26 Beauties

Prologue
Chapter 1

•••

Prologue

TINA BARNES TURNED the key to the BMW X3. All she got was a series of clicks. “Awfffuck the Bavarian Motor Works!” She slapped the steering wheel. This was not the first time the goddamn Beamer had left her stranded. The car belonged to Sal Touri, her boss at The Brass Ring Gentlemen’s Club. She’d made sure she gave him plenty of incentive to keep letting her borrow the car. She tried the key again with the same result, then called the club. “Hey, it’s Tina,” she said to the woman who answered the phone.

“Who?”
“Cheyenne.” Yet another fake name.
“Your shift just started. You better be calling me from the club’s parking lot.”
“Car trouble. I’m working on it now.” Tina knew that would shut down the manager. Everyone in the club knew that Sal was sweet on her and had loaned her one of his cars. She didn’t worry about saying anything else to the manager.

Despite trying to keep a low profile, Tina knew there was one thing she couldn’t hide: She was a beautiful woman.

Tina was almost thirty, but most men thought she was much, much younger. It was her face. She’d never smoked, and she tried to eat right. She’d gotten by on her looks for a long time and planned to cash in on them for a long time to come.

She was just under six feet tall and slender, with long blonde hair. She smiled, remembering how Grandma Jane used to brush her hair every night. It had felt so nice. She missed Grandma Jane. But she didn’t miss anyone else from Muskogee, Oklahoma. And certainly no one from Oklahoma City, where she’d spent nine months in witness protection.

Her name wasn’t even really Tina. But she had to keep the name as long as she was still using the ID the state police had issued her, after she’d snitched on the biggest meth operation in the Midwest. She would continue to call herself Tina until the ID was useless. Which could be any day now, if the state police found out she’d skipped town over three weeks ago and was now living in California.

What a goddamn joke. State cops were strict and worried about everything.

Now she had a car and a job that brought in a couple grand on Friday and Saturday nights alone. She chose to stay at this shitty hotel near Golden Gate Park. There were no questions, no IDs, and no trail to lead to her. It was perfect.

Even though the whole situation was a pain in the ass, it still beat the hell out of witness protection in Oklahoma City. She didn’t care how dangerous the meth heads were; she couldn’t have stayed in WITSEC for even another thirty seconds. Luckily, she’d known Sal Touri from back when she worked at a club in Muskogee. He’d left Oklahoma to find his fortune — and avoid a possible indictment — and now he was part owner of The Brass Ring in San Francisco.

And Tina had Sal under control like he was her puppy.

When she leaned over to look in her purse on the passenger seat, the necklace with her real name, Audrey, written out in 14 karat gold, slipped out of her top. Her grandma had given her the necklace when she turned fourteen. It was risky to wear something related to her real identity, but it was the last thing she had that reminded her of Grandma Jane.

Tina turned the key again. The same clicks as before. She heard something, then noticed a tall guy leaning on a nearby white Range Rover and observing her.

He started walking toward the car. “I think it’s just a loose battery cable. I have a little experience with BMWs,” he said. He had a casual gait and held something in his left hand, some kind of inhaler. Like an asthma inhaler. She also noticed that he had a really nice smile.   Tina yelled through the closed window, “Can you check for me?” She didn’t lower the window or unlock the door. She wasn’t stupid. This was San Francisco.

But she pulled the handle to pop the hood. She waited as the man fiddled with something and called out, “Try it again.”
Just the clicks. Then Tina heard the man say, “Uh-oh.”

That didn’t sound good. Tina threw caution to the wind and opened the door. She walked around to where the guy stood, leaning under the open hood. She peered over his shoulder at the engine. She didn’t know why she wanted a look, because she didn’t understand how engines worked.

Tina asked, “So, what’s wrong?”
The man smiled. “I’m not sure. That’s why I said uh-oh.” He looked Tina up and down. “Where do you need to go?”
Sheepishly, Tina said, “Do you know The Brass Ring?”
“I do. I can see why you’d be one of their stars.” He paused and rubbed his chin. Then he said, “I could put you in touch with someone for a better job.”
“I doubt that.”
The man stepped away from the car and smiled. “C’mon. I can drive you.”
“Nope. I’m waiting here for” — Tina paused slightly, then came up with — “my boyfriend.”

