Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) Read Free Page A

call herself, had been an
interior designer for many years, and had recently moved to real estate. She
was the second oldest of Angie's four sisters, born after Bianca, and before
Maria, Francesca, and Angelina, the baby of the family.
    Normally, Cat had little to do with her youngest sister, but
recently Angie helped her out of a horrific mess in which she was accused of
murder. If Angie hadn't dropped everything to go with her to Rome, she didn't
know how she would have managed to prove her innocence. Oh, yes…Paavo had
helped a bit, too.
    She owed Angie, and now Angie was getting payback. Big time. Cat drove with her shoes off because her feet
hurt. Louboutin open-toe platform pumps were normally
comfortable, but given how far they'd traveled, she was lucky not to ache in
more places than her feet.
    They had started in the northeast part of the city at
Telegraph Hill, and worked their way west through North Beach, Russian Hill,
the Marina, Pacific Heights, and now they were in the Presidio Heights area.
    The houses went from very expensive to extremely expensive.
The one moderately expensive home needed a complete remodel, a new roof, and
earthquake retrofitting. A wrecking ball would have been its best solution.
    Angie became increasingly depressed. “Let me see what else
is on your list,” she said, reaching for Cat’s realtor listing sheet.
    Cat kept hold of the paperwork. “I think you should look for
a place outside the city, Angie. How does Paavo feel about the suburbs?”
    “I haven’t talked to Paavo about any of this yet. I want to
see if buying a house is at all feasible for us.” She reached again for the
sheets.
    “The idea of becoming a home-owner seems to have hit you
rather suddenly,” Cat said, holding the papers in the air as she eyed Angie
with suspicion. “Don’t you think you should at least talk to Paavo about it
before going any further?”
    “Why bother him if there’s no place we can afford? Like I
said, I’d like to see what else is on your list,” she repeated.
    With what sounded distinctly like a “harrumph,” Cat handed
Angie the list.
    She scanned down the few remaining houses. “Oh, my God!” she
cried. “How did you miss this one? It's $600,000 for a house in the Sea Cliff,
four bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, two-car garage, laundry room, tool shed,
overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Why didn't we start there? You never even
mentioned it! Let’s go, quick!”
    Cat didn't even look at the listing. “Don’t bother.”
    “What do you mean? It sounds perfect.”
    “I’ve heard about that place. It’s been listed forever, and
has gone pending any number of times, but the deal always falls through.”
    “How come?”
    “I don’t know. People find some excuse not to live there, I
guess. My office manager told us not to get involved with it. It’s a pathway to
frustration and a waste of time.”
    “I want to see it.”
    “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
    “It’s my time to waste.”
    Angie heard a poorly suppressed, “Sheesh.”

 
    Chapter 3
     
    HOMICIDE WAS
LOCATED on the fourth floor of San Francisco’s Hall of Justice building, a
massive gray block structure near freeway crossings in the city’s South of
Market area.
    That afternoon, Paavo and Yosh returned to their desks to go over what little information they had turned up
so far on the dead body, and to brief the new chief of the Homicide bureau,
Lieutenant James Philip Eastwood. Eastwood, however, was in a meeting with the
mayor.
    Paavo knew they were going to have to wait for information
from the medical examiner before they could do much on the case. Right now, the
only thing they could say with certainly was that the victim wasn’t homeless—he
wore shoes and socks far too expensive for that possibility.
    Uniformed officers were going door to door asking questions,
and one of them might come up with some findings to help them get started.
    The phone rang. He expected Lt. Eastwood, but to