Murder on Potrero Hill

Murder on Potrero Hill

A Peyton Brooks’ Mystery

Volume 1

ML Hamilton

Cover Art by Karri
Klawiter

www.artbykarri.com

Murder on Potrero Hill

© 2012 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Thank you as always, Mom and Dad, for being part of my editing team and pushing me to get this one right.

And thank you to my three sons for the great sight-seeing trip and photo journey to the City for this book. Doing research has never been so much fun.

“So wise so young, they say do never live long.”

--
William Shakespeare, Richard III

CHAPTER 1

Jake settled the computer tablet on the counter and reached for the coffee pot, pouring the steaming, dark liquid into his mug. Carrying the pot into the living room, he looked down the hall.

“Do you want the rest of the coffee?” he shouted.

Waiting for a response, he swirled the liquid around the bottom of the pot. An oily sheen coated the inside of the glass carafe. He heard the flushing of the toilet, but no answer.

“Zoë, do you want the last bit of coffee?”

She usually did. If there was one thing Zoë loved, it was her morning cup of coffee…or three. And it couldn’t be the generic supermarket variety. Not Zoë. It had to be some exotic blend from some place halfway around the globe, shipped in fancy folded bags with fancy names in bold fonts.

Still no response.

He carried the pot back into the kitchen and placed it on the burner, then flipped off the switch. Lifting his own mug, he took a swallow, grimacing as the hot, bitter brew struck the back of his throat. He wasn’t the coffee aficionado that Zoë was. For him, it was just a morning ritual of pouring scalding hot fluids into his body, hoping it would stimulate his muscles enough to get him moving.

As he sipped at it, he picked up the tablet and read through the market report again. With interest rates this low, analysts were predicting a surge in people wanting to refinance their homes. In a housing market as brisk and stable as San Francisco, it meant he was bound to be busy today. That was good. It kept the numbing boredom at bay.

Settling the mug on the counter, he looked again at the last of the coffee in the pot. It wasn’t like Zoë to let coffee go to waste. He shoved the tablet into his briefcase and snapped it closed, then he walked back into the hallway again.

He couldn’t hear the shower running and that was unusual. Pausing in the entrance, he found Zoë sitting on the bed, her head braced with her hand. He frowned in concern.

“Zoë, you okay?”

She looked up at him. Her fair skin seemed a bit flushed and the blond hair around her temples was damp. “I’m fine. Did you call me?”

“Yeah, I wanted to know if you want the rest of the coffee.”

“Oh,” she said, then forced a smile. It was the strangest smile he’d ever seen on her, tense, lips pulled back against her teeth.

“You okay?” He took a step further into the room.

“Yeah,” she said, then braced her chin on her fist. “Just feeling a little queasy this morning. Maybe we should cut out the sushi for a while?”

“You sure you’re okay?” He took a seat on the bed beside her.

She edged over a little, but she didn’t make eye contact. “I’m fine, Jake. Like I said, I think dinner last night didn’t agree with me.”

He placed his hand in the center of her back. “You don’t have to work today, do you?”

“No, Mom and I are
gonna go see Daddy in the home, then she wants to take me to lunch.”

“If you don’t feel up for it…”

She shrugged off his hand and rose to her feet, moving toward her dresser. “I told you I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be headed to work?”

He was a little hurt by her dismissal, but he choked it down. Talking about her father always put her on edge. He didn’t blame her. It would be hard for him to see anyone like that, comatose,
unresponsive, and at such a young age. A massive stroke at 55 had taken Blake Harper from his family.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll go. The bus should be here in about ten minutes.”

He moved up behind her and kissed her on the top of her head. She looked up at him in the mirror over her dresser.

“I love you,” she said.

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “I love you too, Zoë. Feel better and enjoy lunch with your mother.” He released her and walked from the room.

