The Sourdough Wars

on the stairs, and then some uniformed cops came in. One of them took us downstairs to wait for the homicide inspectors.
    It didn’t take Martinez very long. He was accompanied, as usual, by his partner, Curry, who always seemed to keep quiet while Martinez blustered. Both of them wore rumpled brown suits, as usual, and Martinez had on a blue tie with little pigs all over it. It was probably meant to be funny, but it suited him. He had wispy dark hair and a pale, washed-out face that always wore an impatient look, as if he wished you would just shut up. And yet he kept asking you questions and more questions and complaining that you weren’t telling him enough. As for Curry, he had no visible moles, scars, or other distinguishing marks, so it’s hard to describe him. But I’ll try: He had plain features, brownish hair, and ordinary eyes. He must have been great at undercover work—no one alive could remember a face like that.
    Neither of them liked me much either.
    Rob explained the situation, and they went upstairs and came down again. Martinez spoke to Chris: “What happened, Miss Nicholson?”
    “Didn’t Rob tell you?”
    “He told us he left you with Martinelli last night. Did you spend the night with the victim?”
    “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
    “Let’s put it this way. Did you kill him?”
    “How dare you!” She was taller than he was, and standing very straight.
    He waved a placating hand. “It’s my business to know when you last saw him alive.”
    “I left at nine this morning. He said he had a ten o’clock appointment.”
    “Who with?”
    “That was none of
my
business. Peter got a phone call sometime last night. He took it in the living room and talked a long time. He didn’t mention till this morning that he had an appointment at ten.”
    “You think the caller made the appointment?”
    “Yes. And kept it and murdered him.”
    “So who was it?”
    “I told you I didn’t know. Can’t the phone company…”
    Martinez made a face. Cops hate it when you ask the questions. “Where was his appointment—here or somewhere else?”
    “He didn’t say.”
    “Okay. Do you know who his next of kin is?”
    “His parents are dead. He has a sister—Anita Ashton.” They talked a few minutes more, but I didn’t listen. I was thinking of Anita Ashton—I’d known her for quite a while.

Chapter Four
    Chris and I went back to the office, leaving Rob to get his story. We sent Kruzick home, after having him cancel the rest of the day’s appointments. Then Chris found a bottle of bourbon and made herself a drink. I declined—I think you have to be from Virginia to stand the stuff.
    For a while she stared out the window, and I let her. When she was ready to talk, she said, “I’m going to find the sucker who did this.”
    I nodded.
    “Will you help me?” she asked.
    “Sure.” Revenge may not be the most uplifting theme of the human psyche, but it can be comforting sometimes. Of course I was going to help her.
    The phone rang. Chris reached for it automatically. “Chris Nicholson. Yes, I’m his lawyer, but—oh. Mrs. Ashton. I have no idea whether he left a will or not. I was representing him on another matter. Yes… may I ask why you want to know? Very well. It’s at Fail-Safe Cryogenics. Their number’s listed.”
    “Let me guess,” I said. “Peter’s sister thinks she’s inherited the starter.”
    “You got it. She wants to go and look at it.”
    “Weird.”
    She shrugged. “Understandable, I guess. She’s wanted it for years.”
    “Why didn’t she just offer to buy it from him?”
    “He offered to trade it for the house, but she wouldn’t go for it. Seemed to think he couldn’t be trusted with a chunk of money of any size. He got mad and they had a fight. He swore he’d see she never got it. Years later, when he was really broke, she did offer to buy it—for $5,000. Can you imagine that? Tried to pull a fast one on her own brother.”
    “It doesn’t surprise me. I know her.”
    “You know Anita Ashton?”
    “I took her course a few years ago. Do you know who she is?”
    “Sure. She’s an internationally known time-management consultant. Her book was on the best-seller list for seventeen months or something. Celebrity clients up and down the state. Movie stars, execs, you name it.”
    “Not to mention Rebecca Schwartz, Jewish feminist lawyer. She’s kind of a hard case, but likeable—you know the type? Underneath the first