by Cindy Sample
“That’s one task out of the way,” Liz said as she placed her napkin on the table. “Laurel, what’s left on your list?”
Twenty items remained on my list, the first being the most critical––to identify the killer before I wound up as prime-time viewing at Fullers Mortuary and Chapel.
Liz and Adriana both had meetings, so they grabbed their handbags and walked out of the restaurant. I stayed behind, wanting to grill Serenity without an audience. She began clearing the rest of the dishes, and I approached her with my question.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” I said. “What a shame Axel felt he had to conceal his financial difficulties from his brother and mother.”
“I still can’t believe he got a loan from that crook. You wouldn’t believe the interest rate the guy charges.”
Yes, I would. Probably four to five times the going rate for a standard bank loan.
“Do you know who recommended Aces Financial Group to him?” I asked her. Before she could answer, her husband walked through the door. She repeated my question to him.
“Haven’t a clue,” Paul said. “For all I know, Axel picked up the phone book and threw a dart at the yellow pages. Now that the feds are involved, we’re totally screwed.”
“Their investigation could take months, even years,” I said.
Paul grimaced. “Yeah, even if Walter wanted to assume the loan, there’s no way to do it now.”
“The bright note is that his CPA thinks we can hold off on making the loan payments,” Serenity added. “Not that we want to be delinquent, but who would we send them to now?”
CHAPTER FIFTY
By Saturday, my head hurt less but looked worse since my blue eyes and reddish hair clashed with my chartreuse forehead. I tried some of Liz’s magic erase product, but it seemed to lose its magical properties once it landed on my skin.
Jenna was a nervous wreck. I feared by the time she finished her exam she’d have bitten off her toenails as well as her fingernails. After barely eating her oatmeal, she started crying, lamenting that she couldn’t possibly concentrate while Tony languished in jail. Her crying jag finally ended when I assured her I was still on the case. After dropping her off at the high school, Ben and I continued on to our next stop at one of the local soccer fields.
My soccer mom duty had excused me from helping at Apple Tree Farm today. I hoped Gran would prove to be an asset. There was always the risk she would eat up all their profits.
My son possesses nerves of steel, an excellent trait for a halfback, so he’s usually far calmer during his games than I am. Tom’s daughter, Kristy, is also fearless, possibly because she stands a foot taller than the other third graders. She’s determined to make the US Women’s National Soccer Team and play in the World Cup. No doubt she’ll do it.
Much as I tried to focus on Ben’s game, my thoughts kept returning to Axel’s murder. Would the killer attend tonight’s gala? And if so, did that mean I could be in danger? No one had fessed up, so Dorie insisted my injuries must be due to my own negligence. Or klutziness. I was the only person who believed my fall was intentional.
Other than the perpetrator. Could Brent have done it to keep me away from the warehouse? Or was Axel’s killer warning me to stop investigating?
Ben and Kristy won their game, so we celebrated with the rest of the team at Papa’s Pizza Parlor. We zipped through lunch and arrived at the high school in time to pick up my dejected daughter.
“I blew it,” she said, slamming the car door shut.
“You always say that after a test. Then you end up with an A.” I reached over and patted her knee as she strapped herself in.
“My answers sucked. I sucked. Life sucks.”
“Jenna sucks, sucks, sucks,” Ben sang out from the back seat. Kristy chimed in.
“Pipe down,” I said. “Jenna’s had a tough day. “
“Tough month,” she elaborated. “Can we stop at the jail to visit Tony?”
“Yeah, yeah, can we?” the backseat duo asked.
“Not today,” I said to Jenna, before looking over my shoulder and glaring at the eight-year-olds. “And not ever for you two. Let me get through the gala and Apple Tree Race this weekend, and then we’ll plan a visit to Tony.”
