by Penny Warner
Shaking off the wine residue, the officer retrieved the object from the net and handed it to Detective Kelly.
“What is it?” I asked, stepping in closer as the detective examined it.
“It looks like a class ring,” he said, squinting as he turned the object around in his hand. He pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket, put them on, and read the details aloud: “UCD, Class of ‘89.” Peering inside the ring, he continued. “To Marie, Love Robert.”
Huh. What was Javier doing with the ring Rob had apparently given to Marie?
My cell phone rang. I answered it, hoping to hear Brad’s voice.
“Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?” I recognized Kyle’s voice. Crap. I’d forgotten all about meeting him.
“I’ve…been detained,” I said softly, and stepped away so the detective wouldn’t hear me.
“I want my check, Presley!” he demanded. “If you don’t bring it over now, I’m going to the police.”
I thought about telling him the truth, then changed my mind. I took a deep breath and said, “You know, Kyle, I don’t think you’re going to do that. I have a hunch that check—written against Angus McLaughlin’s personal account—isn’t something you want anyone, including the police, to know about.”
Dead silence on the other end.
I continued. “I’ll meet you, but meanwhile, something’s come up that might help your client get out of jail free. I suggest you talk to the police. I’ll see you at the station in half an hour and we can have a little chat.”
I hung up. That felt good. I should pretend to have blackmail materials more often.
But I still had questions I wanted Kyle to answer—like why he had a check from the CEO of Napology. For now, Javier’s body trumped that. Either we had a new killer on our hands, or the person who’d murdered JoAnne was still on the loose and had just doubled his count.
Detective Kelly came out of the house, where I assumed he’d been taking statements from Marie and Allison.
“Ms. Parker,” he said, holding his notebook at the ready as he reached me.
Before he could pounce, I blocked him with my own question: “How’s Marie?”
“Upset, as you can imagine. Two murders on her property in less than a week. Her sister gave her a sedative, which cut my questioning short. She’s lying down.”
I thought about Allison giving Marie more drugs. Was that a good idea? Marie was already fragile, and I didn’t trust Allison to medicate her, since there seemed to be some animosity between them.
“Did Marie say anything about seeing Javier before he was…murdered?” I asked.
Detective Kelly looked at me. “Detective Melvin warned me about you. You like to moonlight as Agatha Christie, don’t you?”
“More like Nancy Drew,” I said. “Listen, Marie asked me to help out. I may know something that will help you. Quid pro quo?”
He eyed me suspiciously. “If you’re withholding evidence—”
“I’m not!” I said. “But I’ve learned a few things that maybe will help you with your investigation.”
“Like what?”
“Like JoAnne had threatened quite a few people in this town. Like Allison had been selling the Christophers’ wines under a false label. Like Kyle Bennett is involved in unethical lawyering, or whatever you call it.”
The detective cocked his jaw.
“So what did Marie say?” I asked.
He sighed and glanced at his notes. “She said she was taking a walk around the vineyard, looking for Montoya. She wanted to ask him about something. That’s when she found him floating in the wine barrel.”
“It must have given her quite a shock,” I said, remembering her screams. It had certainly given me a shock. “Did you ask her about the ring you found?”
He nodded. “She said it had gone missing a few days ago.”
“During the party?”
“Before that.”
“Did she say she lost it, or it ‘went missing’?”
The detective looked at his notebook again. “She claims she kept it in her jewelry box, along with some other valuable pieces. When she went to retrieve a necklace a few days before the party, she noticed it was gone.”
“Did she say anything else was missing?”
“As a matter of fact, she mentioned diamond earrings and a diamond tennis bracelet.”
I sucked in a breath. “Did she suspect Javier of stealing her jewelry?”
“She was pretty surprised when I told her what we found in the vat of wine. She said she didn’t think Javier would do anything like that, but she couldn’t explain why we found it with his body.”
I thought a moment. “Okay, I could understand Javier stealing the diamond jewelry in these hard times, especially since he’d been losing work. But why a class ring, since it was engraved—and probably not worth enough to make it worth his while?”
“Diamond studded,” the detective said.
It still didn’t make sense. “Then why did he end up floating in the wine barrel?”
The detective shrugged. It was becoming his favorite mode of communication. “Maybe he was a fence and planned to keep the money himself.
“Any marks on him?”
“Yeah, the EMT noticed a contusion at the back of his head. Looks like someone hit him first, good and hard, just like JoAnne. Then somehow the perp got him into that barrel and let him drown—or held his head under until he drowned.”
I shuddered at the details of his death, as if a wind had swept through me. What had the killer used to bean him?
“Well, if anything,” I said, “this lets Rob off the hook, doesn’t it? Obviously he didn’t do it since he was in jail.”
Detective Kelly flipped his notebook closed. “Not so fast. True, he didn’t kill Montoya, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Douglas. We’ll hold him until we hear back from the ME and the crime scene techs. We may have a second killer who could have been working with Rob on the outside.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I said. “Rob’s not some mastermind gang leader. He’s a winemaker who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. You can’t possibly still think he’s guilty.”
