D is for Drunk

by Rebecca Cantrell

  The picture reminded her of one of those science magazines she’d read as a kid, where she’d studied a giant tree with regular short branches sticking out of it and then discovered that it was a fly’s leg. There was more meaning to the picture, and she had to find it. And, like with the fly picture, once she saw it she knew she was right. The top half of the roof was covered in corrugated plastic sheets like a giant skylight.

  Why would he need skylights in a barn? And what was he doing with the water? She bet both those questions had the same answer. The skylights were designed to let in maximum light, and the water was being directed to the barn, to grow something.

  It was a light bulb moment. She was surprised Aidan hadn’t beaten her to it, but he’d been distracted. He’d be piqued when she told him. She suspected Pankhurst’s crop was way more lucrative than a riding stable.

  Pot.

  She didn’t have any proof, but it sure looked like Pankhurst might be growing marijuana in his barn. It wasn’t an uncommon crop in Malibu, and she knew a few people who had plants in their living room. She’d never considered growing it herself which, considering how she was slowly killing the office plants, seemed like a good idea. Plus, it was illegal to have even a single plant, and she bet Pankhurst was growing a lot more than that.

  It was definitely a revelation, but even if she was right, so what? There was no sign that Marcel Befort had either known or cared about what his neighbor was doing. Even assuming Marcel knew that Rick was growing pot and stealing his water (which might or might not even be true), Marcel hadn’t raised a fuss about it. Narek had, and he hadn’t been killed.

  But he had been arrested. Both of Pankhurst’s neighbors were out of the picture. Marcel permanently, and Narek wouldn’t be worrying about his water bill for a while either. And Pankhurst had also eliminated his romantic rival. Things were looking pretty good for Pankhurst.

  It was a theory anyway, the kind of thing that made John Stark happy. She typed up her theory into a report, pasted in blurry photos from Aidan’s downloaded footage, emailed it to Brendan and Aidan, and printed out a copy. As she walked in to set it on Brendan’s desk, she was struck again by how lonely the office felt.

  She called Brendan, hoping he’d pick up, but he didn’t. She left him a quick message detailing her suspicions about Pankhurst. Maybe he could use that information as leverage to help Aidan, and he should also be the one to pass it along to Stark.

  In the meantime, she couldn’t sit around the office any more. She was going to get some lunch, and then she was going to find Bambi. She remembered she had one more lead to try.

  CHAPTER 36

  Sofia loved being pampered. She’d gotten out of the habit of it when she left acting, because it seemed fake, but she’d decided lately that there was nothing wrong with spoiling herself a little, especially in the interest of advancing a case.

  The woman rubbing lavender-scented lotion into her hands smiled. “Doesn’t that smell wonderful?”

  Sofia drew in a long breath and felt herself relaxing. “It sure does!”

  “Lavender has been used as to promote relaxation for hundreds of years.” The woman, who’d introduced herself as Veda, must really love lavender, because her hair was exactly that shade of purple. It stuck out in crazy directions and made Sofia think of an anime character. “The old knowledge can get so buried these days, but it’s what we need to help us with our stressful lives.”

  Sofia glanced around at the room—lavender walls with silver swirls, a giant bowl of healing amethyst crystals by the front desk, and pink pedicure chairs. It looked like the kind of girlie princess room she’d wanted when she was seven. Her mother had told her it was a phase and they weren’t remodeling the whole house. Turns out she was right, but Sofia still liked this room immensely. It smelled of lavender and chocolate.

  “I know you say you don’t have time for a pedicure and foot massage,” said Veda. “So I’ll work on massaging your hands, taking care of your cuticles, and then we can choose your nail polish.”

  Veda increased the pressure on the meaty part of Sofia’s thumb, and Sofia felt her whole arm relax. It was like witchcraft. She could see why Bambi came here.

  She’d meant to ask questions, but decided to wait until after the massage. That wasn’t being selfish, that was called ‘building a rapport.’

