Broken Serenade Page 4

  “The blood smear on the door’s window had been done with a plastic glove,” the young police officer announced. “I doubt that we’ll be lucky enough to find any fingerprints.”

  After a very thorough examination of the entire suite, including the store, the forensic team finally left the place. Vivien watched absently as they gathered their plastic bags containing carpet fiber, hair, blood, and other minuscule pieces of evidence. Nothing clear so far. She felt as though she were living a nightmare. Or rather, she had been involved in a horror movie against her will. She hated horror movies. Most of them seemed stupid, the rotten fruit of sick imagination and nothing more than that.

  The detective handed her his business card. Vivien was able to read it – with some difficulty though in the semidarkness of the hallway.

  “Detective Art Leonard?” she syllabified his name.

  “Correct. We thank you for your cooperation, Miss Hopkins. If you remember anything, even the most apparently unimportant detail concerning Miss Arlene Morgan, please don’t hesitate to call me. Anytime. Day or night.”

  “Yes, I will. Definitely,” Vivien promised, hardly hiding her tears.

  “And… I’m sorry for your business, but we have to lock up your store and warehouse,” the detective declared in a calm tone that was remarkably sympathetic. “It is the crime scene for now.”

  “I was expecting that,” she replied lackadaisical, getting up slowly from the box she had been sitting on for the last couple of hours. With visibly unsure steps, she walked out of the store. The rain had stopped, but the sun seemed to have chosen to stay hidden behind heavy clouds that day.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to drive?” Detective Leonard asked somehow concerned. “I can take you home. One of the police officers can follow us in your car.”

  Vivien would’ve liked to decline his offer. The cocky cop had tortured her with all kinds of questions for almost three hours. She would’ve been extremely happy to see him disappear from her sight. But she wasn’t sure she could concentrate and drive herself home. She was still in shock, nauseated, and dizzy. And she couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone with the memory of Arlene’s dead body, not just yet. By comparison, the company of a nagging character like detective Leonard appeared surprisingly welcoming. In fact, he is only doing his job, she admitted and accepted his offer.

  CHAPTER 3

  “This weather is perfect for jogging,” Timothy Leigh told his older brother, trying desperately to change the topic of the previous discussion. He felt his nerves stretched to the point of breaking in shreds, and he wanted to avoid an open conflict with his only sibling. They had not seen each other in years, but Clark stubbornly debated the same old subject.

  To Timothy’s exasperation, the man beside him refused to be led subtly toward another field of conversation. He continued to expose his distorted ideas with sickening enthusiasm.

  “You have to admit, Tim, that a woman’s place is at home, in the kitchen and especially beside the children. Someone has to guide them, to show them the right way in this life. Why do you think we are confronted today with a spectacular surge in minors’ criminality? Why do you think our students are unable to pass math tests? Why children obesity has reached scary levels? Why our girls become pregnant and give birth while still in high school? All of this happens because the woman left the nursery and became involved in business and politics. She is competing with the man. Soon, she will be too busy to squeeze a mere sexual intercourse into her full schedule. Little by little, they will reduce us, men, to the level of sperm donors. That and nothing more. We have to do something before it’s too late, mate. We can’t just sit on our lazy asses and watch as they take full control of our world.”

  “And what do you propose?” Timothy asked, bored to death. “Do you want me to subscribe to your secret organization of misogynists? Your ideology is scandalously old fashioned, au début du Moyen ge! I am not at all attracted to this sort of ideas. On the contrary, I salute women’s healthy initiative. No offense, but smart men always did. Competition is the motor of evolution. I consider that women should have all the opportunities that we have. In all domains! Maybe they’re even better than we are. Have you ever thought of that? It is very possible. When I think of millions of enlightened women who have been burned at the stake during the witch-hunts, I often wonder if we wouldn’t have benefited from more advanced medicine and science in general right now. Unfortunately, human history had to suffer the actions of deadly misanthropes like Kramer and Sprenger. Watch out! Don’t follow in their steps! But, what can I say? If you weren’t so paranoid about joining and withdrawing from your organization, maybe I would’ve come to one of your meetings. Only to listen to what you, macho men, have to say. I’m absolutely sure that you provide a lot of fun!”

