The Serenity Murder (A Luca Mystery Book 3)

by Dan Petrosini

  Climbing up Route 70, the pine and aspen-covered mountains grew larger as the valley and its highway shrunk, and the temperature dropped under 60. Passing through the first of several old mining towns, my ears popped. A light snow that had begun falling stopped as I exited the Eisenhower Tunnel.

  The sun began playing hide-and-seek with the Rockies and I turned up the heat. The temperature dropped under 50 and the plow piles grew. Homes seemed to be perched in places that were unreachable by car. How did they get to them with all the snow? These houses were big and had walls of glass, just like in Florida. I’d have to make sure I picked up a real estate magazine to see what the market was like out here.

  Passing the exit for Vail, I headed for the Holiday Inn located in Avon, where room rates were a quarter of the prices in Vail Village. The heaviest jacket I owned was an old parka I kept around to use when I went to New Jersey. I threw on a sweatshirt emblazoned with the Naples Surf Club and pulled the parka over it.

  The sun had disappeared and I slowly made my way on the slick roads. I could see thousands of sparkling lights as I approached Vail Village. After parking, I walked toward what looked like the center of the village. The place looked like Christmas Town itself. Walking over a covered bridge, I half expected to be greeted by elves.

  The streets were filled with skiers and snowboarders in various states of festivity. It was easy to find Pepi’s Bar and Restaurant. The orange-colored building seemed to be at the epicenter of Vail Village. Pepi’s outdoor patio was packed, with a line of hopefuls sipping beers as they waited for a table. I was more hopeful than all of them combined and didn’t have to wait, as Nancy Grillo had reserved a table under my name.

  The hostess showed me into the Antler’s Room, which looked like it belonged in The Sound of Music. Was I in Colorado or Austria? Unfinished chairs carved out of pine were set around tables covered with checkered tablecloths. Beer steins, numbering in the hundreds, lined the shelves and the waitstaff were costumed in lederhosen outfits. The music was either German or Austrian and the atmosphere was celebratory.

  After ordering a beer, I crowd watched. Waiters were delivering food that seemed too fancy for the setting. I browsed the menu. It had a ton of game dishes on it and was pricey but with the time difference I was starved. Nancy Grillo wasn’t due for another forty-five minutes. By then I’d be bombed without food.

  I wasn’t brave enough to order the Hungarian Goulash, so I opted for a bowl of the pea soup that had frankfurters in it. It was excellent and did the trick. Ordering my third brew, a bird of a woman headed in my direction. She was wearing a tailored hat of fur that matched her boots and a black suede coat.

  I rose but she motioned for me to sit and peeled off her jacket. She was almost the same size as Marilyn Boggs. As she took off her hat I expected a pixie haircut, but she had her golden hair piled at the top of her head.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I understand your skepticism, but you can trust me.”

  She was expressionless. “My privacy is important to me. I don’t enjoy being in the spotlight.”

  Well, if that was the case, she picked a hell of a town to live in. “Believe me, you have nothing to worry about. As I told you, all I’m looking for is background information on John Barnet.”

  I saw her flinch at the sound of his name.

  A waiter stopped by our table and took her order for a glass of Riesling.

  Nancy lowered her voice. “I have a good life here. It was an adjustment, but you’d be surprised how real the full-timers in the valley are. There’s a considerable amount of flash during the ski season, but the locals are down-to-earth and took me in like one of their own.” She flashed a quick smile before it melted into a frown when she said, “I can’t start over again.”

  I leaned forward. “I assure you, Nancy, whatever you share with me stays between us. It will only be used to help steer my investigation in the right direction.”

  “What has he done this time?”

  “That’s the thing, we’re really not sure.”

  “He’s a very deceptive, dangerous person. I’d put him out of my mind until that Los Angeles detective began calling me.”

  “I’m sorry to have to dredge all this up, but it’s important.”

  A waitress sidled up to our table and recited the specials but there were no takers. Nancy ordered the Tuna Sashimi and I took her suggestion, ordering the rack of lamb.

  “I don’t want to push you. Believe me, I’m grateful to be here. But could you tell me a little about yourself? What do you do?”

  She explained that her grandfather was a pilot and had owned a flight school in Orange County only thirty-five miles from Los Angeles. The location and runways made it a perfect choice for a secondary airport and Orange County bought it, renaming it John Wayne Airport. She said her grandfather and father invested the money in real estate and that she was the only beneficiary of the trust they formed.

  It was clear, though I didn’t want to rub it in, that Barnet targeted her. “I assume Bar—”

  She shook her head.

  “Sorry, I assume he knew of your family’s financial situation?”

  She nodded.

  “How did you happen to meet him?”

  As I digested the fact they had met at a charity event, a cheery waiter delivered our plates and we, or I, dug in. Either I was very hungry or it was the best rack of lamb I ever had. I looked around and saw at least two people holding them like lollypops, giving me the permission I sought to grab and gnaw away.

  A millisecond after I put the last bone down, a waiter appeared and cleared the table.

  “That lamb was great. Thanks for suggesting it.”

  Nancy smiled. It helped melt her awkwardly proportioned face.

