"This is ridiculous," Waverly said, angry eyes flashing. "Jeannette did not kill George. She didn't know he was seeing this girl." She flung her hair, ran her hand through it. "But all right. It was…I got home at my usual time, which is around seven."
"And you met her there? At your home?" Juhle asked.
"Yes."
"So she was there when you got home?" Shiu wanted to lock it down.
"No." She threw them both a challenging look. "I work all day. Usually I don't keep much food at home, and when Jeannette comes, she often goes shopping so we can cook something together."
Juhle kept up the press. "Is that what she did the other night?"
"Yes."
Shiu: "And what time did she come home, then? From shopping?"
"I don't know for sure."
Juhle: "But she wasn't there when you arrived?"
"I've already said that."
Shiu: "You'd been working. Did you pour yourself a drink when you got home? Or take a shower? Read your mail? Do you remember?"
Still obviously frustrated by this line of questioning, Waverly nevertheless sat back on the couch and gave it some thought. Finally, she opened her water and took a long drink. "I pulled into the driveway, got my mail, went inside, and made myself some iced coffee from the morning leftovers. Jeannette called me from her cell."
Juhle met his partner's eye for an instant. "What did she want?"
"She didn't know if I had any wine chilled, and she'd forgotten to pick it up at the grocery. She called and asked me to check, which I did, and we didn't have any, so she said she'd swing by Adriano's and pick up a bottle. Adriano's is just up one-oh-one, the next exit."
"So ten minutes?" Juhle clarified.
"Maybe that, yes."
Shiu said, "And ten back. So she got to your home when?"
This brought a rise. "Well, if she left the city at around four as she said, then I'm sure she got there at about four forty-five. One of the neighbors might have seen her. You could ask them."
"We will do that." Juhle adopted a gentle tone. "Of course, we'll do that."
"Then, as I've just been explaining to you, she went out to do some shopping."
Juhle kept on. "But you didn't actually meet her and see her at your house until closer to eight, maybe eight thirty. Would that be about right? Was it dark out, do you recall?"
Waverly leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes. At last she said, "It was just dark. I remember because when she pulled up, I opened the door to say hi and saw that she'd forgotten to turn off her car lights."
On up to Novato, Shiu said, "So she forgot to check if they had wine, then forgot to buy it, then forgot to turn off her car lights…"
"Must have had something else on her mind."
It was a clear afternoon with high clouds. Juhle looked over at the bay and almost dared let himself think they were going to have some nice weather. But he said, "That woman-her sister-she's a force of nature."
"You shouldn't covet thy neighbor's wife," Shiu said.
"I got one for you," he said. "How about 'You shouldn't say shouldn't'? Besides, she's not married. Therefore, she's not anybody's neighbor's wife."
"You're married, though."
"Gee, thanks, Shiu, that had momentarily slipped my mind. I wasn't coveting her, whatever the hell that is. I was just commenting that she was a force of nature. This is our exit."
"I know."
Adriano's was a small boutique liquor store in yet another Marin County mall with an unreasonable percentage of luxury cars in its parking lot. Shiu parked directly in front of the door, and the two inspectors walked into the empty shop. Classical music was playing in the background, and a bell sounded as they crossed the threshold. A well-dressed, short, white-haired man with a neat mustache came out of the back.
After introductions, it appeared that for once things might be simple. Mr. Adriano told them that he worked the outer store alone. Noon to nine, six days a week. It wasn't difficult at all, and he'd been here twenty-seven years. No one got into the cash register except him.
Of course, he knew Mrs. Palmer on sight. She had been in here many, many times with Vanessa Waverly. "Her sister, right?"
But he'd rather talk about Vanessa. Just between them-had they met her? Mamma mia! "I would gladly give up my left nut for one night, you know what I'm saying? Although I'm afraid I would have to get in a very long line. But what is it you want to know about her sister. Mrs. Palmer? Jeanne, is it?"
"Jeannette," Shiu said.
"Ah, that's right. Jeannette. I must remember." His habitual smile faded. He put a finger to his forehead at the flash of memory. "It just came to me. You gentlemen. The judge. Her husband, right?"
"I'm afraid so, sir. Do you remember the last time she was in here? Mrs. Palmer," Juhle asked.
Adriano scratched his cheek for a moment. "Not recently, I don't think. A month ago, maybe."
"Not two days ago?" Shiu asked.
"Oh, no. Definitely not."
"You're sure? Late dinner time? Say eight or so."
He stared off into the distance. "No. She may have stopped in and bought nothing if I wasn't out here and then maybe left. I might have missed that. I always try to hear the chime and come out if I'm working the back of the store. Like just now with you gentlemen. But she didn't buy anything where I had to use the register. That I would have remembered. And eight o'clock, not a busy time. Of course"-the impish smile returned-"if she ducked under the chime and stole a bottle…"
"No," Juhle said. "She wouldn't have done that."
"I'm sorry, then," Adriano said. "I haven't seen her."
11
"Home sweet home," Parisi said. "If you want to come in and wait ten minutes, I can give you your clothes back."
"I can pick them up later. Or you can drop them by my place."
"Except we're both here now."
"Okay, sold."
Parisi lived in a stand-alone one-story house adjacent to a grassy park almost all the way north on Larkin, as it turned out, a block up from Ghirardelli Square. The house was a Spanish-style stucco beauty with a tiny front lawn strip, a covered stoop leading to the front door. There was a parking spot between Parisi's driveway and the one next door that wouldn't have held anything much bigger than a shoebox, but that's why Hunt had bought the Cooper.
"You've got a whole house?" he asked as they got out of the car. "How do you own a house in San Francisco nowadays?"
She shrugged. "Says the man who lives in a warehouse."
"Yes, but I rent. More than that, I rent-control rent."
"You'll see," she said. "It's a small house. A friend of my mom's retired and gave me a deal." She fished in her purse, and the small garage door started up. "Don't ask me why, but I never use the front door."
"I wonder why you don't use the front door?" Hunt mused.
She laughed and said, "Don't ask." Then, "Come on, follow me," taking his hand.
They walked into the garage past the black Miata convertible parked there. At what turned out to be the door to the kitchen, she pressed another button on the wall to bring down the garage door again.
Hunt was close up behind her. She was still holding his hand in the darkness, then released it to open the door. "Wait just a second," she said. "Checking something. Good. You can come in now."
It was a small kitchen, modern and functional, that looked like it got a reasonable amount of use. She'd hung several pots and pans on a metal canopy against the wall next to the refrigerator, and a block full of what looked like good knives sat next to a canister of cooking utensils-wooden forks and spoons, spatulas, and brushes-on the counter by the stove. "What did you check for?" Hunt asked.
"To see if I did the dishes. I wasn't sure. I didn't want you to think I was a slob."
"I wasn't going to think that. But if there are dishes to do, that must mean you eat here."