by Nadia Gordon
Sunny smiled into her cup. She felt an annoying rush of tears for no specific reason. Her head hurt. The whole lunch-for-sixty-to-eighty-visitors juggling act was about to start all over again. Sometimes she wished she had a regular job and a boss and could just cop a husky voice and call in sick. She met his eyes. “Right. Onward.”
“Let’s try it like this,” said Wade. “Who was trying to defy their fate? Think about the Taoist idea of wu wei. You float along like a cork at sea. You don’t fight the current, you work with it. You go up the waves and down the waves. The irony kicks in when you try to fight the inevitable. How do you drown in a riptide? You swim as hard as you can toward shore until you exhaust yourself. How do you get out? You relax and swim with the current, at an angle toward the beach, until you’re out of the rip or close to shore. Wu wei. You use the forces greater than yourself to achieve your goals. Then there’s Oedipus. Everyone thinks that’s a story about how you can’t escape your fate. Yes and no. The Hellenic Greeks knew their stuff. In my opinion, it’s a mystical teaching story written to illustrate, among other points, that irony is the core nature of the universe. Try too hard to control things beyond your reach—by violence, for example—and you create the opposite effect. Oedipus’s parents thought they were getting over on the gods by hiding their son, but it all came back to bite them in the ass. If they’d just accepted the prophecy, he probably wouldn’t have fulfilled it.”
Sunny frowned. “What, you mean by talking open and honestly with their son about how he was destined to kill his father and marry his mom? You think that would have worked?”
“I’m still sorting out the nuances of the theory.”
“I can see that,” said Sunny. “Besides, if I knew who was resorting to violence to change their fate, I would know who killed Anna even without your theory.”
“Let’s take another angle,” said Wade thoughtfully. “Ironically, if you want to know a man’s weakness, you have to look at his strength.”
He watched her with eyes sparking under an overhang of snarled eyebrow. His uncombed hair was a savage mass of gray cowlicks. He gave Sunny a sage look that came across somewhere between pompous and deranged. She couldn’t help laughing and shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“Stick with me, you’ll catch on. What is Monty’s strongest attribute?”
“Savviest nose and most incisive palette in a valley stuffed to the gills with wine experts.”
“Exactly. And what is his biggest weakness?”
“We’re talking about a man who wears glasses electively. Where should I start?”
“Think Achilles’ heel. Achilles probably had bad breath, a nasty temper, and back hair, but his only real weakness, like all the weaknesses that matter, was innately tied to his greatest strength. In Monty’s case that would be…”
“Wine. As in drinking too much of and spending too much on.”
“I rest my case. Greatest strength and greatest weakness ironically and innately linked.”
“Brilliant, but how is that relevant to my situation? And bear in mind I have to leave for work in seven minutes or less.”
“We have to work backward. What weakness, or shall we say vice, led to Anna’s murder?”
“That would be nice to know.”
“Well, it wasn’t greed. She didn’t have money, right?”
“None of her own as far as I know. But if she had wanted money, she could have married it whenever she wanted. Or earned her own. She was very clever.”
“Isn’t that the kind of woman other women resent?”
“Some. I’d say Molly Seth, Oliver’s sister, falls into that camp. And Anna thought Oliver’s cook, Cynthia, resented her.”
“Did she have any reason to want Anna gone?”
“Molly? No, none that I can see. I’d say she was irritated to have her around, that’s about it. The cook might have been resentful of having to wait on Anna, but it’s her job, after all.” Sunny studied the contents of her coffee cup, considering the many passions Anna Wilson had inspired over the years. “It was mostly men who reacted to Anna. They adored her.”
“And those she rejected? What about a spurned lover?”
“Troy Stevens. Possibly even Molly’s new boyfried, Jared. But neither of them seems to hold any current resentment.”
“Okay, scratch resentment. What about fear?” said Wade.
“Oliver may have been afraid Anna would reveal his secrets. But afraid enough to kill her? I seriously doubt it.”