  “I hate to get back to all this, but.” I threw my hands up.

  “It’s okay.”

  I leaned forward and spoke with the hushed tone of an undertaker. “A friend of yours mentioned that he took some pictures of you that you did not consent to.”

  She pulled her lips in. “Unbelievable.”

  “You could have pressed charges.”

  “And get dragged through the press? No, thank you.”

  “So, you decided to take off? Not that you can exactly call going to Vail running away.”

  She shrugged and studied her hands.

  There was something there. “I get it, but the timeline confuses me. The camera thing happened about three months before you left Los Angeles.”

  Nancy shifted in her chair. “I─I had to make arrangements.”

  “Did you ever lend or give money to him?”

  She bit her lip but was saved by a waiter bearing dessert menus. We ordered coffees and she suggested I try the strudel. I mean how could you not in this place?

  “Did he ask for a loan?”

  “I still can’t believe how gullible I was.”

  “How much?”

  She shook her head. “First, it was ten thousand, but the next time it was twenty.”

  “You gave it to him?”

  “Yes, but I told him that was it. He asked again and again but I held my position.”

  “How were things going in the relationship when you held the line?”

  She chortled. “That was the thing; he totally compartmentalized things like nothing happened. But me, I was very troubled by it and tried to put space between us.”

  Our coffees and my strudel appeared and I had a hard time not digging in. I had to keep the MO going and told myself the strudel would be my reward. I took a sip of coffee, leaned in and took a chance.

  “I’m sure you’re not aware, but that was his modus operandi. And when a woman refused to play along, he’d film them and blackmail them. Is that what happened?”

  She nodded and hung her head. I prayed she wouldn’t start crying. “I was afraid of him. He never said it directly, but he always insinuated that he’d hurt people in the p
ast, and he was talking physically. I probably should’ve reported it, but I was scared and took off.”

  “There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Frankly, I’m proud of you. Most women would’ve caved, but you did the right thing.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. You told him to go to hell and look where you’re living. You ask me, Vail is a zillion times nicer than L.A. Besides, look at this strudel, will you?”

  Strudel aside, when I stepped into the night’s frigid air, the hairs in my nostrils tingled. They were freezing together! It forced me to reconsider my comment about Vail versus Los Angeles.

  Chapter 46

  Luca

  After appealing to two separate courts to invalidate our subpoena, Verizon finally caved and complied with our request for access to Barnet’s cloud account. With Marilyn dead, the video of her was a lot less valuable, and I figured he probably would have deleted it from his phone. Besides, asking or getting a subpoena to examine his actual phone would alert him.

  The geeks down in electronic forensics pulled down eight videos. Barnet should have gone to work for that sleazebag who owned Hustler magazine. I had zero interest in this pornography and went straight to the newest one. I did a double take. It said it was over twelve minutes long. Even though it was a legitimate part of the investigation, I got up and closed my office door before hitting play.

  Beyond uncomfortable, I stopped it after just a minute and twenty seconds. It was undeniably Marilyn Boggs, and if she didn’t consent to it, the video would clearly violate the revenge porn law, providing it had been posted to the Internet. I wondered if having it go to his cloud account qualified as a post because the search the geeks conducted came back with nothing.

  It wasn’t surprising. Barnet wasn’t looking to embarrass these women; as best I could tell, he wanted their money. Still, if this was New York or Jersey and we got one of the other women to file a complaint that the filming was not consensual, we could lock his tanned ass up.

  It was something to pursue, as it would get Barnet to regret his perverted ways, whether he killed Boggs or not.

  ***

  Waterside Shops was buzzing with shoppers and sightseers, but it was quiet inside Barnet’s Wine & Spirits. A redheaded sales girl smiled at me when I entered.

  “Can I help you find anything this afternoon?”

  I said, “Not just yet, thanks.”

  “Take your time, let me know if I can help. My name’s Carla; I’m the assistant manager.”

  Heading to the Italian section, I noticed the racks were not fully loaded. There were a dozen slots in each row but only half were occupied. They were packed the last time I was in.

  Scooting over to the French and the California sections, I noted they were similarly light on inventory. Was this normal? Wines were seasonal, and he did just have a big sale. Maybe the new vintages hadn’t arrived yet.

  Circling through the store, I passed the saleslady again and she said, “You sure I can’t help?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was looking for a wine, John, I think he’s the owner, suggested.”

  “What was the name of the wine?”

  “That’s the thing, I can’t remember.”

  “Red, white?”

  I threw my hands up. “I know it sounds crazy, but he made a couple of suggestions that seemed to be great.”

  “John’s a big fan of Bordeaux. Was it a Bordeaux?”

  “No. That I’d remember. Is he around by any chance?”

  She nodded. “He’s in his office. Let me see if he’s free.”

  Standing off to the left, I watched Barnet tuck his shirt in as he hustled out of his office. Surveying the store as he walked, he saw me and paused before forcing a smile.

  “Good to see you again. Carla said you were looking for a wine I had mentioned. The last time you were in, did I recommend a Barolo?”

  “I don’t think so. You were doing a tasting in the back room with two women.”

