Silenced By Syrah

by Scott, Michele

  “Janie? The assistant, right? What do you mean she came to you?”

  “She’s scared because they worked so closely together that the cops might target her. And, she’s young, kind of naive. I feel for her, you know, so I guess she’s one of the reasons I want to look into this.”

  Alyssa set down her sandwich and in mid chew said, “How do you know this girl is as naive as you think? Couldn’t it be possible that she killed her boss over some sort of grievance? Hell, God knows I wouldn’t mind taking out the idiots I work for.”

  Alyssa had a point. Nikki knew damn good and well that people weren’t always what they seemed. However, Janie was Georges’ daughter. She really believed that. Why kill the man she’d recently found out was her dad? A thought hit her, something she’d avoided because Janie was so believable. What if Janie had lied to her about her parentage and that’s why she made Nikki promise not to say anything? Or, what if the fact that Georges had kept this information from his daughter had angered her to the point of seeking revenge? Could Janie be a sociopath? She knew from experience and studying Aunt Cara’s criminal profile books that sociopaths were the best liars of all, and completely without conscience. “You know, I guess I don’t know. I’ve been lied to before.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Alyssa checked her watch. “Hang on a minute.” She took out her cell phone and called what Nikki assumed to be her child’s caregiver. “Hi Lilia. How is Peter? Good. Okay. Thank you. Yes, my study group goes until nine tonight. Can I say good night to him?” She paused and held a finger up to Nikki, who finished off her water and decided the hell with it and ordered a tuna melt along with a Coke, realizing she was hungry as her stomach rumbled. “Hi buggaboo. I know, Mommy misses you, too. I’m sorry. I’ll be home tonight. Yes. I’ll come in and kiss you and snuggle, but you better be in bed. Okay. Take all of your medicine for Lilia, okay? I love you, boo. Bye-bye.” She hung up her phone and stashed it back in her bag. “Sorry. I had to tell him good night.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s fine.”

  “I need to get to my study group, but, Nikki, look, I don’t meet a lot of quality people and I don’t have many friends. I don’t have time. Peter takes up my time after work and school and I don’t put myself out there at school because if people found out what I did, they’d ostracize me. I’m doing this study group because I’m having a tough time with this business class I’m taking.”

  Nikki sat back in the booth.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I felt a connection with you. That might sound weird, but you look like someone who gets people and you’ve been nice to me, and well, I want to help you with this . . . this murder thing. That dude. That Henry. He comes into the bar almost daily and he’s up to no good. I can’t stand him. He’s always totally disrespectful. He’s slimy, you know.”

  Did she ever. “I don’t want you getting involved in this. I’m grateful you got me the info that you did, but you have a child and a lot going on. The last thing you need to do is help me snoop around to find the killer of a man you didn’t even know.” The waitress set down Nikki’s tuna melt and soda.

  “No. I know I have a lot going on in my life, but I want to help. I know how to handle myself. Let me see if I can’t work him for more information. I’ll be careful, and it’s not about you giving me any money. Really. I can’t stand that guy, and if he killed someone, I want to see him get nailed for it.”

  Nikki squeezed a lemon into her soda and took a sip of the Coke. Refreshing. She sighed. She could use the help of someone in the city, because it wasn’t like she could be here regularly. She still had a job back at the winery and Henry was here and up to something and after running away from him the way she had, she didn’t think she could get close enough again to garner any more information. But she hated the idea of putting Alyssa in any danger.

  “I can do this, Nikki. Funny thing is, I’ve been taking some criminology psych classes thinking maybe I want to go into law enforcement. I know, sounds crazy since I’m a stripper.”

  “You’re not just a stripper.”

  “I know. But there is the stigma. Anyway, I’ve been going to school taking general classes working toward a BA, but kind of floundering, figuring out who I want to be when I grow up, and I don’t have that kind of time. I gotta figure it out now, for my little boy. Maybe I should be a private dick.” She laughed at her choice of words and Nikki joined in. “C’mon, let me try this, see if I’m any good. Think of it as on-the-job training.”