*    *    *

Jake loved Potrero Hill in the morning. The fog rolled in from the bay and blanketed the houses with a misty sheen. The houses stood shoulder to shoulder, some shaped as boxes, their modern lines stark and sharp against the haze; others adorned with the pointed gables of the Victorian style, their ornate gingerbread shingles painted a rainbow array of colors. San Franciscans did not fear color and used it liberally to distinguish their homes from one another.

In a few hours, the sun would creep over the hills and bathe the streets in light, chasing back the claustrophobic gloom. Then the mist on the houses would dry and the air would be crisp and clean, carrying just the remotest hint of the sea with it.

As he walked to the bus stop on the corner, he smiled at the young mothers pushing their babies in strollers from the small grocery on the corner. A few other businessmen in their suits hurried past, weaving between the pedestrians in their single minded purpose to be the first on the Muni. An elderly Asian couple strolled by him, nodding as they passed. He saw them every day, same time, same spot. They never spoke, but it was enough to share the murky morning stroll with each other.

He reached the bus stop as the Muni pulled up to the curb. The heat of the exhaust fought against the fog for dominion and the doors hissed as the bus driver opened them. He waited behind a teenager with
earbuds in place, bopping his head to unheard music. The boy scratched his ear over the fabric of his Giants’ ballcap, adjusting the bill before he bopped a nod to Jake and bounded up the stairs into the bus.

Jake stepped back to allow a pregnant woman room to pass, then climbed onto the bus himself and pressed his pass against the reader. The bus driver nodded at him and he moved down the narrow corridor to the first open seat he found. The girl near the window gave him a shy smile and looked down at the book on her lap. In front of her, the teen boy had taken a seat and draped an arm across the top, glancing over to see what she was doing. She made a production out of ignoring him.

Jake sank into the seat beside her with a smile. He figured they probably knew each other from school or something. Sitting this close to the boy, he could hear the pulsation of the bass from his earbuds. It didn’t bother him, but the older woman who took the seat next to the boy glared at him until he shifted face forward and reached into his pocket for the device, turning down the volume.

The doors hissed closed a moment later and the bus lurched forward. Jake steadied himself on the metal headrest before him and glanced at the girl’s book.
Hamlet
. Pretty sophisticated reading for this early in the morning. He settled the briefcase on the floor in front of him and looked out the window. He knew the other businessmen were talking on their phones or looking up stock quotes on their tablets, but he preferred these few quiet moments to himself without the frantic motions of the business world.

He studied the houses for a few minutes, staring at the gardens, the porches,
a cat along a fence. A man waited with his hands in his pockets at a small patch of lawn, while his dog did his business. He blew out air in frustration and it billowed white against the chill of the foggy day.

For some reason, Jake’s thoughts turned to Zoë. This next June they’d celebrate their fourth anniversary. The first three years had been good. Zoë worked in the coffee house on 18
th
, despite her father’s protests, and she was happy doing it. He’d gotten the job at the bank and although he couldn’t say he enjoyed it as much as Zoë enjoyed hers, it paid the bills and let them rent the flat in Potrero Hill.

Then last fall Blake had his stroke. At first, the family held out hope he’d recover. He was fit, he was young, and he had a lot to live for, but he didn’t recover. As the weeks, then months went by, he showed no signs of getting better. And worse yet, to Jake’s thinking, he hadn’t died. They were all trapped in a terrible limbo of knowing he was gone, and yet knowing he wasn’t. Zoë and her mother made regular pilgrimages to sit by his bed in the convalescent home, reading to him or just sharing the events of their days. Jake had taken his turn early on, but as the time marched past with no change, he’d stopped going. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his father-in-law. Hell, he held him in something akin to awe, but the Blake Harper he’d known wasn’t there in the wax-like shell. He hated seeing the strong, barrel-chested man with a deep commanding voice reduced to a shrunken skeleton with barely enough flesh to cover those bones.

