“We’ve got Nicole’s alibi,” Yvette said with a steely face. “Where were you Saturday night between ten and two?”
“Seriously?”
Yvette nodded.
Frannie sobered. “Hosting a show of my new jewelry line until about eleven. I had dinner after that with two friends and got home after one. I set the alarm and it has a log, so you can see I didn’t leave the house again until Saturday morning. I went out to get the paper.”
“When was the last time you saw your husband?”
“Wednesday. He came home and we took his instruments to my studio and locked them up with my stock. Said there’d been a rash of break-ins in the area and some of his instruments were valuable.”
“How many are there?” I asked.
“Four guitars, three banjos, and two very heavy amps. Why?”
“The Poison Ivy and the Dismembered Bunnies tapes might be in them.”
“And the men who did this to you,” she motioned to my face, “might come looking for them?”
“One is in jail. But until they’re found, the other two might.”
Frannie pulled a cell phone from her purse and dialed. She told her assistant to put all the stock back in the vault and close the studio for the day, adding that she’d explain everything later. “Yes, Bret is dead... Thanks for that. I think I’m still in shock… I want you to put his instruments in the van and bring them to Arcadia... Yes, you’ll still get paid for a full day.”
“You brought a package with you, Frannie,” Cass said. “What’s in it?”
“It arrived Friday and Bret had told me not to open it, so I didn’t. Let’s find out.”
It was a battered old guitar and when I held it up and peeked inside, I saw wadding. “Hand me the tongs from the kitchen, Babby.”
She did, and I pulled cotton packing from the guitar’s interior. It took ages, but at last I saw the edge of a paper package. Cindy’s hands are smaller than mine and she took over, eventually teasing it free with a pair of tweezers Kay found in the bathroom.
Cass took the padded envelope with gloved hands. She slit the top and pulled out a single sheet of notepaper. “‘Try again, Shitbird’,” Cass read. “I presume that’s meant for Sonny. Does this look like Bret’s handwriting?”
The wives nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “One down, quite a few more to go.”
“We should tell you there’s a witness to Daphne’s murder,” Cass said. At Yvette’s startled expression, Cass added, “Billy Garcia said he and Sugar Murphy saw someone hit Daphne with a bat in Blue’s garden.”
“Well?” Shaver said. This was the first time Nicole’s lawyer had spoken since he’d slithered back into the room. “Who killed the girl?”
“We don’t know,” Cass told him. “Big Billy saw the murder but didn’t recognize the suspect.”
“That’s not much help.”
She checked her little notebook. “White kid - that’s what Billy called him. Tall. Lots of hair. Not bushy, but thick and kind of dark.”
“It’s not much to go on,” Shaver said.
“It’s more than we had last night,” Yvette retorted. She looked at the photos of Garcia and Murphy on the white board. “Garcia’s hair is dark, but neither his nor Murphy’s is bushy.”
Cindy’s stomach growled and she blushed. “Can we have lunch now?”
“Only if the winery can supply the food,” Blue said. “Any objections?”
“I’m in if the winery supplies wine,” Frannie said. “I could use a drink.”
A DRUG LORD’S KID DOES MY DISHES?
ORGANIZING A MEAL FOR nine women with varying dietary needs and one tubby man should’ve been a nightmare, but Blue handled it with ease. Or maybe I should say that her staff handled it with ease, because although it was after noon and the winery’s lunch service was in full swing, we had a beautiful spread on the table by one o’clock.
Everyone took a chance to stretch and take a potty break, and Yvette went back to her office to check on things. Frannie’s assistant turned up and there was much confusion as people walked up and down the building’s staircase, carrying food and instrument cases and trying not to knock each other over. Arty and Steve from the law office on the other side of the building helped us bring everything in, then stayed for lunch.