  Nikki looked at her. The woman was bright and maybe all she needed was a break. “Tell you what. See what you can find out. But please be careful.”

  Alyssa beamed. “Thanks.” She took a pen and notepad out of her backpack and jotted her information down. “Here’s my number.”

  Nikki fished out her business card and wrote her home number and cell down on the back of it. Standing up to leave, Alyssa said, “I’ll call you, but call me first if you need anything.”

  “You got it.”

  Nikki watched her walk out of the café and crossed her fingers she was doing the right thing by involving her. Nice woman. Maybe by doing this she’d find a start toward a new beginning. Nikki hoped so. She finished her dinner and headed out. Before long she was crossing the Bay Bridge and driving back to Napa with a gazillion thoughts traveling through her mind.

  All of them about Georges and the people he knew. Henry Bloomenfeld, of course, the literary agent who didn’t know the definition of ethics; then there was Rick Moran, the accountant Georges did not seem to care for, and who was obviously slumming it up with Henry . . . and for what reason? She could not overlook the fact that Janie could have had a reason to see her father dead. How could Nikki find out if Georges was really the young woman’s dad? Had Georges included Janie in his will and stated in it that he was her father? Even the seemingly happy-go-lucky Baron O’Grady appeared to have something to hide, or at least confess in church last night. And, what about Lauren Trump? She’d gone to the spa, according to Baron O’-Grady. Lauren and Georges. Were those two simply carrying on a business relationship, or were they carrying on? And if so, or even if not, could Ms. Trump have a reason to want to see Georges in the grave? Could Charlotte have been right about the possibility of hearing something other than murder going on in the treatment room? In fact, now that Nikki thought about it, she had not seen Lauren Trump anywhere after the murder. There were a lot of people around and Nikki had had other things to deal with, including that overbearing detective Robinson, but Lauren Trump was a hard woman not to notice. Could she have gunned Georges down at the spa? If the two of them were having a fling, he would have let her into the treatment room most likely without a second thought. Maybe the killer hadn’t been on the balcony as Nikki had thought. Maybe Lauren had walked through the spa and into the treatment room. She would have gone unnoticed if she’d already been having a treatment of her own.

  And, don’t forget the pregnant interior decorator, Stacey Redwall. Could the poor woman have feared that Georges’ pressure on her would cause her to lose the baby she so desperately wanted?

  A lot of possibilities and theories hung in the air, and Nikki knew that one by one she’d have to begin clearing them away.

  Upon her return home, she found Janie gone. Her things were still there. She must have gone out for dinner, or her husband had arrived and they were spending time together.

  Ollie was also nowhere in sight. He was probably at Derek’s.

  She played her messages. Two were from Andrés saying that he was worried and wanted to talk to her. She wasn’t up to it. Not now. Maybe after a bath and some time to think about their situation instead of Georges’ murder, she’d call him back and they could talk. There was a message from Derek, too, saying he also needed to talk to her. When it rains it pours. Then both Simon and Marco left messages, along with Detective Jonah Jerko. “Miss Sands, I have a few more questions for you. I’ve tried to reach you several times today. However, your cell
phone was not on. Call me.”

  It’s still a free country, buddy. “I don’t have to have my cell phone on,” she muttered.

  She did find a note from Janie on her bed saying that Trevor had to stay in the city for one more night because of something work related and that she had to get out. She’d apparently gone out for dinner. Nikki hoped she was okay, but there was still the thought in the back of her mind about whether or not Janie was indeed the innocent she appeared to be.

  Nikki opened her front door. Derek’s lights weren’t on. He must’ve been either up at the main house or out to dinner himself. She closed the door and sighed. She took a long bath and sipped a glass of Pinot Gris, then climbed into bed, staring at the phone.

