Free Two Cooks A-Killing by Joanne Pence Page A

it?”
    The two laughed and hugged. Finally, Angie thought, someone to share the enthusiasm she had when she first arrived.
    â€œI brought you a gift,” Bianca said. “A gold goblet for the dining room. I’m sure you can figure out a way to use it on the table or buffet. It’d be such fun to see it when the Christmas show airs!”
    Angie took the heavy goblet. It had been in the family for years. “I can try, but don’t get your hopes up.”
    â€œLook at all the flowers!” Bianca nearly tripped over cables as she hurried into the living room and stuck her nose into a display on the coffee table. “Phew! They’re fake! Too bad, they look so real. Let’s see the rest of the house.”
    Angie walked her through the main floor.
    â€œWhere are the actors?” Bianca asked. “Can I meet them? I adore Adrian! He’s so suave. I used to say to Johnnie, why can’t you be more like him?”
    â€œThe actors aren’t here yet,” Angie said.
    â€œNot here? Oh…well, in that case I guess I’d better run.” She gave Angie a peck on the cheek and headed for the front door. “One bit of advice—if you get a chance, show off what you cando in the kitchen. I mean, everything! You’re a gifted cook, Angie. You never know where that talent might lead you.”
    And with that, she was gone.
    Angie didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye.

Chapter 8
    The victim was a Latino male, his body riddled with bullet holes. A long white, brown, and black bird’s feather was tucked into the neck of his sweatshirt.
    Paavo stood over the body in a garbage-strewn alley off Alemany Boulevard. It was in one of the roughest parts of the Ingleside district.
    Last week, a nineteen-year-old Guatemalan had been gunned down on Scribner’s Street not far from there. A red-tailed hawk feather was left on his chest, tucked into a shirt buttonhole. Luis Calderon and Bo Benson, the on-call inspectors at the time, took the case.
    Three days later there’d been a second murder, also in the Ingleside. The Nicaraguan victim had a peregrine falcon feather in his jacket pocket. Calderon and Benson handled that case as well.
    This morning, another call came in, similar to the last two. Calderon and Benson were swamped running down leads. With the danger of overlooking something important, Paavo had been assigned to handle the legwork on this latest shooting.
    Paavo gave the okay for the coroner’s team and CSI to move in. CSI would take the feather and identify it. Judging from the length it was from a huge bird, not the type normally seen flitting around the streets of San Francisco.
    Where were the shooters getting these feathers? If he and the other inspectors could figure that out, it might be a major breakthrough. They needed some kind of big lead soon. He had a bad feeling that these murders weren’t going to stop without one.
    He phoned Information for the number and address of the Audubon Society.
    Â 
    â€œAngie,” Mariah called, her voice filled with outrage. “You have company again!”
    â€œAll right, already.” Earlier, Angie had marched into the kitchen ready to do battle, only to find it empty. She was carefully going through the spices and condiments checking for freshness. “Is it my fault if people come to visit? Sheesh!”
    She marched to the front door, pulled it open, looked at her visitor, and felt her knees go weak. Before her stood Homicide Inspector Rebecca Mayfield. Rebecca held her purse over her head to protect herself from the flying snowflakes.
    Angie’s heart pounded. Her brain searched for possible reasons for one of Paavo’s co-workers to come all this way to talk to her…in person. Her fingers tightened on the door. “Paavo?” she whispered.
    â€œRelax, Angie,” Rebecca said. “You’re white as a sheet. He’s fine. I’m here to see