  “Let’s not exaggerate here, Tim. Nobody wants to kill them, God forbid! On the contrary, we want to tame them and use them rightly, more efficiently.”

  “Tame them? Use them? Snap out of it, Clark! They’re human beings like you and me, not animals or machines.”

  “Man, they’ve become too aggressive,” Clark insisted. “They aim to be state leaders, presidents.”

  “What about Elizabeth II, Queen of England? Your Queen…”

  “That’s a totally different matter! Queen Elizabeth has a duty,” Clark stated, and his respect for the Queen was so obvious, one could have almost touched it! “She inherited the throne.”

  “Oh, so you have great respect for women who inherit something, and no respect at all for those who work hard to achieve what they want.”

  “Tim, you’re twisting my words.”

  “I have no intention whatsoever of doing that. I merely try to highlight the flaws in your rationale.”

  “Man, one thing’s for sure: they show domineering tendencies lately. They want us to live henpecked! They have a hunger for power, and their boldness infuriates me, and it scares the dickens out of me.”

  “And what is your suggestion? Do you want them to do it with plenty of subtlety? A pair of man’s pants to conceal their womanhood, and a masculine penname, as George Sand chose to push her way among the mighty men of her time. Would that satisfy you? Or would you rather have them die on the barricades of science, as Marie Curie?”

  “I still don’t understand how you can be so tolerant with women. Especially when the most important ones in your life have been horrible, starting with mother who practically abandoned you in the arms of the babysitters, and finishing with Nadine who dumped you at the altar. Even Mandy, my ex, considered that you were arrogant and as cold as an iceberg in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. I guess the fact that you were my brother was one more reason for her to leave me.”

  “Now… Mandy…” Timothy said between heavy breaths. “That woman I can’t blame. If I had been a woman, I wouldn’t have been able to put up with a man like you for too long. Especially after she found out that you had joined This World of Men. Put yourself in her shoes, man! With your concepts, you were bound to fail in marriage.”

  Unexpectedly, Clark came to an abrupt stop right in the middle of the street. He bent his back and propped his hands on his knees. Instinctively, Timothy checked for incoming cars, but continued to run for a few more feet.

  “Hold your horses, Tim! I was thinking…Why all this pain and effort? This is a battle we’re going to lose anyway, man,” Clark lamented, breathing heavily.

  “Speak for yourself,” his younger brother retorted. “That figures… you shouldn’t be thinking too often.”

  “Seriously, man! We’re growing old no matter what. We’ll start losing muscular mass, 8 percent every ten years as they advertise, until we’ll look like dried, old prunes.”

  “That’s an unhealthy, pessimistic thought,” Timothy said, coming back to check on him.

  “That’s a realistic thought,” Clark corrected him.

  “I want no part of it!”

  “Suit yourself!”

  “Anothe
r one of your wise answers! You’re ruining my running. Are you able to get home, or should I carry you on my back?” Timothy asked jokingly, happy to see that there was nothing wrong with his brother apart from his well-known laziness.

  Clark was not paying attention to him anymore. His panting had subsided, and the expression on his face suddenly reminded Timothy of the lustful Wolfie who had just laid eyes on sexy Red Hot Riding Hood. Clark was practically salivating, in ecstasy.

  “Tim, check that out, man! This is what I call WOMAN!” He spelled the last word biting his lower lip and staring without restraint. “Yeah, man! And a brunette on top of all! A true rarity in this city of blondes.”

  “Clark, I really admire the vigor with which you perorate against women. But really, I can’t help not to observe that you’re a sucker for dames, man! Which makes you a hypocrite every once in a while,” Timothy said mockingly.

  Following Clark’s leer, he discovered the object of his brother’s swift attraction.