Jenna nodded before closing her eyes and escaping into teenage daydream land. We dropped Kristy off at her grandparents’ house then returned to our own home. Once inside, Ben snatched the portable kitchen phone so he could call his cronies and compare notes about their respective soccer games. Jenna grabbed an apple and slowly ascended the stairs. I wanted to offer a comforting shoulder, but she looked like she wanted to be alone. After the last couple of days, I wouldn’t have minded curling up under a blanket and nursing my wounds, but the show must go on. To the Apple Gala I would go.
Liz and Brian picked me up at my house a few minutes before four. Since Liz was performing, she’d dressed in her saloon gal costume. Despite the formal title of the event, galas in our county tend to be casual. I’d chosen a pink plaid shirt and a short denim skirt, along with a new pair of heeled boots. We arrived a half hour before the event officially opened. The volunteers were already seated at the welcome table, placed in front of the cream stucco Mediterranean-style tasting room. Two portable bars at each corner of the huge flagstone patio offered an array of Valley View Vineyards wine, along with local brews. The bartenders sported buzz cuts and burgundy logo-trimmed shirts.
If Walter ended up purchasing Apple Tree Farm, I wondered if he would merge the two operations or run them separately. Or was that a moot question at this point? Time to track down our host and find out.
Walter was dressed to kill in Wyatt Earp-styled evening attire. I hoped the two silver-handled Colt pistols stuffed into his holster were empty. Despite the western theme, Adriana and I had not arranged for a shootout at the vineyard tonight.
“You gals have done all right,” Walter said.
“We aim to please.” I performed a mini curtsey, not an easy task when wearing a tight denim skirt. “We’re expecting a bigger turnout than last year.”
“Good, good. I hope Valley View can host the gala from now on. If we hadn’t had so many interruptions, we could have put on an even bigger shindig.”
I wondered if Walter included Axel’s murder as one of the interruptions. When I glanced toward the entrance, I noticed a few early arrivals. I’d better pester Walter before he became too popular.
“Will your purchase of Apple Tree Farm still go through?” I asked, curious to know if the status of Aces Financial would impact the sale.
Walter scowled. “That loan guy, Lionel Nelson, called me yesterday. He claims his operation is legit. That the feds were only interested in the head honchos running the drugs and doing money laundering. All of his loans are supposedly on the up and up.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Well, they sure don’t run a tight operation like Chandler does at Hangtown Bank,” Walter sniped. I couldn’t help chuckling at his remark. I bet Mr. Chandler knew where every penny of the bank’s money went.
“I’m supposed to meet Lionel tomorrow morning and talk things over,” he said. “You used to underwrite loans. Would you trust this fellow?”
“I didn’t talk to him long enough to form an opinion,” I replied, hesitant to admit that the lender creeped me out. I wasn’t certain that was sufficient basis for a business decision.
“Well, I need this deal to go through, so I’ll see what I can squeeze out of him.” Walter squinted at me. “Looks like you’re still all banged up from your fall the other day. Probably be best if you don’t climb around any of my warehouses, okay?” Walter tipped his hat to me and strode off, his expensive black jeans so new and stiff they looked like they could walk by themselves.
I continued to stare at Walter’s retreating back. What did he mean by that comment? Was he merely being solicitous? Or was that some sort of threat?
I needed to stop turning everyone into a suspect. I
scanned the activity around me trying to decide where I could most be of use. The patrons standing in line at the bar seemed in a convivial mood despite a wait for the vineyard’s award-winning wines. The buffet line moved quickly thanks to Serenity’s efficient staff. Volunteers were busy selling raffle tickets to the guests.
Hank and Brooke strolled in my direction, his arm tight around her slender waist. Hank sported faded jeans, a blue plaid shirt and scruffy work boots. A straw cowboy hat covered his receding hairline. Brooke’s attire fit her personality, conservative yet tasteful.
I eyed her long, designer-jeans-clad legs, cream shirt and colorful vest from a short-legged somewhat envious perspective. Hank wore a hungry look as he gazed at Brooke, but I couldn’t tell if he directed it at his girlfriend or the barbeque buffet beyond. I was pleased Hank finally had someone in his life.
