by Dave Daren
Alister O’Brien was dead.
Chapter 2
“Seriously?” AJ asked when we arrived at the office the next morning. “He died jumping a zebra?”
Twenty-year-old AJ Castillo was our paralegal-investigator and the third member of our team. She worked for us part time and took community college classes part time.
Today she wore all black, with a smart wraparound wool sweater cinched with a belt. Her angled skirt reached her mid-calf, and she had black chunky wedge heels with her dark hair slicked into a neat bun at the base of her neck. Her make-up was dark and with a tinge of a gothic edge.
“Yep,” Vicki laughed. “We were there.”
AJ sighed, “Go big or go home, I guess.”
Vicki laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Landon always says when he goes, he wants to die on CNN,” AJ said. Landon Verhelst was her boyfriend that worked as a freelance graphic designer. They met when he did some work for our firm.
“CNN?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “When it’s his time to go, he wants to do it being dragged off to a concentration camp, repeatedly yelling into the camera that line from V for Vendetta, ‘People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people,’ and then they shoot him on live TV because he won’t shut up.”
I liked Landon, but his political opinions could at times be a bit off the charts. I had decided to find it amusing. “Well,” I said. “That’s dismal. When is he leaving again?”
Landon was moving to Chicago for art school. AJ was supposed to go with him to help him settle in.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
I made a mental note of that. We would have to do without her for a few days. “So, back to Alister,” I said. “We’re going to have to deal with the legal fallout of all this.”
I leaned against a desk in the main room of our office. The office of Sedona Legal was a small room in a strip center of a quaint downtown area.
On one side of us was a smoothie shop, and on the other side, they just put in a record store. It was an actual record store where they sold and traded used vintage vinyls, from The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix. Now, with the current record revival, the shop windows also displayed LP’s from artists like Taylor Swift, Nirvana and Radiohead.
Our office had tiered shop windows that mainly took up the whole front wall, along with a glass door framed in green wood. We had wood floors and newly painted fresh white walls. The space had two rooms, a main room and a conference room.
The main room had simple white writing desks for each of us. We all carted our laptops back and forth every day, so we never had invested in any computers. This was still a holdover from the very earliest days of our company, when Vicki and I defended my sister Harmony from a makeshift office in my parent’s treehouse. Lately, I had been casually shopping online for a good all-in-one desktop, preferably an Apple.
But, overall, we had only been here about four months, so our office still had that ‘just moved in start up’ feel. A couple of months ago, we installed an office phone, but we’ve been so much into the habit of giving out our personal cell phone numbers, so our office phone rarely rang.
The other room is a conference room with a white board and an ordinary wooden dining table that Vicki found once at a resale shop. We hoped to replace it with something nice one day, but so far it has served its purpose well. Now, we all stood around in the main room and contemplated what Alister’s death would mean for us.
“The death of a millionaire can be complicated,” I said. “We’re going to have to read the will and work with the executor to divvy out the assets. This could get messy because it’s not all liquid. There’s the mansion and whatever other property he might have owned.”
“Did he own the copper mill?” AJ asked.
I shook my head. “From what I understand, he sold all his shares in the early 2000s. So we won’t have to deal with all of that.”
“Where is the will?” Vicki asked.
“That’s the thing,” I said. “When I signed on to represent him, all we did was make the agreement. We hadn’t transferred the custody of the trust over to us.”
“So where is the will?” AJ asked.
“We’ll have to get it from the probate court,” I said.
“The other thing on the agenda today,” Vicki said, “is Coconino Brew.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “Perry and Kristin McGrath.”
“The kombucha people,” AJ stated.
“So,” I said. “I know they set an appointment for us to meet them. What are we doing out there?”
“Okay,” Vicki said. “They have a big kombucha brewery out on their property.”
“Right,” I said.
“They’ve got FDA approval, which is huge,” she said. “And now they are working on a distribution deal with Earth Market.”
“Earth Market?” AJ asked excitedly. “That’s insanely huge.”
“Yeah,” Vicki agreed. “Earth Market is a big deal. I did research on the company. They have more than four hundred stores nationwide and they do about seven billion in sales annually. Their most direct competitor is Trader Joe’s. So for Coconino Brew to have this kind of deal, is the brass ring.”
“No kidding,” I said.
“This is also a big deal for Sedona,” she said. “Because if they are able to meet this kind of demand, they will have to expand, which will potentially provide hundreds of new jobs.”
“So what do they want from us?” I asked.
“They want to make sure Earth Market isn’t screwing them,” she said. “We need to go over the contracts and make sure everything is legitimate and fair.”
I nodded. I had cut my teeth in the entertainment industry, so contract law wasn’t new territory for me.
“So today,” Vicki checked her phone. “In an hour actually, they want us to do an initial meeting with us. They want us to see the brewery and talk about potential representation.”
“Okay,” I said. “So here’s the plan for today. AJ, go to the probate court and start the process for getting the will to us. Alister will have filed it with the court. Going through that process should take an entire day.”