“What about fear of commitment? When I heard the story, the first thing I thought was she must be pregnant. A guy like that doesn’t want to be tied down to a wife and a baby.”
“No, that’s not it,” said Sunny. “Anna was as skittish as he is. More so. If anything, she was the one who needed to be convinced to settle down. Besides, Oliver Seth can afford as many children and ex-girlfriends as he cares to acquire. He has enough money to pay his way out of any situation.”
Wade sipped his coffee. “We are talking about an incredibly violent act with enormous consequences. The individual would need to be powerfully motivated. Who wanted something bad enough to kill an innocent girl?” He smacked his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t see it. Either we’re looking at it from the wrong angle, or there’s a missing piece.”
The missing piece was in those e-mails Anna had sent, Sunny was sure of that, but she just couldn’t see it. Maybe Wade would be able to make sense of them. For now, she needed to get to work. Tonight they could look at them together. She finished a piece of toast and followed it up with a strawberry. What she really wanted was a plate of bacon and eggs with potatoes piled on the side, but there wasn’t time. Wade picked up Farber and gave him a scrub around the ears. The morning sun lit up the storm of fur it produced. The cat threw himself against Wade’s chest, purring loudly. Sunny looked at the clock. Half past seven. Time to roll.
* * *
Outside the truck’s open window, the roadside vineyards flourished and the cool morning air was full of summer smells. Sunny took the winding turns slowly, letting the truck coast down the hill. In a couple of months it would be harvest time and the crush would begin. The sight of lush leaves and tight green clusters of nascent grapes was a balm to her tattered nerves and throbbing head.
On Highway 29, as she accelerated into a straightaway, the truck hiccupped. She gave it more gas. It chugged and lurched. The pedal touched the floor to no effect. She switched to the reserve tank. A moment later, the engine died. Instead of admiring grapevines, she should have been watching the dashboard, which clearly showed a now complete lack of fuel. There was a turnout ahead. The truck coasted, winding down to a crawl. In the rearview mirror, a semi approached at full speed. The valley’s narrow, two-lane artery with its tractors and tourists on bicycles didn’t slow anyone down. Cars and trucks of every size barreled through the countryside as if they were on the interstate. She hit the hazards and prayed. The pickup’s tires tipped over the edge of the pavement onto the dirt turnout just as the semi loaded with two trailers of gravel blew past, inches away.
Several more cars zipped by, rocking the cab of the truck. Sunny flipped the lever back and forth between the main and reserve tanks, turning the key pointlessly. The truck chugged and failed. There was a gas can in the back, but it would be a long, not to mention humiliating, walk in either direction to the nearest gas station. She got out her cell and dialed AAA. She was on hold when a black Jaguar driven by a blond woman in big sunglasses braked and pulled over just ahead. Molly Seth got out and walked back to the truck, picking her way through the gravel in high heels. Double merde! thought Sunny, hanging up. Molly was dressed like a matador in black capris and a black bustier over a white blouse. Sunny got out.
“That thing die on you?” said Molly.
“I forgot to fuel up. Preoccupied, I guess.”
“Aren’t we all. Come on, I’ll give you a lift. I’m headed up to Oliver’s. We can send one of the guys back with gas.”
“I insist,” said Molly, her eyes meeting Sunny’s behind the dark glasses.
Sunny shivered. It was cold enough in Molly’s car to chill Chardonnay and the air-conditioning was going full blast. She groped under the seat for the lever to move her seat back. A hammer and work gloves lay at her feet on the floorboards. Under the seat was a roll of something. She picked it up. Duct tape. Sunny glanced at Molly, whose fingertips rested lightly on the wheel. The road was flying by.
“I have a couple of houses to show this morning,” said Molly, “but I wanted to stop by and see how Oliver is holding up. The last few days have been terrible. The police just let him back into the house last night.”
“You’re a real-estate agent?”
Molly took a card from a center compartment and handed it to Sunny. “Second homes, mostly, if you know anyone who needs one.”
