by Cindy Sample
“People don’t always act rationally,” said Reynolds. “Especially angry young men.”
I chose to ignore the detective’s comment and continue questioning Dorie until someone stopped me. “Did Axel have issues with any of the other orchard owners?”
Dorie looked down at her manicured fingernails. “Not really. More and more apple farms are opening, so it’s become more competitive in recent years. Plus everyone is concerned about the drought. Axel was trying to form a consortium of orchard and vineyard owners who would work together to manage our resources more efficiently.”
“You mean like sharing them?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Axel never really discussed the business with me. But he thought the farmers could save money if they worked together.”
Detective Reynolds finally inserted herself into the conversation. “Did other farm owners agree with your husband’s ideas?” she asked.
Dorie chewed the lipstick off her lower lip while she contemplated. “I don’t think Walter of Valley View Vineyard and Orchard was interested in participating. He owns one of the largest farms in the county and figures he can do whatever he wants. Axel used to say Walter’s ego was bigger than the giant pumpkins in his pumpkin patch.” She blushed. “Sorry, that wasn’t very nice.”
I patted her hand. “Anything you say is helpful to the investigation. We have to make sure the right person is arrested for your husband’s murder.”
“No,” Reynolds barked at me. “I will ensure the killer is arrested. Your job is to make sure your daughter stays away from my investigation. No more nighttime forays messing with my evidence.”
“What?” I tried to maintain a poker face although I wondered how Reynolds found out about Jenna’s expedition.
“A deputy saw Antonio Perez’s car pull out of Apple Tree Farm last night. His VW is fairly recognizable and so is your daughter’s fiery mane of hair. Do you know what they were doing here after hours?”
I thought fast. “I think Tony wanted to talk to his grandmother.” It wasn’t the best excuse but, hopefully, Nina would back me up if questioned.
Reynold’s cell rang before she could comment. She peeked at the number, smiled then glanced at me. She stood, hit the answer button and greeted the caller with a loud, “Hi, Tom,” before walking to the other end of the building.
I frowned but decided to take advantage of her absence to finish my conversation with Dorie.
“Do you plan to run the farm yourself?” I asked her.
“I don’t know what to do. Eric is pushing me to let him take over the management, but my son is barely making passing grades at school right now. He doesn’t need any other distractions. I’m working my way through the books, but I think Axel’s CPA, Brooke Martin, will need to help me make sense of them.”
“I know the property has belonged to the Thorson family since the nineteenth century, but I assume selling is an option.”
“That’s a possibility, although Axel would have hated for us to sell. My husband held a sixty-percent interest, and his brother owns the other forty. Do you know his brother, Paul? He has a life coaching practice in Placerville.”
“Maybe Paul can manage the operation,” I suggested.
Dorie laughed so hard that tears flowed down her rounded cheeks. After a while, I couldn’t tell if she was crying or laughing. I ran to the counter, grabbed some napkins from the holder and handed a stack of them to her.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “My emotions are bouncing all over the place, not to mention my hormones. The thought of Paul running this place set me off. My brother-in-law couldn’t manage a lemonade stand, much less an operation of this size.”
“So he’s a life coach without a clue?”
She erupted into another fit of giggles. “Oh, my. What you must think of me. Let’s just say that Paul is more of a,” she made air quotes, “‘visionary’ or thinks he is. Their father used to say Paul was all vision and no common sense. Or work ethic. That’s why his dad gave Axel the majority share of the farm.”
On the other side of the room, I noticed Detective Reynolds stuff her phone in her pocket. She walked toward us, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Did Axel and Paul get along?” I asked Dorie, throwing in one last question before the detective stopped me.
“Most of the time,” Dorie replied. “Paul doesn’t make much from his profession so this farm provides the majority of his income. We haven’t even discussed the business end yet. There have been too many other decisions to make.”
Dorie abruptly stood. “And I better get busy making those decisions. It was nice seeing you, Laurel. Thanks for cheering me up.”
I started to rise, but Reynolds placed a palm on my shoulder silently encouraging me to remain.
“So what did you ladies discuss?” she asked. “You will share anything promising that you learn, correct?”
“Of course.” I sent her a wide-eyed innocent look I knew wouldn’t possibly fool her. “I always do.”
“That’s not exactly what Tom indicated to me on the phone right now.” She smiled like a cat that had just gobbled a cage full of canaries.
“Did you need his advice to help you solve this case?” I lobbed my own verbal shot back at her.
“No, quite the reverse. We’re meeting to discuss how I can assist him with his task force. Once I solve this case, I can join his team. The two of us worked very well together back in San Francisco.”
“How nice,” I said evenly.
“I particularly enjoy doing undercover work with Tom,” she purred. “It can be so rewarding.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I maintained my cool and merely said, “Tom is such a professional. The sooner he wraps up his case, the sooner he’ll be home with me and our families. Thanks for helping him out.”
My response rendered Reynolds speechless, so I decided to escape while I could. When I rose from my chair, my movement finally sparked the ignition switch on her vocal cords.
“I’d like you to answer a few more questions.”
