The Sourdough Wars

foolproof.”
    “Well, I did ask Kruzick for the gossip on him. I’m happy to say there wasn’t any. He apparently didn’t truck with comely young men and was hardly ever seen with a woman.”
    “That’s comforting.”
    “The only thing is—”
    “I know. Maybe he had a gay lover and maybe we’ll run into him. You know what I’m going to do about that? Pretend I’m Scarlett and think about it tomorrow.” Her smile was looking a little too brave.
    “You okay?”
    “I can take it, Schwartzie.”
    “Don’t call me Schwartzie. Or I won’t tell you my idea.”
    “Yes, you will, if you’ve got one. What is it?”
    “I think we have a professional duty to perform, as Peter’s attorneys. Inasmuch as four people came to our offices expecting to bid on a sourdough starter, and inasmuch as we were in charge of that ill-fated auction, I think it’s up to us to keep the four people up to date.”
    “Go on.”
    “They probably all read the
Examiner
and therefore think the starter’s been stolen. When actually another batch exists.”
    “You think Anita might still want to sell it?”
    “Not a chance.”
    “Oh. Then wouldn’t it be unethical to get their hopes up?”
    “It certainly would. We wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. But, if there
is
a starter and they don’t know about it, they can hardly make her an offer, can they? After all, we can’t read her mind—maybe if the price were right, she
would
sell.”
    “I don’t know, Rebecca. It doesn’t really sound like any of our business.”
    “But what if one of them found out about it and the other three didn’t? That person would have a very unfair advantage, don’t you think?”
    “Peter wouldn’t have liked that.”
    “And we were his lawyers. So I think we ought to tell them as our last duty as his attorneys.”
    “How come you look so much like a little kid who’s up to something?”
    “Because I am, of course. We’re going to pump them, and they’re not even going to notice.”
    “You think
that’s
ethical?”
    “Certainly. We’ve agreed that it’s our duty to tell them about the second starter. If we do it face to face instead of on the phone, that makes us even more conscientious. And if they want to get anything off their chests, we’ll just be good guys and listen.”
    “Gosh, we’re wonderful.”

Chapter Seven
    I checked my watch. “Nearly three o’clock. We might be able to catch the Tosi boys at work.”
    Chris was already busy with a phone book. “Well, we can’t catch both of them unless we work fast. One’s in Colma and the other’s in Oakland.”
    “Oakland? San Francisco sourdough is made in Oakland?”
    “If you ask me, it beats Colma.” We both laughed. Oakland, across the bay to the east, is the butt of a million San Francisco jokes, but Colma, a little ways down the peninsula, is a necropolis. If there was a bakery there, that meant the town wasn’t all cemeteries, but that would be news to most people. It certainly was to Chris and me.
    “But Colma’s closer,” I said.
    “Which one’s there?”
    “Tosi. I mean the Tosi Bakery. Bob.”
    “Let’s go.”
    It was no trouble finding the Tosi Bakery—anything above ground in Colma sticks out like a pimple. The guard at the door rang Bob Tosi to ask if he’d see us, and apparently he said he would. We were issued name tags and waved on.
    Bob Tosi was better looking than I’d remembered him. I’d liked something around his eyes and I still liked it. I still liked his nice smile. His casual clothes somehow looked better in Colma than they had on Montgomery Street. I forgave him for them and glanced at the fourth finger of his left hand. No ring. He wasn’t my type, exactly, but he was attractive enough and he was rich. What was he doing on the loose? I wondered.
    The man exuded confidence. So did his office, though it wasn’t “tasteful”—at least, it wasn’t an all-of-a-piece, interior-designed, tan-and-orange wonder, like most people’s offices. It had a worn green carpet on the floor, bits of Naugahyde furniture here and there, and original paintings on the walls. Good ones. A dark green and yellow one of two swimmers caught my eye. “That’s a Mary Robertson, isn’t it?”
    Tosi looked surprised. “You’re an art buff?”
    Really, how annoying. I said what was on my mind: “You can like art without being a ‘buff,’ whatever that is.”
    Chris tried to hide a smile, but she needn’t have bothered. “Touché,”