Chapter 18

The next day, Wednesday, I was up just after dawn. Definitely not a time of day I’m used to seeing. I wanted to be on the job, and to be parked in close proximity to Sanders’ house, by 8 a.m., so as not to miss any important activity there.

I made my way to the window of our Fairmont suite and drew back the curtains.

What I saw was fog. If San Francisco is famous for anything other than its hills, its restaurants, its cable cars, and its cost of living, it probably is its fog. Spend a few days here, and you find out why. Even on days that promise to be bright and sunny from noon to dusk, more often than not a dense fog rolls in at night, curling itself up comfortably against those seven hills and filling with moist droplets every open space between them. San Franciscans I’ve met seem to either love it or hate it, and those in the latter group generally leave the city for its sunnier suburbs at their first opportunity.

It occurred to me as I stared out the window that fog might be a good thing for a burglar. Working at night in a dark house has its advantages, of course, especially if the owners of the premises are asleep or not at home. But a dark interior makes it difficult to see and get around inside, and a flashlight might be noticed from the outside. The fog outside our window, however, was almost as impenetrable as night, if not more so; no one out on the street could see in, just as I couldn’t see out. Yet the fog let in enough light that I could see around the room perfectly well. A nice, natural opaque curtain behind which to operate. Maybe I’d have to come down for a working holiday sometime.

But I was wasting time with these reveries. There was work to be done.

****

Sara and I were sharing a large and comfortable suite, certainly larger and more comfortable than either of us had ever stayed in before. I was sleeping in the bedroom and Sara in the living room area on a luxurious sofa bed. While I padded sleepily into the bathroom to shower and dress, Sara awoke and sat up. She looked my way, stretched lazily, and lay back down, eyes open, apparently trying to orient herself to her strange surroundings. I let her lie there and figure it out while I did my ablutions.

When I came out of the bathroom, I looked over at Sara. Still horizontal and cozy.

“What?” Apparently Sara had detected a note of reproof in my eyes.

“Nothing. I hope I didn’t wake you up. I tried to be as quiet as possible.”

“No, you didn’t wake me. I’m always awake at six a.m. Early to bed, early to rise, and all that.” Yeah, sure.

“Well, go back to sleep. I’ll be outta here pretty soon.”

Rather than closing her eyes, however, Sara sat back up. Slowly and dramatically, like a magician revealing the soundness of the woman he had just sawed in half, she drew back the green-and-gold duvet with which she had been covered. It revealed only that she was wearing a skimpy nightie that had managed to work its way up past her navel. She swung her legs out of bed and the rest of her followed. She stood up and smoothed out her nightie as she slipped into her pink backless travel slippers.

“Where’re you going?” I asked.

“Where d’ya think?” she answered through a yawn, still sounding more asleep than awake.

“To the bathroom?” It seemed like a logical guess.

“Well, yeah; but then I’m coming with you. On your stakeout thingy.” Another yawn.

“Are you sure? You didn’t seem too enthusiastic yesterday, and I really do understand.”

“Sure I’m sure. Hey, a good night’s sleep can be vastly overrated; and besides, how would I feel if you ended up having all the fun out there while I was boring myself with stuff like museums and cable cars and fancy restaurants?” She headed for the bathroom, her path meandering a bit as she yawned and stretched.

I have to admit I was very pleased. I’d assumed I would be heading for Los Altos alone.

“Okay, that’s great,” I said to Sara’s back as the bathroom door was closing. “I really do appreciate the company. And I’m sure we’ll have more chances to see the sights after we get the lay of the land down in Los Altos.”

But I’m sure Sara didn’t hear the last few words. She was already standing under a cold shower, apparently the only thing that was going to render her sufficiently awake to make good on her rash decision to ride along on her friend’s return to Chez Sanders.

****

We made our way out of the city. Sara seemed sufficiently awake by now and in fact seemed to be enjoying the ride, seeing the city wake up and begin to stir beneath its foggy overcoat.