  He smiled. “Just two?”

  “Yeah, I remember it was ninety bucks a bottle, and I said it was too expensive for me, that I’d never know the difference.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember now. We were tasting a Burgundy. And don’t sell your palate short. As you drink more wines you’ll easily pick up the differences in them.”

  I chuckled. “If it means I got to spend more on a bottle, I’m not sure I want that kind of sense.”

  “Let’s go to the Burgundy section.”

  He pointed to a multicolored map over a rack of wine.

  “It’s important to understand there are various regions within Burgundy. The wines are very different from each other, even within the sub-regions themselves.”

  There were a lot of names, starting with Cote, but the only name I recognized was Chablis. This guy was really into this stuff. He talked nonstop for fifteen minutes until I slid a bottle out of one of the slots.

  “Sorry, I can get carried away at times, but it’s because I believe in the importance of terroir. That’s an excellent bottle you’ve got, but for you, it may be a bit on the expensive side at seventy-nine ninety-five.”

  I slid the bottle back in.

  “Take a look at this one.” Barnet took a bottle out of a bin. “It’s by a well-known producer, Louis Jadot, whose wines are readily available. I think we have at least fifteen wines of theirs. This is a Cote de Nuits.” Barnet pointed to the map. “That’s the red region at the top. It’s what’s known as a village wine. This one has nice flavors of darker cherries with a hint of strawberries. It’s medium-bodied with good depth. It’s not terribly complicated, but I believe it’s a great introduction, especially at under thirty dollars.”

  Hearing the description, I wanted to pop the cork right then and there. “Sounds real interesting. I appreciate you respecting my budget. We don’t make much money in my line of work.”

  “My pleasure. Look, take a bottle of this as well. It’s a Volnay from Beaune, which is south of where the Jadot is from.”

  As I took both bottles from him, Barnet said, “Let me know how you like them. We’ve got plenty of affordable wines, so tell your friends about us. I’ve got to run. Thanks again for coming in.”

  “Can you hang on a minute? I’ve got a couple of questions.”

  “I really don’t have time today.”

  “It’ll be quick.”

  Barnet took the bottles back and marched to the counter. “Ring these up. We’re going into my office for a minute. I want to show him an aerial view of Burgundy.”

  As we entered his office, Barnet made reference to a photograph hanging on the wall behind his desk. It was a picture taken on an angle of a vineyard in Burgundy where the rows of vines followed the contour of the rolling hills. There wasn’t a soul in sight and the image exuded natural beauty.

  Barnet sat behind a desk with at least a dozen bottles of wine in a semicircle. Three glasses and a corkscrew were ready to be deployed.

  “You doing a tasting?”

  He nodded. “Was just about to when you came in.”

  “That’s a lot of wine.”

  Barnet reached below the desk and came up with a bucket. “That’s what this is for. I taste and spit.”

  “What do you do with the rest of the bottle?”

  He shrugged. “If it’s something I’m interested in carrying, I make sure to have the staff taste it. That way they have an understanding of the wine, otherwise it goes down the sink.”

  Nodding, I realized there really was a world of difference between a place like this and buying wine at Publix, like I usually did. It would be fun to keep talking about wine, but it was time to move on.

  “By the way, I noticed empty spots in the racks. Seems like there’s a lot less inventory.”

  “We’ve got a ton of wine coming in. Frankly, I don’t know where I’m going to put it all.”

  “Sounds good. Look, I wanted to go over a couple
of items with you concerning Marilyn Boggs.”

  Barnet stiffened, pulling his hands off the table.

  “You had said that her favorite wine was Sauvignon Blanc.”

  “Yes, she enjoyed that as well as the white wines of Bordeaux, which are made of Semillon and Sauv Blanc.”

  “But on the day of her murder we found an open bottle of pinot noir on the kitchen counter.”

  “Maybe she was having it with the person who did it.”

  My ears perked at the ‘who did it.’ Was it his emotional attachment to Marilyn that prevented him from facing the facts she was stabbed to death? Or was it a subconscious sidestep to soften the violent act? Before I could say anything, he added, “It was probably Gideon.”

  “He likes pinot noir?”

  “I think so.”

  “Your last time together with Marilyn, did you have sexual intercourse?”

  “Come on, Detective, isn’t that a bit personal?”

  “Answer the question, please.”

  Barnet wagged his head. “Yes.”

  According to the autopsy, he was lying. Tucking the deception into a mind file, I moved on.

  “Gideon Brighthouse said the two of you were arguing when he came into the house the afternoon of her murder.”

  “Arguing? No, he’s got it wrong.”

  “What was it then?”

  “I can’t remember what we were talking about when he came in, but we certainly weren’t arguing.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Detective, I hope you’re not trying to imply that we were arguing and . . . well, you know.”

  “I don’t deal in implications; my world is all about the evidence.”

  Chapter 47

  Luca

  I was chatting with a patrolwoman who had just joined the department when Vargas stuck her head out of our office door.

  “Hey Frank! Come here.”

  The new hire was cute; was Vargas jealous?

  “What’s up?”

  “Just heard from George King.”