“I don’t like it one bit,” I muttered, glowering at her.
Derek stepped forward. “This is a busy neighborhood. Somebody must’ve seen the person who did it.”
“Good thinking,” I said, flashing him a grateful look. “They would’ve had to have jabbed the tire a bunch of times to shred it so badly. Somebody must’ve noticed.”
“Possibly.” Lee pulled out her cell phone and dialed the police dispatcher. After requesting patrol assistance, she hung up. To us, she said, “We’ll do some canvassing, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for someone to come forward.”
In less than a minute, we heard a siren.
“Can we go now?” I asked.
“Sure, you can go,” she said with an evil grin. “But not in your car. It’s just been turned into a crime scene.”
Chapter 5
Reluctantly, I left my trusty hybrid in the hands of the San Francisco Police Department and Inspector Lee, who promised I could have it back by Tuesday. Then, to cajole me out of my depressed, dead-body-magnet mood, Derek drove straight to my favorite steak house. We were ushered to a comfortable, dark green booth in the corner with a view of the bustling room.
I was hoping a bottle of wine would magically appear on the linen-covered table.
Chalk it up to ennui or just plain exhaustion, but for the first time in my life, I allowed a man to order dinner for me. Derek knew all my favorite foods, namely, red meat, red wine, and chocolate soufflé. We both began with a lettuce wedge doused in blue cheese dressing, and I felt myself rebounding as the meal progressed. The comfort food, the dark green booths, the wood-paneled walls, the waiters in white shirts with their long black aprons tied neatly at the waist-all of it gave the room a warm, clubby feel that pampered and soothed my spirit.
Some women might’ve chosen a pedicure or a massage to perk them up, but for me, it’s all about food. The steak house provided the miracle cure I needed. The fact that Derek had known exactly what would work to snap me out of my doldrums was just one more feather added to his cap. Seriously, what woman wouldn’t love a boyfriend who acted all James Bond, looked all Hugh Jackman, and knew me well enough to ply me with my favorite foods?
We got to bed early that night, since we’d planned to leave the next morning to spend a few days in Dharma. Tomorrow was the grand opening of my sister Savannah’s new restaurant, Arugula, on Shakespeare Lane.
Dharma had grown to become quite the wine-country tourist spot, and the Lane, as it was called, was currently the hottest destination in the area. Everyone in my family was geared up to make Savannah’s opening a great success.
But Joe’s death and his connection to Emily and Max’s Beauty and the Beast had caused me to rethink some of my weekend plans. I felt as though I’d lost Max all over again. The knives I’d found at the crime scene and in my tire had spooked me badly. I wanted to spend some time commiserating with my family and others in Dharma who had known Max all those years ago. I was also hoping to talk to Guru Bob about the whole dead-body-magnet phenomenon. With any luck, he would have some good advice for me.
Derek and I were on the road at eight o’clock the next morning. It was a disturbingly early start, especially after having shared a bottle of wine the night before. I was happy Derek was driving, because I figured I could work in a quick nap on the way, but we started talking and I realized I’d much rather be wide-awake to enjoy his company than sleep for a few extra minutes.
As we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Marin County, Derek reached across and patted my leg. “Darling, why don’t you give your mother a call and ask her to arrange a meeting for you and Robson? Then you won’t have to worry about trying to track him down all day.”
“Good idea,” I said, and searched in my bag for my phone. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because your mind’s been occupied by bigger and darker problems.”
“True.” I gazed at him, unsure whether to be relieved or worried that he could read me so well. I decided to go with feeling ridiculously pleased. “Thank you.”
He reached across the console and squeezed my hand, holding on to it while I spoke with my mother. Mom insisted that she was thrilled to play my appointments secretary for the day and assured me that everything would be taken care of. She signed off by saying, “Peace out, Punkin’,” and I hung up feeling lighter already.
An hour later, we left the highway and drove into Dharma. Derek slowed down as we cruised Shakespeare Lane, so I could get a good look at Savannah’s restaurant space.