  She closed her eyes and thought about Andrés, his proposition—Spain. What did she want out of life? Was it him? Were his dreams hers, too? A family. Hmmm. That would be nice. Before long she drifted off to sleep and her dream consisted of Andrés, Spain, and babies, and then while holding the dream child in her arms, Derek entered the room. Andrés was also in the room. Was the baby hers? Who was the father? Who did she want to be the father? A candle flickered on a nearby table. Andrés blew it out. Smoke. That faint smell of smoke after a candle gets blown out. Stronger now. Someone screaming her name.

  Her eyes shot open and out of her dream, Nikki came to the horrid reality that her cottage was on fire. Flames everywhere . Again, someone screamed her name. “Nikki! Nikki!” It was Janie.

  Coughing and gagging, she remembered the duck-and-crawl rule as she saw bright orange flames flickering from her family room, spreading toward her bedroom. No time to save anything. Get out! Get out! Where was Janie? Nikki looked over at her French doors, where she could see Janie pounding on them outside her bedroom. The smoke filled her room. Losing air. She made it to the doors and pulled herself up in a coughing fit. She unlocked the doors and opened them, collapsing outside on her deck. Janie grabbed her and dragged her away from the burning cottage. Sirens echoed through the valley from a distance as she lay in the grass where Janie had pulled her, watching her place go up in flames.

  Chapter 15

  Nikki, tucked into the corner of Derek’s mocha-colored leather sofa, sat in stunned disbelief, grateful to be safely in his home. Looking up, she managed to smile her thanks as he offered her a cup of tea. Her eyes hurt from the tears she’d shed the last couple of hours as she realized all that she’d lost in the little cottage. Clothes she could replace, furniture, knick-knacks, but not photos with memories attached to them. Vacations with Aunt Cara, her first real acting gig, being on the set, move-in day at the cottage, birthdays with friends, all of it—up in smoke. How had this happened? She’d drifted off to sleep after the grueling day and the next thing she knew, she’d heard Janie yelling her name and then the smell of smoke, and then the flames. Thank God Janie had been there. She was outside now, talking with an arson investigator, who Nikki knew would be in soon to speak with her. The paramedics had shown up and, after giving her oxygen, had recommended that she go to the hospital, which she had refused to do.

  Thank God Ollie hadn’t been in the house with her, or Janie for that matter. If they’d been inside and hadn’t noticed anything, then they both could have . . . That thought was too horrific to think about.

  Derek came in from the kitchen with a plate of sliced apples and cheese. He set it down on the coffee table and took a seat across from her, a look of concern on his face. “I thought you might want to nibble on something.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know if I could eat anything right now, though.”

  “I understand. Nikki, I was wondering when the last time was that you changed the batteries in your smoke detectors. They should have worked.”

  She nodded. The thought had already crossed her mind. She usually stayed on top of things like that, and if her memory served, it had been about four months ago that she’d changed them. She’d done it in the midst of some cleaning. Hadn’t she? Damn, her mind was fuzzy right now. “I think the batteries were fine.”

  He frowned. She had to remember that the cottage was his home, too. He did own it. Her stay there was a part of the arrangement they’d made because she was the winery manager, and when she’d moved to Napa, Derek seemed more than eager to have her close by. What had occurred to change that? The flirting stopped, the mixed signals were no longer mixed but almost always simply business, and that was before she and Andrés had become . . . whatever it was they were. Nikki didn’t have a clue, and here she sat in his family room drinking tea while he appeared to want to comfort her, and yet the standoffish attitude still remained. Did he blame her for the fire?

  “I’m glad you weren’t trapped in there,” he said.

  “Me, too.”

  “I called Andrés. I thought you might want to go and stay with him.” Derek sank back into his chair.

  Her head snapped up. She did not need this right now. “What? Why would you think that?”

  “You are together. You’re dating, a thing, an item, you know.”

  “No, Derek, you don’t know. For one thing, yes Andrés and I are dating and we like each other and he’s my friend, but for God’s sake, you and he make me crazy with this control thing about me, like I’m some doll you can toss back and forth.”

