Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) by Joanne Pence Page B
Authors: Joanne Pence
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newspapers and did a search on Eric and Natalie Fleming’s deaths. The Chronicle loved to fill news stories with personal details. Also, if there had been
anything odd about the deaths the Chronicle would have covered them in
gory detail.
She was right.
For the first time, she saw what Eric and Natalie Fleming
looked like.
Eric was a very late 1970’s to early 1980’s looking guy with
curly brown hair that hung below his ears and a broad mustache. He was also
handsome enough to have been a rock star. His cheekbones were pronounced, his
nose high and straight, his mouth pleasant, but his eyes most captivated her.
They were remarkable, with beautifully shaped eyebrows over heavy-lidded hazel
eyes. Bedroomy . Being haunted by this guy didn’t seem like such a horrible
proposition.
Natalie was surprisingly thin and lacking in curves. Her
pale blond hair looked silky as it flowed in soft waves to her shoulders. In
sharp contrast to Eric’s casual jeans-clad appearance, in the newspaper photo
she wore an expensive looking dress with simple yet tasteful gold and diamond
jewelry.
The type of woman Joy perfume would appeal to.
Angie pushed thoughts about perfume from her mind and
returned to the news articles.
Eric came from a middle class family, studied computer
programing at UC Berkeley, and became one of many new “Silicon Valley
millionaires” of that era.
The Chronicle had called Natalie an “heiress.” She
had been born Natalie Parker, and raised in Connecticut. Her parents had been
killed when their yacht capsized in a storm off the Bahamas. Natalie, their
only child, inherited their money. Family arguments over the money caused
Natalie to turn her back on the remaining Parker clan and move to the West
Coast.
Their bodies had been found when a neighbor’s beagle ran off
and refused to come back. The neighbor had no choice but to cross the Flemings’
unfenced back yard to get to the dog. They might have lain there even longer had
he not found them since neither Eric nor Natalie worked or had appointments
that would have caused someone to look for them. Angie suspected that in those pre-cell phone , pre-text message days, unanswered
calls weren’t cause for immediate concern.
When the owner of the home that the Flemings rented unlocked
it for the police, they found two half-empty martini glasses on the bar between
the kitchen and dining area. Also, two uncooked pork chops were rotting on the
countertop next to a frying pan and bottle of canola oil, and lettuce, carrots,
and onion lay on the countertop beside a salad bowl. Easy listening music
played on KSFO, the “The Sound of the City” station.
Everything suggested that the Flemings had been interrupted
while having before-dinner drinks. It didn’t look at all like the kitchen of a
couple fighting so bitterly that they would soon both be dead.
The biggest mystery, the thing that most caused the police
to question the murder-suicide scenario, was that the couple’s car was missing.
Eric Fleming drove a Mercedes 350-SL, a two-seater. Angie
had learned from Paavo that the car turned up a year later in Sonoma County.
She searched the newspapers to learn more about its discovery, but apparently
the news editors had lost interest in the case by then. No one bothered to
report that the car had been found.
In fact, only one follow-up story had been written about the
deaths. It was about Natalie’s small dog and how it spent every day out on the
cliff as if waiting for Natalie to return. People tried to take it home and
make it their own, but the dog would always find a way to escape and go back to
the cliff. The paper told a brief but heartwarming story of how the neighbors
worked together to assure it had food, water, and shelter from the rain.
Angie made photocopies of the most fact-filled newspaper
stories.
She then went to the county assessor’s office to find the
history of ownership of the house on Clover Lane. A couple named Donald and
Mary
anything odd about the deaths the Chronicle would have covered them in
gory detail.
She was right.
For the first time, she saw what Eric and Natalie Fleming
looked like.
Eric was a very late 1970’s to early 1980’s looking guy with
curly brown hair that hung below his ears and a broad mustache. He was also
handsome enough to have been a rock star. His cheekbones were pronounced, his
nose high and straight, his mouth pleasant, but his eyes most captivated her.
They were remarkable, with beautifully shaped eyebrows over heavy-lidded hazel
eyes. Bedroomy . Being haunted by this guy didn’t seem like such a horrible
proposition.
Natalie was surprisingly thin and lacking in curves. Her
pale blond hair looked silky as it flowed in soft waves to her shoulders. In
sharp contrast to Eric’s casual jeans-clad appearance, in the newspaper photo
she wore an expensive looking dress with simple yet tasteful gold and diamond
jewelry.
The type of woman Joy perfume would appeal to.
Angie pushed thoughts about perfume from her mind and
returned to the news articles.
Eric came from a middle class family, studied computer
programing at UC Berkeley, and became one of many new “Silicon Valley
millionaires” of that era.
The Chronicle had called Natalie an “heiress.” She
had been born Natalie Parker, and raised in Connecticut. Her parents had been
killed when their yacht capsized in a storm off the Bahamas. Natalie, their
only child, inherited their money. Family arguments over the money caused
Natalie to turn her back on the remaining Parker clan and move to the West
Coast.
Their bodies had been found when a neighbor’s beagle ran off
and refused to come back. The neighbor had no choice but to cross the Flemings’
unfenced back yard to get to the dog. They might have lain there even longer had
he not found them since neither Eric nor Natalie worked or had appointments
that would have caused someone to look for them. Angie suspected that in those pre-cell phone , pre-text message days, unanswered
calls weren’t cause for immediate concern.
When the owner of the home that the Flemings rented unlocked
it for the police, they found two half-empty martini glasses on the bar between
the kitchen and dining area. Also, two uncooked pork chops were rotting on the
countertop next to a frying pan and bottle of canola oil, and lettuce, carrots,
and onion lay on the countertop beside a salad bowl. Easy listening music
played on KSFO, the “The Sound of the City” station.
Everything suggested that the Flemings had been interrupted
while having before-dinner drinks. It didn’t look at all like the kitchen of a
couple fighting so bitterly that they would soon both be dead.
The biggest mystery, the thing that most caused the police
to question the murder-suicide scenario, was that the couple’s car was missing.
Eric Fleming drove a Mercedes 350-SL, a two-seater. Angie
had learned from Paavo that the car turned up a year later in Sonoma County.
She searched the newspapers to learn more about its discovery, but apparently
the news editors had lost interest in the case by then. No one bothered to
report that the car had been found.
In fact, only one follow-up story had been written about the
deaths. It was about Natalie’s small dog and how it spent every day out on the
cliff as if waiting for Natalie to return. People tried to take it home and
make it their own, but the dog would always find a way to escape and go back to
the cliff. The paper told a brief but heartwarming story of how the neighbors
worked together to assure it had food, water, and shelter from the rain.
Angie made photocopies of the most fact-filled newspaper
stories.
She then went to the county assessor’s office to find the
history of ownership of the house on Clover Lane. A couple named Donald and
Mary
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