“So how long are we gonna be watching this place before you and Aaron are ready to do your thing?” she asked.

“Oh, two days should be sufficient,” I assured her. I didn’t mention that it could as easily be four or five.

Sara yawned. She looked over at me, then said, “Hey, where’d you get the fancy watch? It’s new, isn’t it?”

I smiled and glanced at my wrist and the small but stylish instrument I was wearing. “Picked it up in that store we stopped at yesterday. Let’s just say Aaron bought me a nice present, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

“But you already had a nice watch—maybe not as fancy, but it told the time.”

“I know. But this isn’t just a watch. I have no idea what we’ll run into on this job, or how I’ll get the evidence of who killed Martin, so I decided it was time to go high-tech. This little baby is a top-of-the-line smartwatch. If it’ll do everything they told me it will, compared to it my smartphone is merely reasonably intelligent.”

“Yeah, well next time, maybe he could buy us both one.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” I said. And with that Sara lapsed back into sightseeing and silence.

We were in Los Altos in just under an hour and headed straight for La Paloma Road. I drove to the little park we had seen the day before, across the road from Chez Sanders. We again parked under the trees in the park, which we learned from a sign at the entrance was called Joseph Hyde Park. Not exactly the Hyde Park in London; we dubbed it Little Hyde Park. No one else was about and the silence was deafening. From between the tall trees we could clearly see the entrance to the Sanders driveway.

I got out my binoculars, while Sara chose a magazine from a stack she had bought at the hotel newsstand. Provisioned with beverages by Starbucks and serenaded by music from the local classical station, we settled in.

Eight a.m. passed, as did nine and ten, and the only activity we observed on the Sanders driveway was a black Mercedes sedan, probably carrying Sanders himself, leaving the house at 8:50; a U.P.S. delivery truck entering at 9:15 and leaving again five minutes later; and two modest passenger cars with lone male drivers entering the driveway at 8:55 and 9:05 respectively.

“I wonder who it is visiting Sanders’ house,” Sara said. “D’ya think he’s really the kingpin of some big smuggling ring and only uses the grocery business as a front? Maybe those were two of his henchmen reporting for work. Maybe—”

“Maybe we shouldn’t let our imagination get away from us,” I said before Sara could conjure up any deeper mysteries.

Sara sighed. “I guess you’re right. But it would be a lot more exciting if I were right.”

“Don’t worry. I have a feeling things will get exciting enough without adding the Sopranos to the mix.”

And it wasn’t a good feeling.

****

At 9:50, one of the cars carrying a lone driver departed, and twenty minutes later the other did likewise. What their business there had been was still a mystery. Was one of them the killer of Fred Ballard? Or of Donny Martin? Or was I the one letting my imagination run away this time?

About this time Sara stretched and yawned. “I don’t want to complain,” she complained, “but everything from my neck to my butt is stiff, and if I don’t move around a bit soon, I may end up permanently frozen in sitting position.”

“Well, we should move on anyway,” I said, also stretching and moving my head up and down to loosen up my neck muscles. “We don’t want to become too obvious in case anyone notices we’ve been here all morning.” While Sara was searching for something in her purse, I put the binoculars down and reached forward to start the engine. That’s when we heard a knock on the driver’s side window.

Startled, Sara and I both looked to the left. Standing next to the car and peering in through dark aviator-style sunglasses was a tall man in a light blue shirt. On the shirt was a bronze-colored badge in the shape of a star. I glanced into the rear-view mirror and there, sure enough, was a car with a light bar across its roof. I lowered the window, both nervous about what the officer might want and curious about the same thing.

“Yes, officer? Surely I wasn’t speeding.”

The man with the badge smiled. “No, ma’am. Just the opposite. I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve been parked here since early this morning, and I just thought I’d check to see if you needed any…assistance.”

