A Flair for Truffles (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  The local printed phone directory—yes, she actually had one—proved useless. Aside from being half-filled with advertising, there was no one listed by that name. Google searches proved just as futile, which Sadie found both frustrating and surprising. In a city the size of San Francisco, surely there could be at least one Zane Grey, couldn’t there?

  Switching tactics, she considered her trip to Manning Property Holdings the day before. Assuming the victim tended to date the same type of men, she might be wise to focus on business enterprises. Over the better part of the next hour, she scouted the rosters of real estate companies, financial institutions, and other similar businesses. She found not even one deviation of the name she was looking for. In fact, she didn’t find so much as a single name beginning with the letter Z.

  Sadie looked over the order form again. As with the others, she did have a phone number she could call. But her reason for not trying that was solid. If one of these three men was a killer, the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. Her number was a local area code too. It was just too risky. But, on the other hand, if she weren’t the one to place the call…

  Leaving her office, she hurried through the store, passing one customer who was trying on a red beret in front of a mirror and another who was purchasing three of the garden rose lotion bottles. Giving Amber a thumbs-up signal, Sadie scooted out the front door and over to Matteo’s shop.

  “No,” Matteo said once Sadie waited for his line of customers to temporarily dwindle.

  “Just one call?” Sadie said.

  “I’ve already called them all to tell them the chocolates couldn’t be delivered and to issue them refunds,” Matteo said. “There’s no reason I would call again. And if we’re dealing with someone dangerous, I definitely don’t want to.”

  “I understand,” Sadie said. After all, it was the same reason she didn’t want to call.

  Matteo sighed. “I’m sorry. Have a passion fruit pecan truffle. Maybe that will help.” He held out a tray. Sadie readily snatched one up, took a bite, and sighed.

  “Delicious.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you remember anything in particular about the phone calls when you made them?” Sadie asked. “Did anything stand out?” She placed her copies of the orders on the counter so Matteo wouldn’t have to flip through the batch of papers on his clipboard. Matteo looked each one over.

  “I remember I didn’t reach anyone directly,” Matteo said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Matteo picked up the paper with Luke Manning’s name on it. “This one, for example. I couldn’t get through to the guy’s office. I had to leave a message with some receptionist. It sounded like it was a fancy office of some sort.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Maybe it was just some hot dog stand with a woman on a power trip.”

  Sadie smiled but held back comments as Matteo moved to another sheet. He set it aside quickly to ring up a half pound of vanilla-nut fudge for a customer. He boxed the order and slipped a red ribbon around the package, then turned back to the paper after the customer left.

  “I think this one might have answered the phone, but I couldn’t hear anything over the noise in the background.”

  “What kind of noise?” Sadie asked.

  “All kinds of noise,” Matteo said. “People chattering, some shouting in the background, a bell ringing, some sort of horn going off in the distance. I hope the guy even understood what I was saying. I just ran the refund through. I figure he’ll call if the credit doesn’t make sense.”

  Sadie filed that away for future reference and pointed to the third sheet, the one with Zane Grey’s name on it. “What about this one?”

  Matteo frowned, then grabbed his clipboard and flipped to the original sheet. He held it up to Sadie, pointing to the handwritten initials “LM.”

  “You left a message,” Sadie said. She jotted the same note when she returned a call and only reached voice mail. “Anything you remember about the recording?”

  “Come to think of it, yes,” Matteo said. “It was a crazy recording, with music going in the background.”

  “What kind of music?” Sadie tapped her fingers on the counter.

  “Maybe disco? Rock? I don’t know,” Matteo said. “It was loud enough to make the voice hard to hear. But I remember now it said something like ‘Zany’s.’ Or maybe it was just ‘message, please.’ Don’t know if that’s any help at all. People should have the sense to turn their music off before recording a voice mail message.” He turned to greet two women who had just entered the store.

