “I assume you have a permit for that thing?” Aaron asked.

  “Oh sure. It’s all legal. And don’t think I’m one of these gun nuts who carries a weapon as some sort of macho statement. I hate having to carry it, but I’ve learned to live with it.”

  “I’ll bet you never expected to be using it quite this way,” I said.

  Roger shook his head slowly.

  “Not in a million years.”

  ****

  A few minutes of silence later, I said to no one in particular, “I wonder whether Sanders has discovered that his violin is missing—”

  “My violin,” Aaron corrected me.

  I smiled. “Excuse me, whether Aaron’s violin is missing?”

  “Even if he’s discovered it, and he wants to come after us, he doesn’t have any idea who we are or where we’re headed,” Sara said.

  “Unless that muscle-head who attacked you got my license number, I suppose,” Roger said.

  “That seems unlikely,” Sara said. “And besides, what would they do with the number if they had it? Even if they were able to trace your car, we’re not talking about the Mafia here, but a rich guy who collects stolen art. He might try to steal the violin back if you had it, but you don’t.”

  “No,” Aaron said, “I’ll have it. And Sanders is probably smart enough to figure that out. And when he does, even if technically we broke the law, he certainly won’t call in the police. I mean, I assume it’s generally frowned upon for a thief to enlist the aid of the law in recovering his loot from the person he stole it from. ‘Excuse me, officer, but that man just stole his own violin from me.’ And then there’s the fact his employee murdered Donny Martin. I’m sure Sanders wants no part of the police.”

  “What if he does try to steal it back again?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be that stupid a second time. I won’t be traveling with the violin any more. When I use it on tour, it will be in the hands of a security company, and they’ll keep it safe in transit. And of course I won’t be keeping it in my hotel room, like the copy.” He gave me a wink.

  We all agreed that Sanders would not be bothering us that evening, at least. There were, however, several matters still to be sorted out among the car’s passengers.

  Roger said, “Tell me, Aaron, was this a typical episode in the life of a concert violinist?”

  Aaron laughed. “Well, let me see. For about the last thirty years, my normal routine has consisted of hours and hours of practice each day, and days and days of travel each month. About the most exciting things I’ve done are to walk in the park or make a quick trip back to Israel to see my parents, so my mother can tell me how tired I look and ask why don’t I eat more vegetables. Whereas in the last few weeks I’ve…”—and here he ticked off each point on his fingers—“…had my violin stolen by a very bad person, caught a very pretty burglar…”—he glanced over at me, and I’m pretty sure I blushed slightly—“…and with her equally gorgeous friend…”—Sara’s turn to blush—“…planned my own burglary, discovered a murder, been stalked by a starry-eyed young woman, pretended to be gay, burglarized someone’s house, driven a getaway car, been locked in an art gallery, had terrific sex, been—”

  “Hold on there,” Sara interrupted, turning to face Aaron. “What’s this sex thing?”

  “Never mind!” I said as I put my hand on Aaron’s chest to indicate he had said enough. “He’s just trying to be funny. And I think he’s trying too hard.”

  This last was directed at Aaron, who got the message, because he concluded his answer to Roger quickly with, “So as you can see, just same old same old.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Sara replied, but she let the matter drop.

  ****

  A few miles later, Aaron said in a sober tone, “You know, it’s great having my violin back, of course, but for all the risks we took, we didn’t end up getting hold of the gun that killed Donny Martin. We know who did it, Marianne, and she admitted it was with her deadly little pistol, but it’s her word against ours. Flo is still facing a possible murder charge.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said to him. “Listen.”

  I tapped a few times on my fancy new watch—the one Marianne didn’t think worth taking away—and there, loud and clear was Marianne, retelling the story of how she murdered Martin.

  Aaron was clearly impressed, from the fact his mouth was momentarily hanging open.

  “My God, Flo, is there anything that watch can’t do?” He told Sara how we’d managed to call her without a cell phone. To me he said, “Bringing that was pure genius.”


  “Maybe not genius,” I said, “but I told you how important good planning was. I knew there might be challenges on this job for which a few burglar tools wouldn’t suffice, so I decided I’d go high-tech and bought myself this neat little smartwatch, something I’ve wanted but could never afford on my own. But with your money…. Anyway, I’m sure Marianne’s confession will be all I need to avoid the electric chair, or whatever it is they use these days.”

  Sara clapped her hands. Aaron put his arm around me and gave me a kiss, saying, “Best present I ever bought anyone, and I didn’t even know I was buying it.”

  Next it was Roger’s turn. “So Sara’s told me most of the story,” he said, “and I now understand the housekeeper-cum-concubine/hit woman killed this fellow Martin. But I’m not sure I’m clear on who shot the other fellow. The roommate.”

  There was no response until I finally piped up, “I really don’t know who shot Martin’s roommate, Ballard. Marianne denied it was her, and there was no reason for her to lie, as she freely admitted to killing Martin. If it was one of Sanders’ men, that would point to Aaron’s friend Rafael, who was the go-between sent to pay Ballard and collect the violin. But from what Aaron has said about Rafael, and the fact the money was still in Ballard’s wallet, it just doesn’t seem likely he was the killer.” Aaron nodded agreement. “But then, Marianne didn’t seem like one at first, either. And if it wasn’t Rafael, who else could it have been?”

  There was a long silence. Then Aaron spoke, almost inaudibly:

  “Me.”

  ****

  Needless to say, there was what is commonly known as a stunned silence. We all looked at Aaron, Roger in the rearview mirror so that he nearly ran off the road. He quickly found a place to turn off and parked by the side of the road “so I don’t miss any of this.”

  I asked the obvious question: “What do you mean, ‘me’? I mean you?”

  Aaron, looking somewhat sheepish, cleared his throat and said, “I mean I killed Fred Ballard. Or at least I was responsible for it. I didn’t mean to, but still…”