Cindy was attaching photographs of the winery’s employees to one of the white boards when Arty first entered the room. She actually blushed when he kissed her on the cheek and again when Steve did the same. Both men were in their element with so many beautiful women around. Yvette made it back just as we opened the wine, and greeted the two men warmly. She’d taken the time to touch up her makeup and spray on a little more old lady perfume. Images of Pepé Le Pew’s fuming tail swirled through my head. I saw Babby waving a funeral home fan under her face and I lowered the temp on the thermostat to get some air circulating.
Babby showed Steve and Arty her ideas on the new sign for the agency’s window, which was an elegant Arts and Crafts design, and both approved. Kay shrugged. “The next time somebody tosses a brick through our window, I get to do the drawing.”
We were helping ourselves to sandwiches on freshly baked bread, hand thrown pizzas still warm from the oven, salads, and platters of cheese, meat, and grapes, when Nicole wandered over to the white board. She studied the photos of the winery’s employees and pointed at a group shot taken outside.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the kid who came looking for BB Ivy,” she said.
Arty was standing beside her and studied the image. “Steve? Isn’t this the guy we saw this morning?”
Steve looked over his shoulder and nodded.
“When was this?” Yvette asked.
“I talked to him this morning at The Coffee Shop. And I think he was sitting on a bench on the courthouse lawn when I did my mid-morning coffee run. He wears these loud orange shoes.” A shiver ran up my spine and Cass and I exchanged a glance. Steve thought for a moment. “He was with another man, a blond guy.”
We crowded around. Nicole pointed to a handsome young Hispanic man with strong features. He had a hand lifted to shade his face from the sun, but he was looking directly into the camera. His smile was wide and toothy.
“That’s Oscar,” Blue said. “He’s one of our dish washers.”
“What’s his last name?” Cass asked.
Blue thought for a moment. “Matalan, I think.”
“He’s Sonny Arellano’s son,” Cass said.
“I had a Mexican drug lord’s kid washing my dishes?” Blue asked.
“Looks like it.”
“Jeez.”
“When did you hire him?” Yvette asked.
Blue shrugged. “A few weeks ago? Maybe longer. People in these positions come and go.”
“Baxter saw this kid when he came to the house. Talked to him. Why would he give this kid a job at the winery?” Nicole asked.
“Chef or our scheduler probably hired him,” Blue said. “Dishwashers work in the back. Bret was only back there when he was romancing a waitress. That man could pull them.”
“He was a looker his whole life,” Frannie said. “Even when he was a kid he was super cute.”
“You’ve seen photos of him when he was young?” Blue asked.
“How young?” Nicole asked.
“Early twenties and older, probably.” Frannie looked at the other two wives. “You’ve never seen photos of his early life?”
“I begged him to show me family photos,” Blue said.
“Me, too. But he said everything burned in a house fire,” Nicole added. “Frannie, where did these come from?”
“The boxes he keeps in the attic,” Frannie said.
“What else is in those boxes?” Yvette asked just as I started to ask the same question.
Frannie shrugged. “More photos. Some paperwork. Old music stuff.”
“Does your assistant have keys to your house?”
Frannie nodded.
“Tell he
r to go get those boxes and bring them here.”
Yvette looked at Nicole. “Anything of Bret’s at your house?”
“Some paperwork, but only current stuff. Like I said, he told me everything burned in a house fire.”
“Blue?”
“He’s got boxes everywhere. The house, the attic, the garage, the garage attic, the shop.”
Yvette checked her watch. “Let’s take a break. Anybody object?” No one did. “Give us a couple of hours to go through Bret’s stuff. Let’s reconvene at four. Does that work for everyone?”
We agreed and I noticed Cass tapping on her phone. “Who’s that?”
“The Psychopath. I’m checking to see if he’s got time for me.” She looked me over. “It wouldn’t hurt you to get in a workout. That might loosen you up a bit. Come to therapy with me.”
I bit my lower lip. “Let me see if Harvey’s available.”
“I didn’t mean that kind of workout, Maxine.”