A wide picture window revealed a light, wood-paneled room with a good number of tables covered in white linen. The tables were already set with sparkling crystal and flatware, and I imagined every table was spoken for. A small bar in the back corner was fully stocked and six barstools stood in front of it.
There was no actual signage out front, just a pretty painted picture of a thick bunch of green arugula tied with a pink ribbon. It was whimsical and colorful, just like my sister. I knew she was already at work in the kitchen, knew she would be nervous all day, knew that a number of well-known restaurant critics were driving up from San Francisco to experience the opening-night menu. But I also knew without a doubt that Arugula would be wildly successful and that Savannah Wainwright, my bald-headed, slightly wacky sister, was on her way to becoming the next celebrity chef of the Bay Area.
At the end of the Lane, Derek turned right and drove up Vivaldi Way toward my parents’ home. Over the years, a number of commune members had built homes in the hills overlooking Dharma, and as we climbed, we passed Abraham’s Spanish colonial on the right where his daughter, Annie, now lived. The Westcott family lived in the Tudor-style home tucked into the hillside on the left side of the road. Around the next turn, Carl Brundidge, the lawyer for most of the commune members, owned the sleek contemporary on the right.
Despite being in a commune, we all had our own individual styles and our houses demonstrated that.
A minute later, we pulled up in front of my parents’ spacious ranch-style home. Before the car had rolled to a stop, Mom and Dad came running out to greet us. They were holding hands, and seeing them together eased more of the tension around my heart.
The weather was warm enough that Mom had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and she wore a tie-dyed tank top, cargo shorts, and utility boots. Mom had great legs and her arms were toned from the exercise she got picking apples and grapes all year long.
“Looks like Mom’s been out in the orchards this morning,” I said to Derek. “You know what that means?”
He shut off the engine and glanced at me. “What?”
“She might be making her crazy-delicious apple crisp while we’re here.”
“Apple crisp?” His eyes were instantly alert. “Don’t toy with me, Brooklyn.”
I laughed as I climbed out of the car. Mom’s crazy-delicious apple crisp with its awesome, spiked caramel sauce was worth the hour-long drive from the city to Sonoma.
I hugged my dad, surprised to see him all dressed up in Dockers and a clean, pressed, denim work shirt. His loafers were shiny, too, and he was wearing one of the Jerry Garcia ties I’d given him for Christmas. For Dad, this was formal wear. The man rarely wore anything but faded jeans and a T-shirt, since he spent most of his days out in the vineyards or in the barrel room, tasting and experimenting with the wines.
I knew I was probably prejudiced, but I thought my parents were adorable. They never seemed to age, which probably should’ve annoyed me, since I was getting older all the time, but it didn’t. It just made me happy to be here with them.
“I’ve invited Robson and some of the children over for lunch,” Mom announced after she’d hugged us both and tried to wrestle my overnight bag from me. As we walked into the house, she turned to Derek and added, “And I’ve cooked up a few of your favorite dishes.”
“You’re a goddess, Rebecca,” Derek said, and Mom giggled like a little girl. He was the only one besides Guru Bob
who called her Rebecca.
I was hoping “some of the children” Mom had invited included my best friend, Robin, and my brother Austin. They were a couple now, living together in Austin’s home in the hills above Dharma. I missed Robin living close by me in the city, but I was overjoyed that she and my brother had finally found each other. Of course, Robin had to almost die for Austin to wake up to the fact that he was in love with her and she was meant for him, but at least they were together now.
“Dad, why are you all dressed up?” I asked.
“I’ve got a board of directors meeting,” he said with a pensive sigh.
Dad was on three boards of directors, so I asked, “For the winery?”
He nodded mournfully, and I laughed again. “It’s a real bitch being so successful.”
“Language, Brooklyn,” Mom said mildly, rubbing my father’s arm. “But you’re right. Jimmy was much better off as a poor but rugged farmer. I miss those days.”