I shifted into all-innocence mode, while inwardly berating myself for making us conspicuous by staying too long in one place.

“Why no, officer,” I said, “we’re just fine. Been driving all night and stopped here to rest a bit. I guess we must have fallen asleep for a while.”

While I said this, the officer’s eyes swept the inside of the car. They reached and focused on the binoculars lying next to me.

“Could I ask what the binoculars are for? Not a lot to look at out here.”

Oh great, now he suspects us of spying on someone, which of course is exactly what we’re doing, dammit. But to the officer I merely said, “Oh, we always carry these when we travel. We’re both bird watchers, and one of the great things about visiting new places is getting to see the different species that live there. Just this morning I spotted a red-throated chickadee that I’d never seen before.” As I wouldn’t know a chickadee from a bald eagle, I fervently hoped I had not encountered the one officer on the Los Altos police force who was a serious birder. Meanwhile, next to me, Sara nodded vigorously, doing her best to hold up her part of the charade.

The officer seemed to consider my explanation for a minute before accepting it, which apparently he did. Either that or he couldn’t think of any crime connected with extended parking or possession of a pair of binoculars. With a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” an admonition to make sure we were fully awake before driving on, and a nod to Sara, he returned to his car. He backed up and left us sitting there, drenched in perspiration, and not from the temperature.

“That was close,” Sara said after a few moments of silence. “But I guess no harm done. Good thinking about the bird watching.”

I was not so sanguine. “The harm is that a police officer now has seen us hanging around this area. Not only will we have to be careful to avoid running into him again, but if a crime should be reported at the Sanders house in the next few days, we just might be high on the list of suspicious characters.”

“At least he didn’t ask for our identification,” Sara said. “He doesn’t know our names.”

“No, but he probably noted down our license number, which would lead to the rental agency and then to us. Let’s get out of here.”

I started the engine and eased the car out of the roadside park. At the exit, I turned toward town.

“Are we through here for the day?” Sara asked hopefully.

“Not at all. We just have to rent a different car. As different as possible. This one’s been compromised.” I guess I didn’t sound pleased, because Sara didn’t take the opportunity to ask whether this time we could get a convertible.

****

We didn’t drive all the way back to San Francisco to change cars. I merely parked the Buick on the street near the local car rental office (it seemed to be the only one in town, and unfortunately the same company as we rented the Buick from) and there we rented a plain-vanilla Dodge minivan, very far in appearance, and most other features, from the Buick, and even farther from Sara’s preferred convertible. This one went out in Sara’s name, since the company might frown on one person renting two cars simultaneously in two different locations.

Once again we drove out to La Paloma Road and Little Hyde Park. We sat down on a picnic bench, enjoying the shade and the breeze, and continued to watch the road, this time without binoculars. Occasionally we got up and walked around to stretch our legs. In a car or on foot, this was, as I had expected, a very boring job. I wondered how much longer Sara would put up with it.

“Flo,” Sara asked at about two o’clock, “I guess I should’ve asked this a long time ago, but what exactly is it we’re looking for? That is, are we keeping track of who comes and goes just to get an idea of the traffic, or are we waiting for something, or somebody, specific?”

“Well, a little of both,” I said. “We do need to know how busy the traffic is, as you put it, so we’ll know if we’re likely to be dealing with a lot of people and interruptions while we, uh, work. But mostly I’m hoping we find that Sanders, like most people with money and big houses these days, employs a cleaning crew of some sort that comes on a regular basis, just like I used to do in my former life. And if he does have a maid service, when the time comes I hope I can do the same thing I did at Aaron’s hotel: become one of the maids.”

“That’s fine for you, I guess, but somehow I can’t picture Aaron as a housemaid, and you already assured him he wouldn't have to dress in a maidʼs uniform.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said a bit irritably. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Sara rolled her eyes at this, but she said nothing. It was my profession, my plan—and my funeral if it didn’t work. She was just along for the ride—and the wait.