Worse still, as the months paraded past, Zoë had changed. At first, she’d let Jake comfort her, but lately she’d been shrugging off his gestures, moving away from him when he tried to touch her. Dark circles permanently shadowed her eyes and she’d lost weight. When he tried to talk to her about it, she snapped at him and told him most men would be proud to have a thin wife. He didn’t know how to answer that.

Zoë was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman and more. She was California girl pretty with blond hair and big blue eyes. She was tall and athletic, not just slim but
well toned. The first time he’d seen her in college, he’d thought she was perfect. She was also out of his league, but that just made her all the more attractive.

He knew she was
Pacific Heights elite, while he was a Midwestern boy with humble roots. He’d polished his accent to the flat tones of a true San Franciscan, but every once in a while he said something that made Zoë smile in that quiet, superior way of hers. He even found that charming.

Her interest in him had been surprising, but so damn wonderful. He knew he was nothing like the privileged boy she dated in high school, but she never made him feel inferior. They had moved in with each other after their first date. Not that her father had known. She’d still maintained her apartment with her two roommates, but every night she spent at his flat with the mismatched furniture and dirty socks. He figured he’d never find a better girl.

He missed her. He missed her delight in little things, her ability to navigate the complicated world of her upbringing with the more humble choices of her adult life. He liked that she’d dropped out of the med program to work in a coffee house and that she was happy doing it. He loved the way she could attend the opera one night and an indie rock band in the Tenderloin the next.

He would never forget the first time they met. She was studying in the library and he was pretending, but mostly he was studying her. She had captivated him.

*   *   *

“Organic chemistry?” he said, leaning over to look at the cover of her book.

She glanced up at him, pushing a lock of blond hair behind her ear. Her eyes had a far-off look, but she smiled. Her teeth were even and white.

He realized he was staring at her and looked down, cuffing the toe of his sneaker against the carpet.

“Yeah, it’s awful,” she said. She lifted her chin, trying to see his books. “Yours aren’t much better.”

He shifted the books in his arms and looked at the title. “I don’t know,
Business Ethics for the New Millennium
is gripping.”

She laughed. He basked in the sound. It was feminine and soft. “Sounds like a magnetic read.” She motioned to the chair across from her. “Why don’t you sit down?”

He pulled it out and sank into it, setting his books to the side. “I’m Jake,” he said, holding out his hand.

She accepted it. Her fingers were small and fit perfectly against his palm. “I’m Zoë.”

“Biology major?”

“Pre-med. My dad’s a surgeon and he wants his little girl to follow in his footsteps.” She closed the cover on her book. “You’re obviously a business major.”

“Yep,” he said with a nod. “Same bad reason. My dad wants me to become wealthy.”

She smiled. It was a smile that made his heart beat a little faster. Her eyes danced when she smiled, glimmering blue in the light from the fluorescents. “Where are you from?”

“That obvious, huh?”

She gave a delicate shrug. “Just a hint of an accent.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Let me guess, Midwest.”

“Very good. Nebraska.”

“What brought you all the way out here?”

Jake leaned back and spread his arms, indicating the library. “Are you kidding me? This is San Francisco, babe.”

She laughed again. “Right.”

He rocked forward and folded his hands on the table as if he had a secret to tell her. “Honestly, it was the ocean. I was sick of corn fields.” He cocked his head to the side. “Let me guess, you’re from California.”

She twirled a strand of blond hair. “What gave me away? Actually, I was born and raised here. San Francisco native.”

“And here I would have guessed Hollywood.”

She flashed her stunning smile again. “That was smooth, real smooth.”

“You liked that,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah, as far as lines go, that one ranks right up there.”

They both chuckled, then Jake grew serious. “Was it good enough to earn me a date?”

She glanced down at her book, but he could see the curve of her smile.

“I’ve got more.”

She met his gaze again, amusement simmering in her blue eyes. “That was enough. Trust me.”

“If you say so, but I’ve got a whole repertoire at my fingertips.”