  He looked at her incredulously, his eyes wide.

  “I’m not a rag doll, and you don’t know our situation. We’re not even sleeping together.” Oops. Now, why had she gone and said that? It really wasn’t any of his business. And, it wasn’t like he even cared. That much was obvious. “But, good. Fine. I’m glad you called him.”

  Derek’s face reddened. “If you’d like, you could take a room at the hotel.”

  She sighed. “Right now, I don’t know what I want. I’ll have to weigh my options and see how I feel.”

  There was a knock at Derek’s door. He answered it and there stood the fire marshall along with Detective Robinson. Oh God, as if things couldn’t get any worse. Janie stood behind them. The detective asked her to wait outside. The girl looked injured and tried to peer around him. She waved at Nikki, who tried to smile back at her. The detective shut the door in Janie’s face. Nikki watched Robinson cruise in, and had to wonder: was he only an ass to her, or was it with women in general? Nah, it was her. She could tell by the smirk on his face. Ah, she was not gonna get any sympathy here. He already looked suspicious of her. Great.

  The fire marshall had that family man look about him—the opposite of Detective Cool—clean shaven, trim hair, silvering around the sideburns and he smelled of smoke and oddly enough, musk. Probably bathed daily in his cologne to get the smoke smell off of him. The look in his eyes seemed to be sympathetic, and he smiled kindly at Derek and Nikki. “I’m terribly sorry for the loss of your home.”

  Derek nodded. Nikki didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he continued. “The fire was not accidental.”

  “Arson?” Derek asked. “Someone deliberately started that fire?”

  “Yes. Afraid so.”

  Derek sat back down, collapsing in his chair. He looked like Nikki felt—like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

  “Who? Why? What in the hell?” Derek asked.

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” the detective said. “It’s possible that this fire could be connected to Mr. Debussey’s murder.”

  “Excuse me?” Nikki asked, finally finding her voice. “I don’t understand. I was in my home. Are you saying that someone could have been trying to murder me, too? It’s not like I had a strong connection to Georges. We knew each other, but why would anyone kill him and then me?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Robinson replied. “There could be a few scenarios we need to look at, if the fire is connected in any way with Mr. Debussey’s murder.”

  The fire marshall excused himself, explaining he had more work to do at the scene.

  “What type of scenarios are you talking abo
ut?” Derek asked.

  Robinson didn’t answer right away, almost as if he was trying to decide if he wanted to let them in on his thoughts. “Maybe there was evidence in Ms. Sands’ home that someone was trying to hide.”

  Nikki gasped. “I resent that. Are you accusing me of something, Detective?”

  “No, Ms. Sands, I’m not. Should I be?”

  Derek shot him a dirty look. “Nikki had no reason to kill Georges, and furthermore, she was inside her house when it burned down and was nearly trapped inside. I hardly think that qualifies as someone wanting to get rid of evidence.”

  “Unless things got out of hand before she could get out, and she didn’t realize it until it was too late. Ms. Sands was an actress, from what I understand.”

  “Yeah, I was. So? You know what, Detective, this conversation is ridiculous and over. Unless you have some kind of evidence pointing at me and you want to charge me with a crime, I’d suggest you leave.” Nikki stood up. “I don’t get you. What is your problem with me?”

  “You put your nose where it doesn’t belong. You have no respect for law enforcement. I’ve heard the stories and if I’m right, I’ve got a feeling you’ve already involved yourself in this case. It’s possible you may be involved in Mr. Debussey’s murder, but more than that, I think you’re poking around where you shouldn’t be.”

  “I am not involved in any way with this situation. And, you, Detective are bordering on harassment. As for my not having any respect for law enforcement, that’s the biggest crock I’ve ever heard. I was raised by a Los Angeles homicide detective. I have a ton of respect for your job, but you know what, I don’t have any respect for you, because from what I can see you’ve got it in for me so bad, you can’t point your own nose in the direction it should be going on this case.”