The smell of hot apple cider and fresh-baked cinnamon donuts wafted toward our table making me salivate.
“If you want me to provide cogent answers then I’ll need a serotonin infusion,” I said.
Reynolds looked confused until I pointed to the counter where a short line of hungry customers waited. She narrowed her eyes and muttered, “Doesn’t look like you’ve had any shortage of serotonin lately.”
Grrr. “I thought police officers always include a daily supply of donuts in their diets.” And if anyone needed sweetening, it was this detective.
“We’re more enlightened these days. But if you must have a donut, please don’t let me stop you.”
After her scathing remark, I almost changed my mind except that I still needed a subtle way to retrieve Jenna’s phone from Nina. I grabbed my purse and stood behind the other patient patrons. When I reached the open window, I ordered two donuts and a small cider from Nina. She discreetly slid Jenna’s phone under the bag. I scooped them up and covertly stuffed the items in my large tote.
I set my cup of cider on the table, plucked one of the donuts out of my purse, placed it on a napkin and waited for Reynold’s grilling.
She eyed the cinnamon-coated treat with an expression that looked more like donut envy than carbohydrate repugnance.
“Ms. McKay, I feel we may have started off on the wrong foot,” Reynolds said in a tone that would have sounded apologetic if it had come from anyone else. I nibbled on my tasty pastry waiting for her to shove said foot into her full-lipped mouth again.
She said, “I realize that finding the victim makes you feel like you have a vested interest.”
“I didn’t know Axel well, but it was still a shock to discover him,” I said. “Of course, I want his killer found and brought to justice as soon as possible. I’m also concerned that you consider my daughter to be a person of interest.”
“I don’t have children of my
own, but if Jenna were my daughter I’d be very concerned about some of the decisions she’s making.”
Nothing like dissing my daughter to raise my maternal hackles. “Jenna is a straight A student. She would never get involved in something dangerous or stupid. She’s never even given us cause to ground her.”
Although at the rate she was going lately, that could change any day now. While I didn’t agree with Jenna’s recent actions, I understood her reasoning. My eldest had always held a soft spot for underdogs. I remembered one time when my seven-year-old stood up to a fifth grade bully twice her size who’d picked on a boy in her class with a facial disfigurement. I couldn’t fault her then and I wouldn’t fault her now.
“Jenna merely wants to ensure no innocent parties are wrongly accused. After all, you locked up Tony Perez when you didn’t have sufficient evidence.”
Reynolds face turned an unattractive aubergine. She looked angry enough to chew my head off.
I reached into my purse and dropped the second donut in front of her. She pulled it out of the bag and chomped half the donut in one bite.
Better the pastry than me. As a peace offering, a donut worked well.
“Our department has accumulated a significant amount of data in this case. Just because the judge chose to let Mr. Perez out of jail at this juncture does not imply he is innocent. Does your daughter know he had an assault charge leveled at him when he attended Independence High?”
I didn’t know whether Jenna was aware of Tony’s assault charge, but her mother certainly had not been informed. I raised an eyebrow and asked the detective to elaborate.
“We learned about the incident through our discovery work. It’s the reason the school expelled him. Did you know he also has a juvie record?”
“I knew he and a friend were arrested for stealing alcohol, although he told Jenna he was unaware of his friend’s intent,” I said. “Were there other occurrences?” If Detective Reynolds unfurled a long list of Tony Perez’s adolescent crimes, then Jenna would not only be grounded, she’d be sent to a nunnery for the remainder of her senior year.
“No, that’s it.” The detective sounded disappointed that Tony hadn’t racked up a lengthy criminal history. Then she elaborated, “That we’ve uncovered. But once these adolescents get involved in a gang, anything can happen.”
Gang?
Why did I have a feeling the detective wasn’t referring to the Apple Dumpling Gang?
I was definitely Googling nunneries the minute I returned to the office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The detective’s cell blared before I could glean more about Tony’s checkered past. She crammed the remainder of the donut in her mouth while she listened to the person on the other end, mumbled a goodbye and left.
What was that all about? Well, despite all indications to the contrary, the world of crime did not always revolve around me. Something was going on, but it was her problem, not mine.
My gaze strayed to the bakery counter where Nina frantically attempted to bake donuts, serve customers and make change. I hoped she’d get some relief soon. Much as I wanted to discuss the detective’s inference about Tony being a gang member, it looked like that item was off the agenda for now.
I glanced at my watch, blinked and took a second look. Surely, it wasn’t ten a.m. already. I better kick my legs and my car in gear and get over to some of the farms on my list before everyone disappeared. Based on past experience, trying to arrange a Friday afternoon meeting could be more difficult than planning a date with Tom.
I walked to my car, now surrounded by hundreds of vehicles and slid into the driver’s seat. I pulled out the official El Dorado County guide to the fifty plus farms and wineries in the area. Although I’d stopped at all of the well-established apple farms on numerous occasions over the years, a few new ones had sprouted up that I’d never visited. It couldn’t hurt to pay a brief business development call.
In my world, marketing and mystery solving weren’t mutually exclusive activities. They practically went hand-in-hand.