  “Thank you, Matteo,” Sadie said. “That definitely helps.” She grabbed one more truffle from the sample tray and slipped out the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The battered building in front of Sadie was not at all what she expected. Weathered shingles hung at odd angles, and the neon sign in the cracked front window was askew. She thought she’d dressed down enough to fit in at the dubious establishment, but her rarely worn basic jeans and navy sweatshirt were at least three levels more formal than the attire of others stepping through the front door. It didn’t take much imagination to know that the man nosy Mags had described as skinny, sleazy, and slinky was the one Sadie would find here.

  Matteo was a lover of Italian opera, a tribute to his own heritage. Sadie knew from previous discussions with him that he listened to nothing else. Hence he wouldn’t have recognized the “Zany Z’s” reference on the voice mail he reached as being from a common—and annoying—radio commercial for the offbeat bar in the Tenderloin. But Sadie, who flipped stations as frequently as she changed earrings while accessorizing an outfit, knew it immediately, simply because the ad was so irritating. That was why she reluctantly headed for one of the least reputable areas in the city and now stood before the derelict building, listening to a blast of Metallica flow out the front door each time it opened.

  Sadie approached the entrance with a mix of trepidation and curiosity, but not fear. She’d never had trouble standing up for herself, the timidity gene being completely absent from her genetic makeup. So when the ID-checking bouncer stopped her at the door to ask if she needed help, she puffed her chest out and shouted loud enough to be heard above the music. “Do I look like I need help, buddy?” All trace of her usual societal demeanor gone in one Oscar-worthy moment, she passed the obvious entrance exam and walked right in.

  Brave as she felt after stepping into her tough-woman mode, she was relieved to have let Amber care for Coco. Zany Z’s was no place for a sophisticated Yorkie, not to mention how badly her floral tote bag would have clashed with her outfit. Besides, while a few tattered paper bowls of pretzels dotted the mismatched tables and bar top, the only bones in sight were stenciled on the wall behind grinning skulls. No, this was no place for… well, anyone. Yet Sue Bennett must have made an appearance at some point unless she knew Zane from somewhere else.

  Sadie made her way to the bar, doing her best to imitate walks she’d observed in biker movies. A few sideways glances from others told her she might not be pulling it off accurately, but she reached the bar nonetheless and ordered: “what that guy down there is having.” She nodded sharply to a man at the end of the bar and prayed she’d be able to chug down whatever it was without choking.

  The bartender, a voluptuous woman wearing a tank top so sheer that Sadie wondered why she bothered to wear it at all, plunked a pint of dark brew in front of her and a shot glass of amber liquid beside it. “Twelve bucks for the boilermaker,” the woman said. She slapped her hand on the counter, a bizarre mix of rings decking out each finger. The thought crossed Sadie’s mind that a punch from that hand could be painful, if not a direct ticket to a dentist’s chair.

  Fishing some crumpled bills out of her pocket, Sadie placed the money on the counter, adding in a generous tip. The woman leaned forward, took the money, and winked, a gesture Sadie wasn’t even going to attempt to decipher.

  While trying to determine if the shot shoul
d be tackled before the beer or the beer before the shot, Sadie sat on a bar stool with a slouched posture that seemed appropriate for the ambiance of the place. She looked around, noting a questionable duo in black at a pool table, an exchange of some sort between hands underneath a far corner table, and a group of scantily dressed women hanging out around a man in a booth. The object of the women’s effusive attention was tall and skinny, with a grin on his face that could easily be deemed sleazy. There was no question in Sadie’s mind that this was Zane himself.

  Not wanting to draw the man’s attention by staring, Sadie shifted her gaze to the bar’s eclectic décor. Vintage photographs of cable cars hung at varying heights on one wall. Most leaned in one direction or the other, and one frame lacked a fourth side. Fishing nets and wire baskets dangled from the ceiling, plastic fish and crabs attached to them in haphazard fashion. Menus from Chinatown restaurants looked up through varnish on a few round bar tables. In every direction, some sort of display detailed aspects of the city by the bay.