“I don’t know what to think yet, Ms. Parker. But if you’ll let me do my job, maybe I’ll figure it out. And by the way, what I’ve told you is in confidence. Melvin said I could trust you to be discreet. Annoying, but discreet.”
With that, the detective got in his car and drove away, leaving the techs behind to pick over the scene, and me to wonder what the hell was going on in the wine country.
I decided to check on Marie and Allison and make sure there were no suspicious cups of tea or empty pill bottles lying around. Allison was on her cell phone in the kitchen, talking mushy baby talk to someone on the other end. I couldn’t make out the words, but her flirtatious tone was clear. I wondered who was on the receiving end of the call. One of her sugar daddies? It seemed awfully inappropriate, considering the recent circumstances. But I expected nothing less of Allison.
I tiptoed past the kitchen entry and walked to Marie’s room, hoping to talk to her before she was completely zonked out. I opened the door and peered inside the dark room. The shades had been drawn. Marie lay on her back under a thick comforter that was patterned with grapes and leaves. When I heard her rhythmic breathing, I took a step back, prepared to leave.
“Allison?” Marie’s scratchy voice whispered. Her eyes blinked open and she looked at me as if trying to place me.
“It’s me, Presley, Marie. I just came to check on you and see if you need anything. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Allison?” she repeated.
I stepped inside and neared her bed. “No, it’s Presley Parker. Allison’s in the kitchen. Can I get you anything?”
“Allison…,” she said again, her eyes fluttering under the influence of the sedative she’d been given. I hoped it was only a sedative.
“Do you want me to get her?” I
asked.
“Allison…please…leave Rob alone…”
I tensed. Marie still thought I was Allison. What was she saying about Rob? I stood still and listened.
“Allison…you’re young and beautiful…you have others…please…”
Her voice faded off. The heavy breathing resumed. She was out like a light.
I tiptoed out, closing the door behind me. But instead of returning to the kitchen to question Allison, I went to the back of the house, where her in-law unit was located. Listening for Allison’s voice, I could hear her still talking on the phone in the kitchen. I tried the door. Unlocked.
I didn’t have much time.
Chapter 22
PARTY-PLANNING TIP #22
Before your party begins, send the guests tips on wine-tasting etiquette, such as (1) no second tastes; (2) dump unwanted wine into the provided bucket; (3) eat a neutral food such as a cracker between tastes; (4) do not overdrink and become intoxicated; and (5) avoid hitting on the server.
Praying the door to Allison’s room didn’t squeak, I eased it open, holding my breath. So far, so good. Before I entered, I thought up something to say if I got caught: “Marie asked me to retrieve something-to-be-named-as-soon-as-I-find-it in your room, Allison.” Weak, but plausible, I figured. What could she do—hit me over the head and drown me in a pool of wine?
Maybe.
Adrenaline pumping, I scanned the one-room-plus-bath suite to see if anything suspicious jumped out. Of course, nothing did. That would have been too easy. I opened drawers, hoping to spot a hidden will or a wad of cash or a pile of incriminating love letters she’d been using for blackmailing purposes. Nothing.
Hands on my hips, I twisted back and forth, searching for other hiding places. I knelt down and looked under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies, a single bedroom slipper, and some discarded underwear. Yuck.
Standing and wiping my hands on my jeans, I glanced at the pictures on the walls and easily recognized more scenes from the Mustard Festival painted by Guy Buffet. Unfortunately, there were no safes hidden behind any of them. And I was running out of ideas—and time.
Where would I hide something in a room like this? I wondered. When I was a teenager and didn’t want my mom to find my journal, I’d hidden it in my bathroom in my tampon box, figuring she’d never look there.
I entered the opened door that led to the bathroom and checked the medicine cabinet. Inside I found an array of over-the-counter and prescription meds, everything from pain relievers to stomach soothers to fat melters to gas eaters. Even though Allison was supposedly off drugs, she still had a whole pharmacy of common medications at her disposal. Just in case, I checked to see if Marie’s name was on any of the labels—it wasn’t—but that didn’t mean Allison couldn’t overdose her sister with some of the meds she had on hand.
I closed the medicine cabinet door and started to back out of the bathroom when I heard footsteps in the hall.
Allison!
While I’d come up with a flimsy excuse to be in her room, I still didn’t want to get caught. If I did, then she might suspect I was investigating her—and that could put me in jeopardy. Frantic, I slipped out of the bathroom and opened another door that I assumed led outside to make my escape.
To my surprise, I found myself not outside, but inside Allison’s closet.
Ha! I should have known. No one, especially a woman, can live without a closet.
I pulled the door shut behind me as quietly as I could, ducked under a long raincoat, and prayed it didn’t rain. Holding my breath, I listened as she entered the room.
For what felt like an eternity, Allison seemed to putter around, opening drawers, using the toilet, checking the medicine cabinet. Those were the actions I could hear. During the periods of silence, I could only imagine what she might be doing.
Plotting a murder?
Mine, perhaps?
Finally I heard her leave the room, closing the door behind her. Thank God she hadn’t wanted anything from the closet. It would have been harder to explain why I was hiding behind her coat than just being in her room.