Mostly. I doubted my children were prepared to add a stepmother into their family circle, but I could be wrong. Maybe it was just me not accepting that Hank had finally moved on.
Those thoughts were too morbid to contemplate during the gala. Time to switch to a lighter subject, such as murder.
“It looks like Walter may be purchasing Apple Tree Farm after all,” I said to Brooke as the couple joined me. “He’s meeting with that loan officer, Lionel something or other, tomorrow.”
She looked startled. “That’s a surprise. I thought the deal was off the table after the feds raided the parent company.”
“Walter says he’s willing to talk to him. He really wants that farm.”
“Tom Hunter’s quite the hotshot now, isn’t he?” Hank said. “Are you and he still an item?”
“Of course.” I bristled at his suggestion. “We’re as item-y as ever.” I pointed to the buffet. “Aren’t you hungry?”
It’s good to know some things never change, and the way to distract my ex-husband was still through his stomach. Hank latched on to Brooke’s hand and off they went in pursuit of food. She waved goodbye as she tried to keep up with Hank’s hungry strides.
I stared after them brooding over how quickly their relationship had progressed. At the rate my romance with Tom continued to bloom, it would be our titanium hips, not our lips that someday became joined in holy matrimony.
With my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Tom 120 miles away, I didn’t notice anyone approaching until I was grabbed from behind. I tried breaking away, but the iron-fisted grip was too strong.
Was the killer about to finish me off?
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
I stomped on my assailant’s foot with my high-heeled boot. The man cursed and released me. I whirled around to discover the top suspect on my list. Brent. The farm manager exuded beer breath potent enough to knock someone unconscious. I hoped that wasn’t his intent. One concussion a week was sufficient for me.
“What do you want?” I asked, as I moved out of reach of his strong arms and even stronger breath.
He narrowed red-rimmed eyes at me but maintained a proper distance. “Just wanted to chat with you. You’re still lookin’ a mite beat up,” he said. “Think you can manage to stay out of trouble tonight?”
I fisted my hands and placed them on my hips. “Is that a threat? Are you the one who knocked the shelving on me?’
“I warned you the warehouse was dangerous. Maybe next time you’ll heed my warning.” He shifted gears suddenly and said. “I found your friend’s lotions and stuff.”
“You did? Were they shattered from the fall?”
“A couple of jars cracked, but most of it looked okay to me. They packed them pretty well.”
“Where did you put them?”
“In a safe place. Nina said you’re helping at the bakery tomorrow morning. How about we meet at the warehouse before anyone else arrives?”
Was he serious? Any reader of cozy mysteries knows better than to meet a suspect all by herself.
“That won’t work for me, but I’ll stop by after my shift is done. With Liz, and her husband, a deputy district attorney,” I clarified, so he knew I would have backup in case he tried something.
“Hope nothing happens to that stuff before then.” He shot me a dark look. “Or to you.” He wheeled around and took off leaving me more perplexed than before. These Apple Tree employees were starting to get on my nerves. If not for Jenna’s conviction that Tony was innocent, and my fear she’d try to solve this case if I didn’t, I’d leave this area and not come back until all the rotten apples had disappeared.
I decided it was time for a drink so I headed to the bar. I chatted with a couple of acquaintances, snagged a glass of viognier, the vineyard’s white wine that most resembled my favorite chardonnay, and went in search of Liz and Brian. I wanted to share the news that her products were secure and intact. For the most part. Although based on Brent’s elusive comment, I wasn’t certain for how long.
The sound of the band Liz hired for tonight’s event caught my attention. The Sassy Saloon Gals should be performing shortly, followed by a dance medley from West Side Story. The El Dorado Musical Company would begin performances the following week, so their preview tonight was an attempt to boost ticket sales. I hoped Stan had learned the steps by now. If not, this could be the first ever West Side Story production deemed a musical comedy.