At the security gate leading to Oliver’s property, everything appeared normal enough. There were no police cars and the gate swung open when Molly announced herself. The Jaguar cruised up the hill and they parked in front of Oliver’s garage. Mike Sayudo, the gardener who’d found Anna’s body, headed around the corner of the house carrying a garden hose.
“Give me your keys. I’ll ask Mike to take one of the other guys and go get your truck.”
“Are you sure? I could go with them.”
“It’s no trouble. Go ahead inside. Cynthia is there. I’ll be right in.”
The front door was open. In the kitchen, Cynthia was wiping down the counters in a low-slung tank top, skinny jeans, and heels. She had her hair in a ponytail and her eyes made up. She gave Sunny a big smile and seemed happy to see her.
“Car trouble is the worst. But I’m almost glad. It’s so good to see people here other than the police,” she said, drying her hands. “Oliver should be back soon. He went down to the winery for a moment. We’re just trying to get back to normal around here, or as close to it as we’re likely to get. It won’t ever feel quite the same here again.” She sighed. “What can I get you? I just made a pot of coffee, but I can make an espresso, cappuccino, anything you like.”
“Regular coffee sounds great,” said Sunny.
“Are you sure? A cappuccino is no trouble.”
“Honestly, regular coffee is fine.”
“I’ll have a cappuccino,” said Molly, walking in. “Could you bring it to us outside? It’s such a beautiful morning.” She looked around the kitchen. “Where is Oliver?”
“He’ll be back in a few minutes.”
They went down to the table under the arbor where everyone had had dinner the night Anna died. A twinkling glare glinted off the pool’s surface. The pool guy was skimming leaves and another gardener was working on the lawn, as though nothing had happened and guests would be arriving soon for the next dinner party. Molly sent them away and lit a cigarette.
“That was lucky you coming along when you did,” Sunny said. “I’d probably still be sitting by the road waiting for help.”
Molly nodded and gave a half smile. “My pleasure.”
“Have you heard any news from the police?”
Molly shook her head. “They’re not exactly going out of their way to keep us informed.”
Cynthia arrived with their coffees, strawberries and melon, and a plate of biscotti. “There’s cream and sugar. Do you need anything else?”
“Just let me know when Mike gets back with Ms. McCoskey’s vehicle.”
“I’ll do that.”
Cynthia went back up to the house. In the distance a chainsaw chugged to life and dug into its work with a steady whine. Molly stirred sugar into her cappuccino but didn’t drink it. She went back to smoking her cigarette and watching Sunny. They listened to the drone of the distant chainsaw, a light breeze pushing back strands of Molly’s blonde hair.
“And you?” said Molly. “Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing much. The paper said the police cracked the encryption on Oliver’s computer.”
“I saw that,” said Molly.
“And they discovered the business about the other woman.”
“What a ridiculous idea. How can there be another woman when you’re not married? And they still don’t know what killed her.”
“I don’t think the autopsy is back yet.”
“Autopsy! Such a grim word. Autopsies and police reports and funerals. I can’t wait until all of this business is over. At least Oliver has Cynthia here to help him get through it.”
“Are they close?”
“Close enough. Cynthia adores him. And it’s someone to cook for him and be here when he gets home so the place isn’t empty. I hate to see him alone in this big house, especially at a time like this.”
“I’m not alone,” said Oliver, coming down the stairs. “Keith is coming up later today, and Franco is going to stay on for a few more days until he heads back to Europe.” He kissed his sister and acknowledged Sunny. “I hear you ran out of gas. Both tanks? That takes talent.”
“Or something. It’s not quite as hard as it sounds. There’s a problem with the switch. It’s supposed to draw down one tank at a time. Lately it’s been drawing both, I don’t know how. Still, my fault for cutting it too close. I’m sorry to take your guys away from their work.”
“Don’t worry about it. There’s not enough work to keep them busy all day around here, anyway.”
Cynthia came down and Oliver asked her for a cold washcloth and a cup of hot tea. She smiled sympathetically and went to fetch them.
“Are you sick?” asked Molly.