I laughed. “Even I’m not up to a tussling match with Harvey. But a little stretching and some light weights might do me good.”
A TRAP
HARVEY’S GYM IS BLESSEDLY quiet in the early afternoon, after the soccer moms have come for their yoga and spin classes and before the hard core heavies turn up to rock the free weights.
He took me in with a single gaze and pointed at the locker room. When I joined him on a yoga mat he placed a palm against my head and stroked his thumb down my uninjured cheek. “What does the other guy look like?”
“He’s battered, but not broken.”
Harvey lifted my hands to look at the bruises on my wrists. “He pinned you?” I nodded and his face tightened. “Not today, but soon, we start self-defense lessons. Today, we’ll work some of that soreness out.”
And we did. Over the next half hour, Harvey helped me through stretches that I held progressively deeper and longer, working the kinks out of my neck, shoulders, arms, torso, legs and even my ankles. I knew I hurt, but I didn’t realize how much I hurt until we’d finished and I was feeling better. Throughout the exercises, Harvey kept his touch light, as if he were afraid he’d hurt me more.
I followed him to the juice bar and eased onto a stool, accepting a carrot, ginger, and apple juice concoction that soothed as it went down.
“I saw the broken window. It was you who chased that guy down?”
I nodded.
“Was he important to your case?”
“As it turns out, yes. He’s the one who’s been smashing all the instruments. The guy who hired him really wants those tapes”
“But he didn’t murder the winery guy, right? His wife killed him and two other women. I saw it in the Forney Cater. Crazy gal.”
“I don’t think she did it.”
“Why? The cops think she did.”
“Killing three people doesn’t fit with her personality. And if you look at the evidence, Harvey, she’s being set up.”
“By who? The guy you caught last night?”
“I don’t think so. But he says he saw the man who killed one of the women.”
“So who did it?”
“He didn’t know. He gave us a general description, but his partner might’ve seen more.”
Harvey took a pull on his protein shake. “Then go get his partner.”
“He’s gone. Vanished.”
Harvey smiled. “Set a trap.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s after those tapes, right? The Bunnymen tapes?”
“Poison Ivy and The Dismembered Bunnies, but yes.”
“Have you found them?”
“No.”
“He doesn’t know that, right?”
“Right.”
“If he’s hot to get them, convince him you have them. He’ll come and you can grab him.”
We clinked glasses. “Smart boy.”
“I’m more than just a fabulous body.”
GROUND ZERO
BLUE SAT ON THE garage floor and let the tears come. She’d given Yvette a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and the women had methodically pawed through all of the boxes and files Bret had stashed at the winery over the years.
“You’ve never seen this stuff?” Yvette asked.
Blue shook her head. “The winery was Bret’s. I joined him to start the restaurant. All this,” she flapped a hand at the paperwork, “was here. It never occurred to me to snoop.”
Yvette found a box of shop towels and joined Blue on the floor. She handed the other woman a rough blue cloth and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “It’s the best I can do. Are you okay?”
“I haven’t cried this much in years.” Blue blew her nose. “I can’t believe he’s maintained three separate lives for so long. Seeing it up on the white boards at Lost and Found was one thing, but this,” she lifted a piece of paper from a box, “makes it real.” She looked closer. “Make that four lives. This one is a divorce decree for a Charlotte Ivie.” Blue spelled the last name. “Four wives at one time? How is that even possible?”
“You really had no clue?”
“I really didn’t. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“It wasn’t just you, Blue. He must’ve been a master manipulator. Nicole and Frannie are pretty smart cookies.”
“But still. To believe him so completely? To never wonder why he was gone so much? I can’t believe I didn’t question him at all.”
Yvette waited for Blue’s sniffling to stop and motioned to a partially filled box. “That looks like ground zero. Is there anything in it that helps us clear your name?”
Blue pushed the box to Yvette. “I can’t take any more.”