My first stop would be Valley View Vineyard and Orchard. Walter was the first owner in the area to combine an ongoing apple farm with a vineyard. Tourists from out of state often think Napa Valley is the only place to go wine tasting in California, but the wineries in El Dorado County produce award-winning wines year after year. The elevation in Camino, ranging from 2,500 to 3,500 feet altitude, is not only perfect for growing apples and pears. It’s also excellent for syrah, zinfandel and a number of other varietals.
Walter had recently completed the addition of a new tasting room and an events center. They were located a short distance from the original bakery and the produce shop that had been in existence for more than twenty years. The events center would host local fundraisers, weddings and any party that someone with unlimited funds and fantasies could dream up.
I hoped the owner would be on site today. If I wanted to keep my job, getting the backing of the bank board member/orchard and winery owner was essential. As I drove up the newly paved road, I marveled at the changes Walter had initiated since I’d last stopped by. The wine business must be doing very well if he could afford so many major improvements.
I parked the car and debated which building he would most likely hang out in. It was a little early for wine sampling, but at this time of day the Mediterranean-style stucco tasting room would likely be less crowded than the bakery and produce area.
When I stepped out of the car, the sun blazed down on the asphalt and on me. I took off my linen blazer, laid it on the back seat of the car and let the rays fill me with my daily quota of Vitamin D. After a few minutes of eighty-plus degree heat, I looked forward to the cool temperatures of the tasting room.
I lucked out. Walter stood behind the long mahogany counter that covered half of the room, chatting with a couple of tourists holding wine glasses in their hands. As I debated my best approach, an employee placed a logo-etched glass in front of me and filled it with some white wine.
I picked it up and unthinkingly sipped from the goblet before I remembered I was on official bank duty. Well, one sip couldn’t hurt. Plus it would be rude not to sample their product when the owner stood a few feet away from me.
Since Walter was occupied with customers, I wandered around the room, noticing how carefully they’d arranged their retail merchandise. I lifted a crystal goblet, one of a set of four, and examined the base of the glass for the price. Ouch! No wonder this farm was so successful. I could have sworn T.J. Maxx carried a similar set for ninety percent less. Although this glassware was probably of much higher quality.
Probably.
The couple Walter had been conversing with finally left the tasting room, leaving him, an employee and me.
“Mr. Eastwood, you’ve made some amazing improvements to the property,” I said cheerfully.
He blinked before finally recognizing me. “Oh, yes, Ms. McKay from the bank.” He looked down at my glass. “You’re out wine tasting by yourself?”
“Oh, no, of course not. I’m working today.” I practically threw my glass at him, spilling the remainder of the contents all over the counter. The last thing I needed was for Walter to tell the bank president his marketing director was a lush.
I grabbed a few paper napkins and attempted to clean up my mess while I chatted with him. “So many people have commented on your wonderful wines that I wanted to sample one while I waited. Do you have a few minutes to discuss the Apple Gala with me?”
Walter hesitated then nodded. “Sure. C’mon down to my office.” He walked around the counter then motioned for me to follow him. A short hallway off the tasting room led to two closed cherry wood paneled doors. He opened the door at the end. I followed him into a small but comfortable office. A large window overlooked acres of vines bursting with plump purple and pale green grapes.
Walter’s desk resembled mine, except his piles were taller and covered every inch of the wood surface. The stack of files and brochures te
etered precariously. I worried that if I breathed heavily, the files would tumble down. I could literally be buried under paperwork.
Walter addressed the situation by grabbing all three stacks and creatively rearranging them on the carpeted floor. He chuckled at my expression.
“Don’t worry. I know exactly what’s in every pile.”
I smiled in response. “We all have our own methods of organization.”
“Yep. So what kind of help do you need with this big shindig we’re putting on?”
Good question. Now I needed an equally good answer.
“You know, of course, that the Thorson family originated the event twenty-five years ago.”
He nodded. Of course, he would know that.
“Since this year represents the gala’s silver anniversary, Hangtown Bank decided to co-sponsor the event and pay tribute to Axel and his family.”
“Be a bit difficult to do that now,” Walter said wryly.
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or merely realistic so I barreled on.
“Everyone appreciates you stepping in and holding the gala here. I would still love to acknowledge Axel and the Thorson family at the event, in some way. If that’s okay with you.”
Walter tipped his chair so far back it collided with the bookshelves behind him, sending a pile of stuff crashing to the floor.
He shook his head at the mess. “It may be time to hire a secretary.” He peered at me. “Are you looking for a new job?”
Nope. At least, I hoped not. And even if I was, it would not be as his file clerk.
“However you decide to pay homage to Axel is fine with me,” Walter said in answer to my earlier question. “His wife must be going crazy trying to keep the place going. Axel kept his operation pretty close to his vest.”
“I spoke with Dorie earlier today. She’s got her hands full managing it. Plus some of her staff quit. Worried about their own safety.”
“You can’t blame them if they’re concerned about a killer being on the loose. I heard the Sheriff arrested someone but then let him go.”