  Sadie turned back to the bar and eyed the two glasses. She gathered her courage, reached out with one brave swoop of her hand, and downed the shot of whiskey. As she fought back a choking response to the rush of heat through her throat, a man slid onto the bar stool next to her and spoke up.

  “Friends in low places, Ms. Kramer?”

  Sadie recognized the voice without having to look. Froggy!

  “Imagine running into you here, Detective,” Sadie squeaked, still recovering from the shock of the whiskey.

  “Yes, imagine that,” Frogert said. “I was just thinking the same thing. I would have taken you for more of a Palace Hotel tea type of girl.”

  Sadie grabbed the mug of beer and raised it in the air as if making a toast. “We all need a little variety in our lives, you know.” She ventured a sideways glance at the man, wondering if his hairline might have receded a bit more since the day before.

  “I can see that.” The detective ordered coffee, which soon landed in front of him. He tore open a sugar packet and took his time pouring its contents into the cup. Sadie took a sip of beer and waited for him to speak. She wasn’t about to volunteer her reasons for stopping in at Zany Z’s. He could do his own investigating. After all, that was his job.

  Harsh voices and harsher words accompanied the sound of shattering glass as a fight broke out near the entrance. Sadie turned to see a fist connect with the bouncer’s face. In turn, the bouncer strong-armed the source of the punch and shoved him out the front door.

  “Way to go, Eddie!” the bartender shouted, twirling a bar towel above her head.

  “You tell ’im, Lila!” The cheer came from a burly man with a scruffy beard, which started a chorus of catcalls and whistles.

  The man Sadie had pegged as Zane slid out of the booth and stepped behind the bar. He wrapped his arm around Lila’s waist, nuzzled his face in her neck, and slapped her derriere before pulling a beer out of a refrigerated compartment behind her and returning to the booth. Lila smiled, though in an odd way, causing Sadie to wonder if the reaction was forced. And had she seen a hint of a wince when Zane first grabbed the woman’s waist?

  “Just a bit out of your element?” Frogert asked as he took a sip of coffee.

  The detective’s comment clued Sadie in that her pseudo-biker-chick-tough-woman persona was slipping as she watched the interaction around her. The temporary fun of playing the role had faded quickly in view of broken glass, thrown punches, and a proprietor openly groping an employee. No, she wasn’t just a bit out of her element. She was way out. And she’d already learned more than she’d expected to; there was no need to linger. She downed the rest of her beer and stood up. “I’m calling it a night. See you soon, Detective.”

  “Count on it,” Frogert said.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You went to Zany Z’s?” Amber stared at Sadie as if she’d lost her mind.

  “Guilty as charged,” Sadie said. “First time ever, and I certainly hope the last. Not really my scene. How did you know?”

  Amber pointed to Sadie’s left arm, which was firmly wrapped around Coco. The Yorkie, though pleased with having Amber as a dog-sitter, had jumped straight into Sadie’s arms when she walked in the door.

  “Oh right,” Sadie said, eyeing the purple Z stamped on her skin. “Personally, I think checking my ID was unnecessary. I should have handed him a Medicare card.”

  “You don’t have a Medicare card,” Amber pointed out.

  “Minor detail,” Sadie said. “I will in a few years. Maybe I should have a fake one made, just for occasions like this. You know, like a fake ID? Eddie would get a kick out of it.” Sadie tilted her head to the side as she envisioned the scene. It would almost be worth another trip just to see the bouncer’s face when she presented the card.

  Amber pulled her jacket on and gave Coco a pat on the head.

  “Thanks for watching her and especially for dropping her off,” Sadie said.

  “You know I don’t mind,” Amber said. “I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow.” She smirked on her way out the door, an expression that looked adorable on her smooth, sweet face. “Sleep in if you need to after your wild night.”