  Once Veda had relaxed her hands and arms and moved onto pushing up her cuticles, Sofia started talking. “A friend recommended this place. I can see why.”

  Veda looked up and smiled. “A happy customer always wants to share.”

  “You did amazing work on her nails.” Sofia decided to go at this from the side so as not to spook Veda. “She had a doe on her thumbnail, with a tree.”

  “Bambi,” Veda supplied. “I did that doe. But she isn’t really a customer. She works here.”

  That was a stroke of luck. “Really? Do you know when she’s due in next?”

  “Why?” Veda stopped working on Sofia’s hands.

  “I loaned her my sweatshirt at a party.” Sofia was glad she had this excuse.

  “OMG!” Veda covered her mouth with her hand. “You’re the half pint detective!”

  Like taking candy from a baby. She knew she should feel maybe feel guilty for using her fame, but she couldn’t really summon it up. “Exactly!”

  “Bambi told me all about you! You guys were at this wild party up in the hills at a grape farm.”

  Marcel would have turned over in his grave, if he’d been buried already, to hear his vineyard called a grape farm.

  “Yup,” Sofia agreed. “A grape farm.”

  Veda’s hair barely moved when she bobbed her head. “And she lost her clothes, and you were super nice and gave her your sweatshirt.”

  “It was more of a loan,” Sofia said. She liked that sweatshirt.

  “Loaned her,” Veda corrected herself. “She’ll be here in about a half hour, and then you can get it back.”

  By the time Bambi arrived, Sofia’s nails were painted blue and she had a seagull on her thumb. Considering Fred’s attitude, she probably ought to have had it painted on her middle finger.

  “Sofia!” Bambi squealed. “It is you!”

  Sofia waved her blue nails at her. “Bambi!”

  “I have to go!” Bambi turned and rushed out of the shop.

  She’d said it like someone who was excited, not a criminal fleeing from the law. Even if she was, Veda had to have her contact information, including her last name. But maybe Sofia should follow her, so she didn’t have to tell Aidan how she’d let Bambi slip away again.

  “Thanks, Veda!” Sofia dug around in her purse for cash.

  “Careful!” Veda said. “That’s a work of art on your hand.”

  “Sorry.” Sofia had forgotten how much the hand massage was, plus extra for the sea gull. She didn’t have enough cash, so she’d have to use a credit card, but by then Bambi would be long—

  The bell by the door tinkled.

  “I’m back,” called Bambi. “I have your sweatshirt. I haven’t had time to get it washed, but I was going to—”

  “That’s OK.” Sofia took the sweatshirt. She was going to wash it again anyway. Who knew what parts of it had rubbed up against a naked Marcel?

  Sofia wondered how much Bambi knew about the events up at the vineyard. She would start out vague. “Have you heard back from Marcel or Rick?”

  Bambi laughed. “Of course not. I don’t expect to.”

  “Why not?” Sofia worked to sound curious and not suspicious.

  “I didn’t give Rick my real last name, because you never know with people you meet online, right?” Bambi studied her hand. “Do you think the doe is scratched?”

  Sofia had never met up with anyone from an online source, and she wondered if Aidan was giving out his real last name. She’d have to ask him. “The doe looks great.”

  Sofia watched Bambi study her nail for a count of five before she tried again.

  “What about Marcel
?” Sofia asked.

  “I know I won’t see him again.” Bambi shook her head and laughed.

  Sofia was sure glad she had training as an actress. Aidan would probably have jumped out of his skin at that statement. “Why not? You guys seemed to hit it off.”

  “When you were there.” Bambi squinted her eyes half-closed as if remembering. Sofia had seen that look on her grandma often when she talked about the good old days, but Bambi had been up at Marcel’s good old grape farm yesterday. “In the end he was too pooped to party, if you know what I mean.”

  Even if she hadn’t had Brandi translate their conversation, she’d know what that meant. “Well, his own little self went through some trauma.”

  Bambi laughed. “I couldn’t believe it when the blond guy yanked on his rope like that.”

  Veda looked between them. “What?”