  “Clark, that’s nothing like your 24/7 housekeeper-cook-mom-wife-and-etcetera woman-of-your-dreams,” Timothy pointed out.

  The woman was indeed superb. A real knockout. The black sweater dress made in a dainty, feminine pattern, hugged her body with sexy candor, emphasizing her graceful, perfect curves. A wild gust of wind blew her polka dot orange scarf and her luxuriant hair that reached her shoulders in dark-brown cascades. Unfortunately, it covered her face, partially masked by a huge pair of sunglasses in the first place. She opened the door of her Lexus Coupe parked in front of the garage and was ready to get in. A thought rushed to Timothy’s mind. That particular house gifted his ears lately with beautiful piano music exquisitely executed.

  A cyclist whisked by them at what felt like the speed of light. It startled Timothy who lost her dreamlike image for less than a couple of seconds. Enough for the mysterious woman to melt into the interior of her luxury car with tinted windows. All that remained exposed transiently to his delighted eyes was a small, delicate foot in a high-heel shoe and a perfect ankle embellished with a golden anklet that shone timidly from under the black silk stocking. Involuntarily, his brain combined the sight of that jewel with Shubert’s Serenade that he had listened to only a couple of days back as he had jogged by her house. The result violently shook his spirit. Suddenly he felt himself thrown forcefully back in time, in a past that he so badly wanted it erased. The mental picture of Lili’s dead body disfigured beyond any recognition gained contour inside his mind with unnerving clarity. Her never- missing ankle bracelet was hanging hideously on her burned leg. A few feet away, a pair of metallic high heel shoes was still smoldering.

  “Tim, are you OK?” His brother’s voice stopped him from fully reliving that nightmare. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Do you know her?”

  “No. No. I don’t think so. Actually, I didn’t even see her face.”

  “Yes. It’s strange. Not quite the weather for sunglasses.”

  “Her ankle bracelet… Have you noticed it? It reminded me of Lili. She would’ve turned 39 or 40 this year. She was about your age.”

  “I know, we’ve been in high school together,” Clark said peevishly.

  “You and Lili? You’ve never mentioned that before.”

  “I’ve never had time to do it. I left immediately after her death, if you remember,” he muttered under his breath.

  The beige Lexus coupe passed them slowly, with what seemed exaggerated care. Or maybe the woman inside it wanted to check them out too.

  “Well, I’ll be damned! It’s crystal clear,” Clark declared, turning around and staring shamelessly after the passing car. “She liked me,” he said confidently, eager to change the delicate subject concerning Lili.

  “Of course she liked you. Women like you, generally speaking. Especially for the first couple of seconds after they met you. Just until you open your mouth to speak. Then, the problems start pouring,” Timothy replied.

  * * *

  Vivien was grateful that the car offered her total privacy. She could not believe that she had met Tee so soon after her moving back to the area. She had dreamed about this moment countless times. He had changed. His ash blonde hair showed a few gray strands on his temples now. He looked more mature, so athletically built. His arms and legs were muscular and strong as if he spent half a day in the gym every day! He looked much better than she remembered him, and she marveled at the thought that time had only enhanced his handsomeness.

  Vivien made a U-turn at the first intersection and followed them from a distance. She parked from time to time and waited for them to move away. Finally, they ended their run in front of a new house that displayed a particularly modern and unique architectural design. A house like that was hard to mistake for another. She took a quick look at her watch and left at once. Punctual as I know her to be, chances are that Laura has already arrived at grandmother’s apartment. It was a brilliant idea to give her a spare key, Vivien thought. It would have been impolite to let a person like Laura wait in front of the locked up apartment, knowing that she had worked for granny Carol for more than fifteen years.