  “Funny.” Sadie waved, thanked her again, and then closed the door after Amber left. “Come on, Coco, I need to get out of this crazy getup.” Moving to the bedroom, she shed her plain jeans and sweatshirt and donned a pair of hot pink pajamas with a UFO print. Green alien faces peered out of each flying saucer in the pattern. “There,” she said. “Much better, don’t you think?” Coco stared at her, seemingly unconvinced.

  Sadie moved to the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea. Coffee would keep her awake this late, and although she often had half a glass of wine during the evening, she’d had her fill of spirits for the night.

  Taking her tea into the living room, she settled into a favorite armchair and ran scenes from the evening through her mind, unsettling as a few of them were. The fight near the bar entrance was a highlight, though she was grateful to not have been sitting nearby. It gave the place an extra spark of authenticity in a surreal way, like being in a movie yet watching it at the same time. Most telling was “Zany” Zane’s treatment of the bartender, which was a testament to his true character, or lack thereof. And the more she thought about it, the clearer it seemed that woman’s inner reaction didn’t match the smiling front she’d put on. Replaying the scene in her head, the wince she’d questioned at first was not imagined.

  Turning her thoughts to Sue Bennett, she tried to fathom the connection between the everyday woman she’d observed on the customer’s visits to Flair and the low-life bar proprietor. It seemed incongruous to think of her dating someone like Zane. She had always been a quiet customer, choosing clothing purchases that were conservative and somewhat boring.

  Almost as difficult to imagine was a relationship to Luke Manning. Someone of his standing in the business world might be more suited for an upscale—dare she say snobby—companion like the woman who entered Manning Property Holdings while she was there—fashionably dressed, with a refined aura about her.

  Another possibility hit her, one she could barely believe she hadn’t thought of before. Not all chocolate is necessarily ordered by those with romantic intentions. Could any of the men be a brother? A father? Certainly not Zane! A business manager? There were many possibilities. But… the train of thought derailed quickly when she fetched the order copies and read small, scribbled notes at the bottom of each sheet. Cards had been included with all the orders. The first was from Luke. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Well, that one was pretty generic and certainly not original. It might be from a relative, but most likely it wasn’t. The second, from Zane, read “To my one and only.” Ha, that one was hard to believe!

  The third card was puzzling. “My beautiful little crab lady?” Now there was a Valentine greeting you didn’t hear every day. Sadie shook her head. No one had ever sent her a note like that, much less attached to custom chocolate truffles in a fanc
y heart-shaped box. It was peculiar. Why not “My beautiful little kitten?” or “My sweet petunia?” Granted the last sounded a little saccharine-ish. But my little crab lady? Didn’t that sound a little… er, crabby?

  Unless… A realization flashed through Sadie’s mind. An odd message like that usually had a special meaning to the giver and recipient, an inside joke, or just a unique set of interests or circumstances. Taking this approach, there were a few ways she could interpret the card that had accompanied that particular box of chocolates.

  “Maybe it was an apology, Coco,” Sadie said. “Maybe the victim had been acting crabby, and the gift sender—Bruno, in this case—felt he was to blame, and the card was a teasing way of saying he was sorry.” As she explained it to Coco, it already sounded weak. Unless the victim had been the one apologizing for being in a foul mood recently and this was the sender’s way of accepting her apology. Still, all in all, that theory was a stretch.

  Grabbing her cell phone, she put in a quick call to Amber, knowing she would have just arrived home and would still be awake. Amber answered on the second ring.

  “Amber,” Sadie said. “I have an odd question for you.”

  “Shoot,” Amber replied.

  “Did Sue Bennett ever mention plans when she was purchasing items from you? Like where she might be going that she needed a new outfit, anything like that?” It wasn’t really a strange question at all. Customers often said they needed something to wear for an upcoming luncheon or a special occasion or simply because they were tired of what was in their closets. Discussions about the reason for shopping were pretty common while people debated between outfits. And if in a hurry, they were even more likely to say something. For example, “I only have ten minutes and I need something new for a date tonight.” That sort of thing.