“Great,” she said with an overly dramatic eye-roll.
“Vicki and I will head on over to the McGrath’s and see what we’re dealing with over there,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Vicki said.
Vicki and I headed out the door and to my BMW. She owned a Camry, but it often looked better for us to meet clients in a BMW so we drove together. The mid-March weather was gorgeous, with the cool wind hitting our faces and invigorating every pore.
“I wish we had time for a picnic,” I told Vicki.
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” she said.
We settled into the car and drove out to the brewery about ten miles outside of town.
“What do we know about this place?” I asked Vicki.
“So,” she said as she pulled up a file on her tablet. “Coconino Brew was started by Perry and Kristin McGrath about four years ago. They started with a home brew that they gave out to their friends. Then they began selling it at farmer’s markets, and their website orders blew up once all the local organic eateries wanted them on their menus. So, they renovated a shed where they make about five hundred bottles a day. And then pretty quickly, it caught the attention of Earth Market who asked for distribution.”
“Okay,” I said. “Have they updated their production facilities? If they’re maxing out at five hundred units a day, and then have an order that requires ten thousand units, and then they can’t fill it, they’ll open themselves up to a lawsuit.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s a good question.”
“What does the contract state?” I asked.
“From what I understand,” she began “it hasn’t been drafted yet. They want us to attend the meetings and work with Earth M
arket’s lawyer. They just want to meet us first.”
“Do you like kombucha?” I asked.
“No, but I will pretend to if it lands us this client,” my vivacious girlfriend replied.
“Don’t lay it on too thick,” I advised with a laugh.
“Gotcha,” she said with a straight face. “So I won’t pretend to have an orgasm when I taste it.”
“Yeah, leave that to me,” I chuckled.
“You’re the actor,” she said and shot me a wink.
The property wasn’t what I expected. Actually, I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t what we found. The GPS sent us to a massive fenced-in field that must have spanned a full square mile.
I pulled into the drive and parked next to a rusting Volkswagen bus, and a couple of nondescript commuter cars. The field was largely open. A few hundred yards in, was a cluster of small wooden buildings.
“Did we just come to a commune?” Vicki asked.
“I think we might have,” I said.
“Let’s hope it's one of those peacenik hippie cults and not one of those suicide pact death cults,” she joked.
“Would anyone who brews kombucha start a death cult?” I asked.
“It beats Kool-Aid,” she replied.
“Touche,” I said and raised my eyebrow and chuckled.
We exited the vehicle and made our way toward the buildings. We were sidetracked by the sight of something completely nonexistent in Los Angeles. The novelty piqued Vicki’s deeply dormant inner Martha Stewart.
“Oh my gosh,” Vicki said. “It’s a vegetable garden!”
I looked and sure enough, there it was. The fenced in area was leafy and green and had vine fencing prominently placed in utilitarian locations. A narrow gravel pathway separated the wooden boxed areas for the different plants. Luscious red tomatoes grew on vines, but most of the rest of the vegetables looked to be either not in bloom or perhaps underground. Two older women crouched in the dirt, and Vicki and I approached them.
“Now,” one was saying to the other, “these squash are about ready.”
“Yep,” the other one said. “We can bring some in and serve them for dinner tonight.”
“Hello,” Vicki asked tentatively.
One of them looked up. She was white haired and wore a loose fitting blue cotton button down, khaki capris and sandals.
“Why, hello there,” she wiped her face with the side of her brown gardening glove.
“I’m Vicki Park and this is Henry Irving,” she said.
“Hi,” I greeted her.
She stood up and removed her glove. “I’m Patti and this is Clementine.”
Patti shook our hands and Clementine smiled and then went back to the cucumbers.
“We’re here to see Perry and Kristen McGrath,” Vicki said.
“What?” she cupped her hand around her ear.
“Perry and Kristen McGrath,” Vicki repeated.
“The grass?” Patti asked and with a quizzical look, she pointed toward the lawn. Vicki and I looked at each other.
“It’s a lovely garden,” Vicki shouted.
Patti smiled. “You’ve come to see the garden? Well, of course, come have a look, honey.”
Vicki and I shrugged to each other, and Patti showed us one box with smaller sprouts. We crouched down low.
“These are the herbs,” she said and pointed a shaky finger at plants as she talked. “This is rosemary, thyme, basil, chives, coriander, dill and mint.”
“So you grow your own spices?” Vicki asked.
Patti smiled. “Sure do. We grow our own everything around here,” she said. She pulled a couple of basil leaves off and handed them to us.
“Smell these,” she said. “They’re so fresh.”
I smelled them and was immediately impressed by the strong scent.
“These would be great in a pesto sauce,” I said.
Patti nodded. “They sure are. Who did you say you were?”
“They’re the new lawyers,” we heard a voice say from behind us.
We turned to see a man in his early thirties with shoulder length dark blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wore flip flops, a white t-shirt and cargo shorts and had a silver stud on his chin.