Yvette dug. To her relief, Bret Ivey had kept meticulous records of the significant events in his life. Everything was in date order, and the divorce decree Blue had found was his most recent: he’d divorced Charlotte Ivie earlier this year. Bret had kept some photos, perhaps to ensure he kept all his wives straight. She came to a batch of paperwork tied in a bundle and used a pair of wire snips to cut the faded red ribbon. A clutter of yellowed newsclippings, letters, and photos fell loose. She read.
“You can rest easy knowing Bret didn’t suddenly suffer a mid-life crisis and start philandering.” She held up a letter. “His first wife, Mary Sterling, dumped him because he was catting around.”
“She’s the one that’s dead, isn’t she?” Blue asked. “Maxine’s notes said she died this year.”
Yvette moved the paperwork around. “Here’s her death notice.”
Blue took the page. It was a printout from a newspaper’s website from the previous year. “She’s a pretty woman.”
“She looks like you.”
“She does, a little. How did he find this?”
“He must’ve had a search set up on the internet to notify him when her name is mentioned. He probably has that stuff set up for all of you.”
“That’s creepy.”
“But fitting for a man who’ll use four names to marry four women at a time. Look at this.” Yvette gave Blue a photo. “Do you recognize him?”
Blue laughed, a genuinely happy sound. “Bret must’ve been in his late teens. Look at all that hair. Lord, he was skinny.” The smile faded. “He was good at it. At making us believe we were the only ones.” She dropped the photo. “Is there anything here that proves I didn’t kill him?”
Yvette shrugged. She scraped the pictures and documents back together and tossed them in the box. “Not that I can see, but let’s pack it all up and take it to town. Bret’s other wives might see something we don’t. And I hate to say this, but the women at Lost and Found are pretty smart.”
“Why do you hate to say that?”
Yvette patted the skin under her eyes. “A long story that’s long over. Let’s get this crap in the car.”
A CUNNING PLAN
I WAS WORKING ON a plan to lure Oscar Matalan and Sugar Murphy to us when everyone returned to the agency. Blue and Yvette brought boxes of paperwork from Bret’s former life, an
d his other two wives fell on them like starving wolves. Blue and Yvette started on the boxes and instruments Frannie’s assistant had delivered.
Cass was flushed from her therapy with Chad and I pulled her to one side, explaining what Harvey had recommended.
“Good idea,” she said. “But the police have to be involved.”
“No, Cass. It has to be simple and believable, and we need to get it done tonight.”
“Why tonight?”
“I have a bad feeling about these guys. Like they’re getting desperate. They’ve been on the edge of violence all along and I’m afraid arresting Big Billy might push them over the edge.”
“That’s why the police should be involved.”
“I think it’ll scare them away,” I told Cass in a low voice, and then I flashed a grin. “What if you and I came up with a cunning plan?”
“Like?”
“Pretend we know where Bret’s hiding place is and make sure they know it.”
“How do we do that?”
“Steve saw the guy in the orange shoes, Oscar, on the square twice today. What if he ran a quick reconnaissance?”
__________
STEVE AND ARTY THOUGHT the idea of identifying a major drug criminal was a hoot, but were also indignant at the thought that their neighbors might be under surveillance. We explained the issue of the missing session tapes and how we needed to capture Oscar Matalan and Sugar Murphy to find out more about Daphne’s murderer. We warned them of the dangers but Steve put his shades on and was out the door almost before we finished telling him what we wanted.
“And,” Cass told him as he grabbed the door knob, “I want to know if he’s still in the orange shoes.”
“No problem.”
“Limited contact, Steve. Right?”
“Right.” He flashed an adorable grin and was gone.
“He’s got a big heart, that guy,” Arty said with a soft smile. “If Matalan is out there watching, Steve will find him.”
TO CATCH A CRIMINAL
TO CATCH A CRIMINAL, you have to think like one, Steve thought as he made his way down the building’s stairs. And then you have to out think him.
A Case of Sour Grapes Page 30