“I figured the car wasn’t yours. The “Show Me Your Boobs” bumper sticker kinda gave it away. You sure you don’t need a ride?” Tina shook her head. When the man reached up and touched her arm, she jerked it away and, without thinking, kicked him hard in the leg. It was an instinctual move remembered from middle school tae kwon do class. But her platform shoes affected her form. The man raised his hand with the asthma inhaler and sprayed something into her face that burned. It wasn’t an inhaler. Whatever it was made her eyes sting like someone had thrown acid at her. She had to close her eyes just to ease the horrible sensation. Tina felt panic rise in her throat. Her face felt like it was melting. She turned toward a clump of trees that bordered the park and started to run. She knew she was already breathing hard, but she couldn’t risk stopping. The man was still chasing her. She felt a measure of relief as she reached the park. But there was no one around and the man was still behind her.

Then things got much worse.

•••

Chapter 1

I COULDN’T HELP but feel proud, looking over the crowd at Susie’s Café. I’ve never considered myself much of a party planner, but I’d knocked this one out of the park.

One of my best friends, Claire Washburn, had been named medical examiner of the year by a national medicolegal investigators board. The association had put on a dull dinner for Claire and a dozen other winners of various awards. I felt she deserved more. Claire had been expecting a very small affair. Maybe just the four of us members of the Women’s Murder Club: me and Claire plus our other besties, Cindy Thomas and Yuki Castellano. Instead, without telling Claire, I’d invited everyone who loved her. Which was pretty much everyone she knew, from family and friends to her associates at the San Francisco Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. Everyone was mixing and milling and having a great time. Somehow it made me feel like a hero. At least a social hero.

My husband, Joe, gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek. “You did a great job on this party, Blondie.” He’d whispered it in my ear like it was a secret. I wouldn’t have been upset if he shouted it to the crowd. It made me smile from ear to ear.

As Joe wandered off to regale some members of Claire’s staff with stories of his exploits at the FBI, Yuki came up and gave me a hug.

“Lindsay! This party rocks! Even Jackson is having a good time. Look in the corner.”

I glanced to my right to see Yuki’s husband, Jackson Brady, talking to a small group that included my partner, Rich Conklin, and a few other cops. The only notable absence was our other partner, Inspector Sonia Alvarez, who was currently away on a well-earned vacation.

Yuki glanced around the room and said, “You really pulled all this together yourself? It’s incredible. I want you to organize a big birthday bash for me. If you can pull this off for an award, you can go overboard for a birthday.”
“You never even acknowledge your birthday.”
“I didn’t know I could have a party like this if I did! I’ll make one up if I have to.” Yuki added, “I’m sorry I wasn’t really any help setting this up. I’ve got a drug dealing case with nine defendants. There’s an attempted murder charge thrown in on the main defendant. We have two different interpreters, and one of the defendants claims he’s got a syndrome that won’t let him sit for more than ten minutes at a time. A court psychologist confirmed it. Makes for a very difficult trial.” She sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

I noticed the ever changing streak of color in her hair was now a royal purple and decided to change the subject. “I see you’ve updated your hair.”
“I thought purple was a better color for the social event of the year.”

We both laughed.

“Speaking of fashionable,” Yuki said, glancing down at my feet, “I love your shoes! Are those Louboutins? Real or knockoffs?”
Like I would ever pay a thousand dollars for a pair of shoes. I gave her a look. “I prefer to call them imitations.”

We both laughed again. Yuki knew as well as anyone that I wasn’t much of a fashionista. As a cop in San Francisco, I tended to stick with my usual slacks, button down shirts, and sensible shoes. But somehow when I saw these pumps in a window over on Polk Street, I had to buy them.

I went back to my hostess duties and made sure there was plenty of food coming out of the kitchen. Then I spotted Claire’s husband, Edmund, a percussionist with the San Francisco Symphony, specializing in kettledrums. He’d arranged for a string quartet of fellow orchestra members to entertain, but after about ten minutes of classical music, it was clear the party was more of a rock ’n’ roll event. Two musicians found the house band’s guitars, and while the usual drum kit wasn’t set up, Edmund improvised with a pan he’d grabbed from the kitchen. It was fantastic.