  CHAPTER4

  Her late grandmother’s luxurious apartment was located in Stanford Villa, near downtown Palo Alto, in a lushly landscaped community. That afternoon, the peaceful surroundings did little to improve Vivien’s gloomy mood. As she got out of her car, she wasn’t entirely sure that her huge sunglasses concealed her tears successfully. She couldn’t stop crying. She wasn’t certain if she cried for her recently deceased grandmother, for Arlene’s untimely and apparently violent death, or if there were tears of happiness, because she had met Tee unexpectedly after fifteen years of just dreaming about him.

  She felt lonely. She knew she could’ve called her ex-boyfriend anytime, but she didn’t want to mislead him. They had broken up a few weeks ago, and there was no way back. Now he loved her and wanted her, because she wasn’t available for him anymore. Three years in a row, he had mocked her feelings and her fidelity. In reality though, she couldn’t swear that she had truly loved him either. Maybe I was in love only with LOVE. Or maybe I only yearned for a real relationship with a man. A romantic involvement that would have helped her break free from her own imagination often fueled by memories, literature, and music.

  Laura greeted her in the doorway and embraced her with exaggerated warmth.

  “Enough, enough, dear girl,” the old woman tried to calm her down, patting her gently on the back. “I got you now. No need for so much suffering, dear. The death of an eighty-three-year-old woman who has lived her life, and the demise of a sex kitten who dressed mainly to attract troubles are not serious reasons to fall into a state of depression of Grand Canyon’s dimensions. Not by far!”

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Vivien apologized, detaching from Laura’s enormous, fat arms. As she wiped her nose with a Kleenex, she registered the old woman’s last words as too harsh, hard-hearted, and grossly lacking tact. Laura had put her foot in her mouth, but she didn’t seem to care. Perhaps I misjudge her, Vivien reflected.

  Laura had buried her husband and her two sons, all three of them victims of the merciless cancer. That had probably toughened her soul and had made her indifferent to other people’s death. Some suspected that her culinary recipes, full of fats and sugar, had quickened her men’s passing. But no one had the bravery to tell her that in her face. Her body frame - six feet tall and weighing over 350 pounds - did not particularly awake courageous feelings in any collocutor with sudden contradictory impulses.

  “Don’t bother with that,” she said waving her hand as if to dismiss any problem. “Come and taste my pumpkin pie. It’s a delicatessen,” the woman praised her own cooking talents. “And it’s still warm from the oven.”

  The magnificent news that Timothy Leigh was still not married improved the exaggeratedly sweet taste of Laura’s homemade pumpkin pie considerably, up to the point of making it edible. Architectural Digest had presented him as the most talented architect in the Ba
y Area. He had established his own business in Menlo Park. Laura was remarkably well informed. She even knew the names, ages, and favorite colors of each and every one of Tee’s former girlfriends. Unfortunately, seen through the old woman’s eyes, the man of Vivien’s dreams seemed distant, incapable of love or of getting truly close to a woman. An introvert totally dedicated to his work.

  “If, by any chance, you happen to receive a mere greeting from him, you can consider yourself a lucky person that day. He’s as cold as a frozen chicken. I don’t see him getting married any time soon. If ever! And then, who would put up with him? One of his girlfriends dished up on him that he was a controlling freak.” Laura leaned close to Vivien’s ear. “In bed, I mean,” she added pianissimo. “He never has sex without a condom. He’d rather double it than take the risk and father a child. He told the poor girl exactly that! Imagine that you’re all worked up and ready to be loved, and he drops that bomb on you!”

  Vivien shifted in her seat. Now that is way too much information! I didn’t need to know all that! Bedroom fights of other people didn’t really concern her. She was quite fed up with her own.

  “You wouldn’t want to go out with a man like that, girl!” Laura said meaningfully.

  “Anyway, I’m not interested in him anymore,” Vivien declared in a timid voice, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin. “I got over that childish infatuation with him long ago,” she continued, examining the small piece of pumpkin pie from her plate as if she intended to count its every molecule of cinnamon generously sprinkled on top.

  Laura treated her with a suspicious look over her cheap glasses. The young woman’s words, told without vitality, unconvincingly, urged her to believe the contrary rather.