I snorted. “Dad was never a poor farmer.”
“True,” she said, winking. “But he’s always been rugged.”
Dad wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I’ll wear my overalls later.”
“Ooh, boy. Here we go,” I said, covering my ears as I rushed ahead into the house.
Once inside, I couldn’t make eye contact with Derek. The thing was, we’d never spent the night at my parents’ house together. Mom and Dad were old hippies, so I didn’t think there would be an issue about the sleeping arrangements, but you just never knew with parents.
“I’ve put you and Derek in your old bedroom,” Mom said briskly, leading the way down the hall.
I finally looked at Derek and rolled my eyes. The man was big, bad, and dangerous, and I couldn’t picture him sleeping in the old bedroom I’d shared with my sister China. We’d slept in narrow twin beds with a third rollaway bed squeezed against one wall to accommodate Robin for her lengthy sleepovers. It was like a small dormitory in there. Was Mom really expecting Derek and me to sleep in twin beds?
Ah, well, I guess I could give her some credit for letting us stay in the same room together. But I wouldn’t blame Derek if he decided to bow out and check into the new boutique hotel down on Shakespeare Lane. I had suggested the hotel when we’d made our plans to come for the weekend, but Derek had insisted he was perfectly content to stay with my parents.
Mom opened the door to my room and stepped aside to let us pass. “What do you think?”
“Whoa,” I said, taking it all in.
The twin beds had been replaced by an elegant, dark wood sleigh bed covered in a thick brown and gold duvet. Piled on top were all sorts of decorative pillows of every shape and size, in colors that ran the gamut from light pearl to sparkly gold to rich brown.
The walls were painted a stylish shade of dark cocoa with pale beige trim and cool, light linen curtains. There was a stately new chest of drawers along one wall and a small mahogany desk and chair on the other.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Mom,” I said softly. “This is beautiful.”
She clapped her hands. “I think so, too. I got a little help from Robin.”
“She’s got great taste.”
“Yes, much better than mine.” She tugged at the curtains, and I realized she was nervous. “I asked her not to make it too girly, because I know that’s not your style.”
“It’s perfect, Mom,” I assured her.
“Thank you for going to so much trouble for us,” Derek said. He took my bag from me and placed it on the new wooden luggage rack under the window.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered, and hugged her.
“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said, straightening a pillow before heading for the door. “I’ve asked Robin to redo your father’s and my bedroom, too.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said.
“It’s been more than twenty years since we bought anything new, so I’m excited,” she said. “But I’m glad Robin’s doing it. I was afraid if I did it on my own, we’d end up with bordello red walls and white wicker furniture or something.”
“Interesting design choices.”
She laughed, then checked her wristwatch. “I’ll let you kids get settled. Robson should be here in half an hour; then lunch is at noon.”
Chapter 6
“Something is troubling you, gracious,” Guru Bob said.
To the leader of the Dharma commune, everyone was gracious. But I still liked to think that the other kids and I who had been raised in Dharma were extraspecial to him. He was my parents’ spiritual leader, but to me he was simply a true friend and a terrific listener.
“Yes, Robson,” I confessed. I always called him Robson to his face. Guru Bob was a fun nickname we kids had always used, but it was too irreverent to call him that in person.
We were alone on the terrace of my parents’ home, overlooking Mom’s apple orchard on one side and rolling hills of grapevines on the other. The sky was brilliant blue and the air was so crisp and clear, it almost hurt to breathe. It was turning out to be a warm day but I still felt a touch of the morning chill. Or maybe it was just my state of mind.
Guru Bob sipped the tea my mother had brought him and assured me he was in no hurry, so I took a few moments to gather my thoughts. It was good to know that no matter what I told him, he would be kind. I trusted him and loved him as I would a cherished uncle.