A few minutes later, Claire came up to me and gave me a big embrace. “I can’t believe you put all of this together without me figuring it out!”
“I was afraid you’d be mad that it was too much.”
“Good food, fine drinks, and all my friends. It’s just right.” She gave me another spontaneous hug.

I circulated for a while, catching up with various friends and colleagues. But a little later, I noticed Claire at a table in the corner. She looked to be in a serious discussion with a teenage girl I recognized as her niece, Hope. Claire was clearly trying to keep Hope calm, but the girl seemed to be getting agitated. It looked like it might turn ugly.

Whatever the conversation was, Hope didn’t like it. She stood up from the table so fast she knocked her chair over. The clanking sound drew some stares. The teen turned and marched out the front door of the restaurant.

I went over and sat down next to Claire. Just offering support. I was glad I did. “I’m sorry about whatever set your niece off just now,” I said. I knew not to say anything more or ask any probing questions. I was just here to listen. I put my arm around Claire’s shoulder.
“Technically, Hope isn’t my niece. She’s my cousin Ellen’s daughter,” Claire said. “But Ellen and I have always been close. We were like sisters growing up. So Hope has always felt like my niece.”
“It’s still nice she came to your party.” Well, it was nice, until she stormed out.
“To tell you the truth, she’s been staying with us for the last little while. And I was afraid to leave her at the house alone.” Claire sighed. “I just don’t understand her. I always thought raising boys was harder. But Hope’s been a challenge since she turned twelve.”

Claire was a mother of three, two young adult sons and an eight year old daughter, Rosie. She was my go-to for parenting advice for my own daughter, Julie, so it surprised me to hear her sound so frustrated.

“I had really hoped that alternative school Ellen found might turn Hope around. But she’s nineteen now, and graduated, barely.” Claire described the special school her cousin had sent Hope to, in one of the towns east of Orinda, after some kind of trouble she’d had in regular classes. More behavioral than academic. To be honest, the “alternative school” sounded more like a boot camp.
“I seriously worry what’s next for her. But I guess I’ll worry about that at another time. Because there’re too many people here to let them see me cry.” Claire used a napkin from the table to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. Without another word, she stood up and strolled into the crowd.

A few minutes later, I spotted a tall man I didn’t recognize. He was startlingly good looking. His longish brown hair and dark eyes gave him a rugged vibe. I noticed a faded scar that ran down the left side of his face. Somehow it made him even more attractive. I couldn’t explain it.

Who is this, and why is he at Claire’s party? I wondered. My cop’s curiosity got the better of me. I went over to the man and introduced myself.

He pocketed his iPhone, took my hand, and shook it. “I’m Eric Snaff,” he said with a weak smile.

“How do you know Claire?” This caught him by surprise. Eric didn’t seem to recognize Claire’s name.
He said, “I’m afraid I don’t really know her. I’ve sort of crashed this party because I need to talk to Cindy Thomas, the reporter from the San Francisco Chronicle, and I heard she’d be here. I’ll scoot out of here as soon as I speak to her.”
I sensed his embarrassment and appreciated his honesty. “She’s around here somewhere,” I said. I scanned the floor, then saw Cindy’s curly blond head across the room. She was chatting with one of the college aged waitresses. Probably listening to the girl’s life story and offering encouragement, I thought.

To be on the safe side, I decided to walk the good looking stranger over to my friend, and I stood by while Eric introduced himself.

Eric said, “I’m so sorry to intrude. I went to the Chronicle looking for you and happened to overhear two people saying that you were at Susie’s Café. I don’t think they meant for me to hear that.”
Cindy looked a little frustrated. “What is it I can help you with, Mr. Snaff?”
“I have a story I’d like you to investigate and write. An incredible story.”
“I’m sure your story will be just as incredible in the morning.” Cindy glanced around at the partygoers, locating her husband, Rich Conklin, then back at Eric Snaff. “This is hardly the time or place. You’d have to make an appointment and come by my office.”

Eric looked crestfallen. He nodded his head in an apology.

His response seemed to have gotten to Cindy. She sighed and said, “What’s the story about?”
“My seventeen year old daughter disappeared three months ago.”