  Bambi filled her in, and Sofia waited for her to finish, admiring mini-Fred on her thumb. Veda really was an artist.

  “Did you leave him like that?” Sofia asked. “All traumatized.”

  “He called me an Uber and walked me out. But before he said good-bye his wife called and they go into an argument about how he had to go and water the horse. In the end, I got into the car and left.” Bambi unsquinted her eyes. “I think the doe needs a little touch up.”

  Bambi was probably the last person to see him alive, besides his killer. Sofia wondered if she ought to tell her, but decided not to. She’d let Brendan know and see if Stark wanted to come down and interview her before the police did.

  Sofia thanked Bambi and Veda, paid, and went back out to her car. The sun felt good against her face, and she leaned against her car with her eyes closed.

  Something didn’t add up. But she couldn’t put her blue-tipped finger on it.

  CHAPTER 37

  Sofia’s phone buzzed. Maybe it was Jaxon and she could reschedule their date. It was too late to go riding today, but maybe tomorrow she could take a few hours off at lunch and they could ride up and get that ice cream sundae. Or maybe she was going to never manage to get together with the guy again.

  The text was from Aidan: Meeting at Stark’s.

  She texted back: You need me to bake a file into a cake?

  He wasn’t in a good mood, because he responded with: Just get over here.

  Before she could even get her car started, she got another text, this one from Brendan. Good job on the Pankhurst lead. If you can, please come to Stark’s office for a meeting.

  That meant they weren’t together, as Brendan usually left the texting to Aidan.

  She texted Brendan a quick On my way, and then got on her way.

  She got here as quickly as she could, ran the gauntlet at Stark’s building, and ended up in his office.

  “Sofia!” Stark rose from his desk to shake her hand. “Great job on the Pankhurst lead! When the time’s right, we’ll bring in the police on that.”

  Sofia felt a twinge of guilt. Pankhurst hadn’t ever done her any harm, and here she’d turned him over to the cops. Of course, maybe he wasn’t growing pot in there. Maybe the skylights were for the horses.

  Aidan and Brendan both nodded to her. They sat next to each other, but their body language indicated that they didn’t want to be there. They both had their arms folded and leaned away from each other with identical grim expressions. They looked so much alike that she had to hold in a smile.

  “Thanks, Mr. Stark,” she said. “The agency is always happy to help.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes. If they’d been alone, he would have called her an ass-kisser, but he wasn’t going to say anything in front of Brendan, especially when he was in the dog house about the drone. Making sure Brendan couldn’t see, she gave Aidan a saccharine smile and took the empty chair next to Brendan.

  “Once we did the time analysis, the drone footage was more exculpatory than indicative of guilt, but we’re not out of the woods yet.” Stark lifted a stack of papers from his desk. Sofia recognized the report she’d written that morning. “Did you uncover anything new?”

  She told him about her meeting with Bambi and the timeline she’d proposed.

  Brendan looked impressed she’d found Bambi when the police hadn’t.

  “Good work,” said Stark. “I think the next step—”

  His office door crashed open and Narek burst into the room. A wine-scented cloud rolled in with him. He stumbled forward a step. He’d clearly been dipping too heavily into his inventory.

  “You.” He pointed at Sofia. “Milena.”

  Sofia sprang to her feet because she didn’t want to face him sitting down. She ran over her last conversation with Milena. Nothing jumped out at her. Why was he mad at her?

  Narek turned toward Stark and face planted on the desk. Stark slid his chair back a couple of inches and looked at the back of Narek’s head. He didn’t even seem surprised that he had a client draped over his desk. Maybe it happened all the time.

  Narek pushed himself up onto his elbows.

  “Lawyer!” he shouted.

  Clearly this was ‘shout a random noun’ day. Sofia chained the words together: You. Milena. Lawyer. Then it clicked.

  “I told Milena that you have a lawyer?” she guessed.

  Brendan had already hauled Narek to his feet, surprisingly gently, considering.