I exhaled, waited a few more minutes, then opened the closet door and peeked out. The coast was clear. But before I rushed to safety, I decided to tempt fate and take a few more minutes to scour the closet I hadn’t known was there.
I checked the shoe boxes—and found shoes. Chanel, Louboutin, Manolo, Choo, Dolce & Gabbana. I checked the pockets of coats and pants—and found some bingo sheets with phone numbers written on them. Finally I reached for the boxes on the overheard shelf and pulled one down. This one held shoes—Stuart Weitzman pumps—but underneath lay a manila envelope, unmarked. I set the shoe box down on the floor and pulled out the envelope. Inside were a bunch of papers.
I switched on the closet light and looked them over. Invoices. Most of them appeared to be from local restaurants.
I read the details and discovered that Allison had been selling the Purple Grape wines to restaurants—and no doubt keeping the payments. She’d probably been costing Rob and Marie hundreds if not thousands of dollars.
Excited about my find, I pulled down another shoe box. Under a pair of expensive Christian Louboutin heels was another manila envelope. I reached inside the envelope and withdrew a handful of letters addressed to Allison.
Curious, I read the letter that was on top.
Allison, please stop sending me letters, e-mails, texts, and stop calling. I love my wife and have no interest in having a relationship with you. That day in the storage room was a mistake I will regret for the rest of my life. I’ve done what you asked. Now please live up to your promise and leave me alone or I’ll tell Marie myself, as much as it would break her heart.
It was unsigned but obviously written by Rob.
So it was true. Rob and Allison had had an affair. If JoAnne was blackmailing her, could she have been blackmailing Rob about it? If so, what had Rob promised her? Was she somehow responsible for putting Rob in jail? And for Marie’s suicide attempt?
I stuck the letter and one of the invoices in my purse, figuring if I got caught now, I wouldn’t live to drink another glass of wine anyway, so why not try to take some evidence with me. I checked one more box, and this time found a copy of Rob and Marie’s will. Figuring I couldn’t steal the whole thing, I left it there, planning to return when I had more time and read it over.
Arranging the shoes boxes the way I’d found them, I closed the closet door, listened for any sound from Allison, and quietly left her room.
My phone rang the second I stepped out into the hall.
If it had rung two minutes earlier…
“Presley?”
Allison stood at the end of the hall, eyeing me suspiciously. She’d heard the ring. Crossing her arms in front of her, she said, “What are you doing here? I didn’t see you come in.”
“Oh, just checking on Marie. She’s sound asleep.” The phone continued to ring.
“Marie’s room is over there,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction.
“I know. I needed to make a phone call and didn’t want to disturb her, so I stepped down the hall.”
“But your phone is ringing.”
“Yes, uh, when I called, he didn’t answer, so I left a message and I guess he’s calling back.” The tune—the theme from The Sopranos—continued.
“Don’t you want to answer it?”
I looked at the phone in my hand. “Yes, of course. Will you excuse me for a minute?” I turned away and softly said hello. It was Brad. I’d recognized his ringtone.
“You okay?” he asked. “You called—it sounded urgent.”
“Yes, I mean, no. Uh…could I call you back? I’m right in the middle of something.”
“Presley…?”
I hung up.
Allison still stood at the end of the hall. “Everything all right?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” I said, moving toward her. “It was just my mother. She worries about me. You know how it is.”
Allison gave no sign that she did.
“Well, I should be going. I’m hoping Rob will be released from jail soon, since he couldn’t have killed Javier. I’m heading to the station to meet his lawyer.”
“You’re going to see Kyle?” she asked, her jaw working.
“Yes, and I’m late,” I said, checking my watch. I gave her a wide berth as I went to the front door.
“You’ll keep an eye on Marie?” I said, turning back to her.
“Of course. I’ll take good care of her. She just needs to sleep. This has all been very traumatic for her.”
“Well, when Rob gets back home, I’m sure she’ll feel better,” I said.
“If he’s released, you mean,” she said.
“When,” I returned, and closed the front door behind me.
Bee-otch, I said to myself, a word I’d often heard Delicia use. That’s what I thought of Allison. But she was one dangerous bee-otch…
I called Brad and told him I was headed back to the police station and would call him soon with an update. I arrived at the station, which was fast becoming my old stomping grounds, and saw Kyle sitting on a railing outside, checking his watch. As soon as he spotted me, he jumped off his perch—the man was quite the percher—and met me as I approached.
“We need to talk,” he said, grabbing my arm. He spun me in the opposite direction from the police department. “But not here.”
“Let go of me!” I snapped, jerking my arm out of his grip. “First I want to see what’s going on with Rob’s release.”
“I’m handling it. There’s no word from the detective yet. You can’t do anything at the moment. And you have something of mine I want.”
“Fine,” I huffed.
“The café is just down the street. Come on.”
“God, you’re bossy,” I said as he led me along. “I’m glad you’re not my lawyer.”
“Don’t worry. There’s no chance of that happening. If they arrest you for the murders, you’re on your own.”
I stomped in silence next to him until we reached From the Ground Up café, two blocks from the station. “What kind of coffee do you want?” Kyle asked bluntly, pulling a wad of bills from his wallet when we reached the counter.
