When Claire answered the phone early that morning at the morgue, she immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the line. She asked, “Where are you, Joan?”
“About three minutes from your office, depending on the rush hour traffic. I stayed at the Intercontinental for a night. I just needed to be alone with my thoughts. Claire, I have an idea. Actually, can we talk about this in person? I’d like to invite you to breakfast at my house.”
Claire genuinely liked Joan and loved to hear her laugh. She was curious about how her recovery was progressing. Not only that, but Joan was offering Claire an oceanside meal prepared by a gourmet chef plus a round-trip ride in the Bentley—and well, who could turn that down?
A few minutes later, Joan picked Claire up. As she drove them along Fell Street, she told Claire that she loved Robert.
Claire couldn’t help thinking that there was going to be a but somewhere in Joan’s story.
“I was smitten at first sight,” said Joan. “He was bartending at the Redwood Room on Geary when I came in with a girlfriend from the library board. We were organizing a literary lecture series for kids. When Robert asked me to pick my poison, I told him to surprise me.
“He made me a drink, Claire, and called it a Robertini.” Joan laughed and took a turn onto Stanyan Street. “I still don’t know what was in it. It was layered in many colors and smelled like a garden in the rain. That’s what it tasted like, too, but it had a secret punch at the end.”
Claire was enjoying the romantic meet-cute story, but she was still waiting for the but.
“We started dating. He was very demonstrative and funny. He could do impressions, you know. His George W. Bush was hilarious, and his impression of me—my God.” Joan laughed long and hard. “Maybe he’ll do it for you. You won’t believe how spot-on it is.
“But most important, I could tell Robbie anything and everything. I felt completely comfortable around him. I told him about my first marriage to Jared, and how the man I loved had turned out to be gay. That’s when Robert said, ‘I got news for you, Joanie. I play for that team, too.’”
Claire exhaled. So that was the but. She said, “And the two of you decided to get married anyway?”
“It worked for Judy Garland.” Joan laughed. “Look, I love Robbie. He is handsome, don’t you think?”
“Very.”
“He’s very talented, too. He can sing and dance. And he can act like that guy on NCIS. Mark Harmon.”
“Impressive,” said Claire.
Joan nodded and pulled the large silver Bentley up to the gates to her home. She held the remote out the window with her good arm, pressed the button on it, and the gates swung in. She drove up to the beautiful house and parked next to a Mercedes sedan.
“I got that for Robbie for our anniversary. The two of us have a good marriage.” Joan turned off the car and faced Claire. “That’s why I know that Robert didn’t try to kill me, Claire. He doesn’t want to be a widower. He’s pretty obsessed with his image, and that title would make him seem old. Besides, he and I have nothing but good times. We don’t fight. We have love and companionship. Honestly, that’s all we need.”
“And Samuel Alton?”
“Who? Say, is that coffee and something yummy I smell?”
Claire opened her car door and Joan reached over to the glove box with her bandaged arm. She took out a pistol.
Claire said, “Whoa. What’s that for?”
Joan shrugged and said, “Someone tried to murder me, remember?” Then she grinned and started waving the gun like a rodeo clown as she took Claire around the side of the house and out to the patio.
Once they sat down at the table, Marjorie came out and said, “Welcome, Dr. Washburn. Would you like a mimosa to start?”
Claire said, “I’ll have orange juice without the champagne, please. I have to go back to work after breakfast.”
Joan was standing at the edge of the patio, sighting various objects on the property over the top of her gun, from the statuary to specimen trees to the birds. Each time she aimed her gun at something, she said, “Pytoo, pytoo, pytoo.”
Claire said, “Joan? Is that thing loaded?”
Joan called back, “Of course it is. I’ve also got a license, if you’re wondering, and I’ve gone out to the range to practice. You can never be too careful when you were almost murdered.”
“Come sit down and give me that thing. I’ll give it back after I leave, okay? It’s just for my own safety, get me?”
“You’re silly,” Joan said, laughing, but she sat down and put the gun on the table. The muzzle was pointing in Claire’s direction. Claire gently spun the gun so it was pointing toward the horizon.
She let out a small breath, but her heart kept beating wildly in her chest.
Marjorie brought out the breakfast. It was a mushroom and fines herbes frittata that smelled delicious and was paired with a side of oven-fresh warm bread. Claire’s stomach rumbled, so she unfurled her napkin and placed it in her lap. She was just lifting her fork when she heard what sounded like a gunshot.
“What’s that?” Claire asked.
Two more shots were fired.
“It’s coming from the pool house. Damn it to hell!”
Then Joan grabbed the pistol and started to run.