  “You did.” Narek’s sour wine-breath made her gag. “She says I’m a killer. Hates me.”

  Milena hadn’t been too fond of him before Marcel was murdered, but she didn’t think this was the best time to say that. Sofia thought of apologizing, but she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” Sofia said soothingly although, frankly, she didn’t like him very much right this minute herself either.

  A set of car keys tumbled out of his pocket onto the floor.

  “Did you drive here?” Sofia asked.

  “Of course!” he said, indignantly. “Didn’t you?”

  Aidan scooped up the keys, Brendan poured Narek into his chair, and Stark’s regal secretary arrived with the coffee tray. It had a giant pot, one cup, a large bottle of water, and a plate of toast. Brendan handed Narek the water bottle and Narek set it back on the tray, knocking the coffee all over Stark’s desk. The smell of coffee warred with the sour smell of wine, and lost.

  Stark didn’t bat an eye. He moved papers out of the way of the coffee and swept the extra liquid into his wastepaper basket with a stained file folder.

  “Sorry.” Narek looked genuinely surprised. He looked over at Sofia. “My wife hates me.”

  They’d been over that before.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Sofia said. That was the closest to an apology he was going to get from her.

  “Your case is looking stronger every day,” said Stark.

  Narek slumped down in the chair.

  Sofia walked behind him to stand next to Brendan and Aidan. She didn’t want to be between Narek and the window. Better to have a straight line to the door, even if Stark’s secretary had closed it, probably to keep the party from affecting the rest of the office.

  The secretary walked back in with a new wastebasket, as if she’d known Stark would have filled his with coffee and sodden paper, even though she hadn’t even been in the room when that happened. She’d obviously been through this kind of activity before.

  She pulled roll of paper towels out of her wastebasket and started mopping up the coffee with quick, graceful movements. Next, she took out a lemon-scented spray bottle and sprayed the desk. In less than ten seconds, she was gone, taking the coffee-logged wastebasket with her and leaving the clean one in its place. She also took the coffee tray. It was as if the spill had never happened. Sofia wanted her to come over the next time Violet and Van visited.

  “As I was saying,” said Stark, “you’ve nothing to worry about. Things are looking up.”

  As if taking those words literally, Narek looked up. Sofia followed his gaze. Nothing up there but a regular old ceiling and the power of su
ggestion.

  Brendan’s phone buzzed. He read the message, smiled, and handed his phone to Stark.

  “What’s it say?” asked Narek.

  “It says that the medical examiner’s report is in, and that Mr. Befort’s head injuries were caused by a horse’s hoof.” Stark smiled, too. “You’re in the clear, Narek.”

  Narek lurched to his feet, did two steps of a happy dance, then threw up in the clean wastebasket.

  “Well,” said Aidan. “That’s one way to celebrate.”

  The phone buzzed again, and Brendan read this text aloud. “You’re in the clear about the drone usage, too, son.”

  Good news all around. Sofia opened the office door.

  “I told you it would be hard to pin on me,” said Aidan. “It was an accident. Not a big deal.”

  “It was a big deal.” Brendan quiet voice was scarier than most people’s yells.

  For a long second, no one spoke. Sofia clenched her jaw and tried to ignore the smell of vomit. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she was going to have to use the wastebasket herself.

  “Sofia,” said Brendan. “You did some solid work on this case. Take the rest of the day off.”

  “Thanks, Brendan.”

  “And me?” Aidan asked.

  “You’ll need to drive Mr. Grigoryan home,” said Brendan. “Use your own car.”

  He turned on his heel and left the room. Stark walked next to him, talking in a low voice.

  Sofia looked between the vomit-spattered Narek and Aidan. She ought to help him.

  “I gotta go,” she said. “I have an appointment.”

  “Can I borrow your car?” Aidan asked. “The Lemon Drop is sensitive.”

  “I bet.” Sofia grabbed onto her keys and backed out of the office. She wasn’t letting Narek near her car. She hot footed it down the hall, making a mental note to never make Brendan mad.