“No, no, I’m fine. Just trying to wake up. I couldn’t get to sleep last night.”
“You’re working too much,” said Molly.
“The opposite,” said Oliver. “Not enough. I’ve got too much time on my hands. I can’t really do anything until all this terrible business about Anna is under control.”
“Sunny was just saying something about the police unlocking the encryption on your computers.”
“I saw that. It’s a bogus story, of course. But who knows, it might work. I assume they planted it to try to flush out the bad guy, since they insist there is one.”
“Why do you think it’s bogus?” said Sunny.
“Because the best cryptographers in the world couldn’t crack that encryption. I warned them before they took everything. You have to bring the system back up the right way, with the right passwords, or the data goes into emergency mode and encrypts using the most powerful encryption ever invented. Once that happens, that’s it. It’s gibberish. That’s the whole point. You steal my computer, you steal junk. Even I can’t decrypt it. No one can. For all intents and purposes, the data self-destructs.”
“All of it?” said Sunny.
“All of it.”
“Even the surveillance footage.”
“Everything.”
“So if somebody breaks into your house and takes your computer,” said Sunny, “you lose everything? Including the surveillance footage that could tell you who stole your computer? What good is that?”
Oliver chuckled. “I don’t lose everything. The guy who stole it does. The system gets backed up every night at two a.m. PST. We only lost the material from two a.m. onward. Unfortunately, in this case, that is precisely the material that would be most useful to have.”
Sunny thought for a moment. “So the data on the hardware is locked up, but all your files are still accessible somewhere. Can’t the police just look there?”
“They could.”
“But you won’t let them.”
“The servers are operated by our offices in Rio de Janeiro. They are more than welcome to seek whatever material they like through that country’s official channels.”
Sunny glared at him. “Aren’t you at all curious what happened to Anna? There could be something on the surveillance tapes that helps the police figure out who killed her.”
“I know who killed Anna. Anna killed Anna. I don�
�t have to look at surveillance tapes to know that. I was with her until two in the morning. She was drunk and high and alive. It’s what comes after that that might be valuable, and that’s gone forever, thanks to the police. They’re on their own as far as I’m concerned.”
Cynthia came down with the washcloth and tea for Oliver. He wiped his face and neck. Cynthia stood behind him and massaged his shoulders. Oliver closed his eyes.
“Everyone okay? Sunny? More coffee?” she said.
“Nothing for me, thanks, Cynthia.”
She left and Oliver sipped his tea. Sunny waited a few minutes for him to speak, then broke the silence. “You said you left Anna at two o’clock in the morning. What did you do after that?”
Molly took her sunglasses off. “Oliver, don’t answer that. She has no right to ask you questions.”
Oliver waved his hand as if to brush her away. “It’s okay. It’s not as though I haven’t been through this a dozen times with the police. I was upset from our fight. I didn’t want to go to bed. There’s a path behind the house up to a bench where you can sit and watch the stars. You can see the lights down the entire valley. It’s a good place to sit and think, and that’s what I did. I sat there for a long time, and then I went into the garage and got in my car. I was going to take a drive, but I changed my mind. I sent a few text messages, then I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, Mike had already found Anna and called the police.”
Sunny finished her coffee, watching him. Oliver shifted in his chair and looked around, shaking his head as though overcome by a sudden wave of irritation. “Is that everything you want to know?” he said. “Or would you like me to describe how it felt to wake up in my car with the hangover of a lifetime in order to go stand over a beautiful girl with her head cracked open from hitting the cement. Right over there, as a matter of fact,” he said, pointing. “I’m sure I could re-create the scene for you. The grotesque way only the whites of her eyes showed through half-closed lids, and how the smell of blood mixed with the smell of freshly cut grass in a way I’m sure I will never be able to forget. And would you like to know what I did after that? I went into the bathroom where her hairbrush and her toothbrush and her mascara were still out on the counter like she would walk into the room at any second and ask me what I wanted for breakfast and I cried like a baby. That is, until the police began to interrogate me, which they have hardly stopped doing since then.”