The Sassy gals, dressed in low-cut red sequined tops and black satin skirts, paraded around the stage, strutting their assets and high kicking their way into a round of loud applause. The music switched from country rock to fifties rock n’ roll as several young men and several not-so-young men took to the stage.
After years of viewing Dancing with the Stars, Stan had quickly picked up ballroom dancing nine months earlier. It would be interesting to see if he could morph into a swivel-hipped dancing hoodlum as readily.
The male dancers, representing both Sharks and Jets, were dressed in black tee shirts, tight jeans and leather jackets. Their slick ducktails evoked believable gang members, as long as you overlooked the receding hairlines and pot bellies of a few of the middle-aged cast members. Stan managed to keep up with the dance crew, although one of his pasted-on sideburns flew off during a spin. It landed on the cheek of a spectator standing in the front row.
An Instagram moment for sure.
The dancers bowed amid hooting, hollering and clapping. The man next to me let loose with an ear-splitting whistle so I shifted a few steps away. As I looked off in the distance, a ray of waning sunlight highlighted the shiny silver pompadour of a male I recognized, conversing with someone in the shadows of the tasting room.
Now why was Lionel the lender hanging out at the gala? And who was his companion?
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
I sidled away from the crowd to catch a better glimpse of Lionel’s acquaintance. It was Nina. She walked away, her long braid bouncing against her back. I was about to chase after her to find out what she and Lionel were discussing when Stan unexpectedly appeared. He grabbed my right hand, twirled me in a circle then proceeded to dip me.
“How did I do?” he asked. He continued without waiting for my answer. “That was the most fun I’ve had since the ballroom competition last New Year’s Eve.”
If Stan retained fond memories of the competition then he apparently didn’t remember that one of us was almost killed that night.
“You did great,” I replied, looking off to the left for my quarry. Lionel was now talking to another woman who looked vaguely familiar. I was surprised he knew so many people at the event.
A hand tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned to discover Hank.
He greeted Stan then asked, “Have you seen Brooke?”
“Not recently,” I said.
Hank shoved his hands in his pockets. “Several of her clients are here, so she probably stopped to chat with them.”
“Everything okay between you two?” I asked.
Hank’s murky green eyes lit up into two shining emeralds. “It’s going great. In fact…” He stole a glance at me. “I’m thinking of popping the questio
n.”
“What question?” I asked.
Stan punched me on my arm. “The question, you ninny. A proposal.”
“Of marriage? But you haven’t dated that long.”
Hank’s smile was wider than the buffet table. “When you know, you know.”
Well, that was plain idiotic. I knew that for a fact. You don’t propose to someone after only dating them a few months. Tom and I were still fine-tuning our relationship after a year.
Hank ambled off in search of his prospective fiancée. Stan began whistling “Here Comes the Bride.”
“Cut it out,” I scowled at him. “Can you believe Hank wants to propose already?”
“Hey, Brooke is smart and beautiful. What’s not to like?” Stan asked. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Moi? Don’t be silly.” But his comment bothered me. Was I jealous? The loudspeakers distracted me, and I shrugged off my unpleasant thoughts. I transferred my attention to the stage where Walter Eastwood stood, microphone in hand. He called on Dorie and Eric Thorson to join him. Applause burst from the onlookers as Dorie and her son climbed the makeshift staircase to the stage. She looked petrified to be in the public eye but remained composed while Walter regaled the crowd with stories of the Thorson family’s accomplishments, Axel’s in particular. Eric looked bored with the entire proceeding. Until he glanced into the audience. Then his expression turned fierce.
That was weird. I craned my neck in the direction Eric had glanced at but only recognized one person––his Uncle Paul. Was there more Thorson family drama in the works?
I turned my attention back to the proceedings as Walter handed Dorie a plaque. They all left the stage amid applause. Behind me someone muttered “asshole.”
I turned around to find Weather Vainery Vanna standing there, her face a deep and angry red.
“Hi, Vanna,” I said. “Guess you’re not too happy with Walter? Or still mad at Axel for giving away your space?”