It was hard to explain Guru Bob to outsiders. On paper, he probably came across as a charlatan, a deceitful crackpot whose charm and clever wiles were responsible for brainwashing several hundred followers twenty-five years ago. Why else would all those intelligent people sell everything and move from the city out to the Sonoma boondocks to establish the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness?
That picture couldn’t have been further from the truth.
I guessed he was in his mid-fifties, but he seemed younger. He was tall and lanky, a gentle, spiritual man, although I wouldn’t call him religious. My parents believed him to be a highly evolved conscious being. All I knew was that Guru Bob was smarter and kinder and more aware of…well, everything than anyone I knew.
I’d also seen him coldly draw a line in the sand when he was betrayed by someone he’d considered a friend. I never wanted to see that look on his face again.
Sitting here in the sun, I suddenly remembered that a few months back, during Abraham’s murder investigation, Derek had followed me to Dharma and heard Guru Bob speak at Abraham’s memorial service. I was still regarding Derek as an adversary then, but, nevertheless, I was nervous about his reaction to Guru Bob. When Derek called him powerful, in a most respectful tone, I was delighted. Thinking back on it now, I realized that that might’ve been the moment my attitude warmed toward Derek.
“Gracious, what is upsetting you?”
I cleared my throat and made eye contact with him. “I found another dead body yesterday. I’m afraid there’s something negative growing inside me that’s causing me to attract death. Murder, I mean. And murderers. I keep finding these victims of murder, and I’m afraid I am going to scare off my friends. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s getting bad and I’m getting paranoid. What if people think they might get killed if they stay friends with me?”
He smiled. “My dear, have you not considered the possibility that the dead seek you out? In each of the instances of which you speak, even when the victim was not your friend, you have been compassionate, as well as passionate, in leading the charge for justice. Do you not think the universe recognizes this?”
“Wait a sec,” I protested, then winced for being less than polite with him. “Sorry, Robson. But I mean, seriously, you think the universe is putting these bodies in my path so that I’ll bring them justice?”
“I do.”
“That’s just bizarre. Sorry.” Oops, there I was, being rude again. “The police are pretty good at this, you know.”
“Ah, but in many of these situations, it is my understanding that you have led the
m to several clues they might not have otherwise uncovered.” He took a sip of his tea and gave me one of his genial smiles.
Another quirk of Guru Bob’s was that he never used contractions. Sometimes I couldn’t help but imitate him, but I tried to avoid it. Guru Bob sounded fine talking that way, but I sounded deranged.
I pursed my lips in frustration as I tried to make sense of his words. In a flash, I remembered an old Agatha Christie story in which Miss Marple received a request that came from beyond the grave. A man she’d known who had recently died had sent her a card asking her to investigate the suspicious death of his son’s fiancée, for which his son had been imprisoned.
“Nemesis,” Guru Bob murmured.
I blinked. “What? What did you say?”
“Nemesis.” He smiled. “An Agatha Christie novel. Do you know it?”
“Of course I know it,” I cried, waving my hands. Then I sat back and frowned at him. “Why did you say that? I mean, sorry, but that was weird.” I took a calming breath and let it out. “Anyway, yes, I know the story of Nemesis. I was just now thinking about it.”
“Ah, well.” He smiled innocently. “That is a coincidence. Is it not?”
Still frowning, I stared at him, watching him for signs of more trickery, but he just continued to gaze at me with a gentle smile. Okay, this was a staring contest I couldn’t win, so I changed the subject. “Robson, do you remember Max Adams?”
His smile faded. “Yes, of course, gracious. Why do you ask?”
I gave him the shortened version of what had happened yesterday with the Beauty and the Beast and Joseph Taylor’s death and my flat tire and the papermaker’s knives with Max’s initials carved into the handles.
He seemed to grow more and more uneasy as I spoke, but who wouldn’t after hearing the news of Joe’s murder? And the mention of Max’s knives must have disturbed him, too.
“Stop.” He held up his hand and interrupted me in midsentence. “Please, gracious. Wait a moment.”
One Book In The Grave Page 4