“The what?” Patti asked.
“They’re meeting with Kristen and me about kombucha,” he shouted.
“Oh for the tea,” Patti said and wandered back to her gardening.
“Don’t mind her,” he laughed and offered Vicki his right hand. “I’m Perry McGrath.”
Vicki and I made our introductions and shook hands.
“That area you’re looking at are the herbs,” he said. “We can send you home with some if you’d like.”
Vicki smiled. “I would love that.”
Neither of us were particularly handy in the kitchen. But from time to time, the spirit of Martha Stewart possesses Vicki like a poltergeist, and she bakes pies and soups from scratch and does DIY home decorating crafts from Pinterest. The phase typically lasts about a week, and then she returns to normal.
“Patti,” Perry yelled, and Patti turned around. “Gather an herbal sampler for our new friends.”
Patti smiled. “Oh, yes. We’ll load you up. Don’t you worry.”
“So, welcome to Tranquility,” Perry said. “I’ll show you around.” He motioned for us to follow.
“Tranquility?” I asked.
He smiled and walked us along a pathway to the cluster of buildings we had seen earlier. “We are a self-sufficient community. We believe in the purest ideals of Karl Marx. To each according to his needs, from each to according to his abilities. The reason that communism doesn’t work as a governmental system, is because it requires compassion at its heart. You can’t legislate an entire country to love each other and have each other’s best interest in mind. If that were possible, there would be no crime, no greed, no vying for power. Those things are all human nature, and you can’t legislate humanity out of people.”
“Right,” I said.
“But,” Perry continued. “Communism can work on a small scale. On a scale where people know each other and care about one another, it actually works, really well.”
“So you’re a commune?” I asked.
He laughed. “You could say that, but a lot of people have a negative view of the term. I like to think of it as living in a commonwealth.”
I didn’t see the difference in the terminology, but the semantics seemed to mean something to him, so I let him have it. Vicki and I followed him across the field to another fenced in area.
“So you saw the garden,” he said. “One of biggest benefits of living in community are the elderly. They do what they can, and then they are free to take from the benefits of the other community members with dignity. You met Patti. She’s seventy and has a lot of health problems, and the fresh air, good food and nature have been good for her. So she’s one of the gardeners. But she worked for forty years as a licensed marriage counselor. So, the young ones especially, go to her for relationship and marriage advice. That’s another way she gives to the community.”
“Wow,” Vicki said. “That’s beautiful.”
Perry nodded. “Community can be a very beautiful thing.”
We were approaching a fenced in grass area.
“Over there,” he pointed, “is not so beautiful. Those are the cows.”
We laughed. In the distance I saw close to two dozen cows grazing.
“Neither is the smell,” I said.
Perry laughed. “That’s the thing about community. There’s a lot of shoveling shit, both literally and figuratively.”
I laughed and we walked toward the cow field. “So I take it you have a fair amount of interpersonal conflicts here?”
Perry pursed his lips and cocked his head in a so-so gesture. “Depends on who you ask. There’s some. But, we try to weed out those that like stirring up trouble.”
One of the cows mooed and then looked us straight in the eye.
> “Do you slaughter these cows?” Vicki asked.
Perry laughed. “No. None of us could stomach doing that. But we raise them and sell them as an income source for the community.”
“So you’re not against slaughtering animals for meat?” I asked.
Perry shook his head. “I know there’s a stereotype of the commune living hippie that weeps if they so much as kill a mosquito.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “We’re not like that our here. The way we see it, is that all the animals eat each other. It’s the law of the jungle. We just have more advanced ways of hunting and killing prey than the other animals. All creatures have a unique natural advantage for survival. Cheetahs have their speed, lions and tigers have strength and killer teeth, spiders can trap their prey in webs. As humans, our biggest advantage is our mind. We can use our minds to conjure up ways and methods to entrap and kill our food. It’s not any different from a shark, or any other animal. It’s the law of the jungle. So, in that respect, no. I have no qualms about killing animals for food.”
“Aren’t cows a lot of work?” I asked.
He nodded. “We used to have more people, so we had more committees. But, right now we’ve got two guys that take care of the cows by themselves. They’ve been saying they need more help, and that they’re overwhelmed. So, we might end up just selling the whole operation. It might be a perfect time to do that, with the kombucha taking off and all. We could sell the cattle and invest the money into the operation and replace the income source altogether. So, it’s an idea we’re kicking around.”
He took us down a walking trail that I hadn’t noticed before. We ended at a shed area.
“These are the chickens,” he said. “We had eight, but one died a few days ago, so now we only have seven.”
If the cows stank, they were fragrant compared to the chickens. Vicki and I coughed and gagged as we reach the area, and Perry laughed.
“Yeah,” he said. “They’re not cuddly little chicks up close are they?”
They lived in a fenced in coop and they were all claws and chicken noises and white poop everywhere. I looked at Vicki who looked horrified.
