Mike and Rebel walked into his office and he closed the door behind them. “Okay boy, you might as well get comfortable. This might take awhile.” One hour later, having done a lot of research on his computer, he was able to get the name of the insurance agency where Richard Larson worked in Sunset Bay. He dialed the number he’d found for it.
“Hello. Triple A Insurance Agency. How may I direct your call?” the receptionist asked.
“This is Sheriff Mike Reynolds. I’d like to speak to the manager.”
“That would be Derek Martinez. Please hold. I’ll see if he’s available.”
Within moments, a man’s voice said, “This is Derek Martinez, Sheriff. How can I help you?”
“Well, I’m not real sure. I’m calling about one of your employees, a man by the name of Richard Larson. I’d appreciate any information you could give me about him.”
“When Judy told me you were on the phone, I was pretty sure it would be about Richard. Here’s the thing, Sheriff. My wife is a recovering alcoholic, and she met Richard at an AA meeting. He told her he’d been a high ranking executive with an insurance company in Seattle, but because of his problems with alcohol, he was fired. He’d visited this area on vacation once and had good memories of it, so he decided to come here, start over, and look for a job. My wife suggested I hire him, and even though I knew I was taking a chance, I did. He’s a very charming and charismatic man and a darned good insurance salesman when he’s sober.”
“I gather from that statement he’s still having trouble with alcohol.”
“That might be the understatement of the year. His wife divorced him, and as I told you, he was fired from his job in Seattle. You’d think that would be enough to make anyone turn their life around, but he’s only successful about half the time. It seems he’s either drunk and can’t work, or when he isn’t drunk he’s going to every AA meeting around these parts. He’s always talking about how alcohol should be illegal in the State of Oregon, and how something should be done about the people who sell alcohol. I think in some twisted way he blames the people who sell alcohol for his alcoholism.”
“It seems like a stretch, but I suppose there’s a shred of sense in that thinking.”
“You’re a far more generous man than I am, Sheriff. If it wasn’t for my wife, I would have fired him long ago, although occasionally he does bring in a good client. It’s a very frustrating situation.”
“I can well imagine. Have you ever known him to threaten a liquor store owner?”
“Yes. There’s a liquor store here in Sunset Bay where he used to buy his liquor. In one of his sober moments, he threatened to kill the owner if he didn’t close the liquor store. I think he said something about it being the work of the devil. The liquor store owner called me and complained. There really wasn’t much I could do but talk to Richard. He promised it would never happen again, but he was permanently refused service at that store. Occasionally he still goes on a bender and no one hears from him for a couple of days, then he goes back to attending all the AA meetings in the area. I know he really wants to quit permanently, but he can’t seem to do it. Now that I’ve told you what I know about him, may I ask why you’re calling?”
“A man who owned a wine store in Cedar Bay was recently murdered. I’m looking for any tie-ins. Someone told me that Richard had talked in a very negative way about liquor store owners, so I thought I’d follow up on it.”
“I remember hearing about that murder on television. I think you were being interviewed about it. Richard lives on the outskirts of Cedar Bay. I’ve never been to his home, but you might want to talk to him there. I’ve learned from being in the insurance business for many years that you can get a real sense of the person when you’re on their turf. Would you like his address?”
“Thanks, Derek, I already have it. I really appreciate your help. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know, and if you think of anything else or hear something, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me.”
“Happy to, Sheriff. It’s been nice talking to you.”
Mike walked out to Angie’s desk. “I’m going to leave for a couple of hours. Anything important come up while I was doing some research?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until you get back. Lem, the attorney, called. He’s back in town from his vacation and wants to talk to you about Jesse and some legal issues. I told him you were doing some research, and he said it was probably just as well you were busy, because he’s got a lot of catching up to do after taking off for a few days.”
“Okay, we’ll be back in a couple of hours. Come on Rebel, let’s go talk to this guy and see what we can find out.”
Typical January weather, Mike thought on the drive to Richard Larson’s ranchette, grey and misty, chilly but not cold. Think everybody here in the Pacific Northwest lives for the next time they’ll see some sun. This has been going on for a long time now, and everyone’s getting pretty tired of it. Maybe that’s why we treasure the few days we have here on the coast that are warm and sunny. Probably why Richard Larson decided to move here. Be willing to bet when he came here to visit it was warm and sunny. No one told the poor guy that a day or two like that is pretty rare.
After a short drive out of town on the main highway, Mike saw the Larson mailbox and turned up the gravel road that led to Richard’s modest ranchette home. It didn’t look like he was at home and no car was in the driveway. The house was badly in need of repair. Paint was flaking off of the shutters, weeds were on either side of the sidewalk leading up to the house, and it practically screamed out the word “neglect.”
Rebel jumped out of the patrol car and followed Mike up to the front door. Mike looked down at Rebel and saw that his hackles were raised. He wasn’t growling or barking, but there was no mistaking the tension in him, as if he were prepared for some sort of danger. Mike rang the bell and also knocked on the door. With the way this property’s been neglected, I’d be willing to bet the doorbell’s broken. He waited several minutes, and no one came to the door.
“Come on Rebs, let’s walk around the house. Maybe we can peek inside.” He stepped off the porch and walked around to a window on the side of the house. Mike stood on his tiptoes and looked into the kitchen.
Good grief, I’ve never seen anything like this. He stood in shock, surveying the empty vodka and beer bottles that completely covered the countertop along with empty cans of food and a half-eaten sack of potato chips. He took his phone out its holster and snapped some pictures. Rebel stood as close to him as possible, trembling.
“It’s okay, Rebel. Come.” Mike walked around to the rear of the house where a trash can overflowed with more empty beer and vodka bottles along with all kinds of fast food wrappers and containers. “He may be trying to get off of the stuff, but from what I’m seeing, it’s definitely winning the battle, and he’s losing it.”
There were no drapes or other types of window coverings, and Mike was able to easily look through the sliding glass door at what he assumed was the family room. He saw a large television set in the corner. Mike took a deep breath and stared, speechless, at the numerous hand-painted posters filled with hateful words and directed toward the liquor industry that were tacked up on the wall. “Death To The Booze Pushers,” “The Only Good Liquor Store Owner Is A Dead Liquor Store Owner,” and “Burn, Baby, Burn The Liquor Stores,” were only a few of the posters he saw on the walls.
He took more pictures and continued around the house to what looked like a bedroom. In stark contrast to what he had seen in the other rooms, the bedroom was very neat. The bed was made, and there was a large sign above the bed that read, “The Big Book.” On the dresser was a well-thumbed copy of the book that members of AA considered to be their Bible.
I’ve never seen anything like this. The poor guy, I mean I have to feel sorry for him, he has got to be living his life in some sort of a horrible seesaw battle. The demons of alcohol are certainly snapping at his heels. Looks like part of him gives in to his urges, and
the other part tries to fight them. I have no idea whether or not he’s the killer, but it sure looks like he might be capable of it if he’d been drinking and blamed Jesse for his problems because he sold alcohol. That’s pretty perverted thinking, but anyone who commits murder probably thinks in a perverted way.
Mike and Rebel walked back to his patrol car, Rebel visibly more relaxed than he had been. “Come on, Rebs, let’s go call Lem. Don’t know what I was expecting to find here, but this certainly wasn’t on my radar. Wow! This place is like something out of a movie. You’d have to see it to believe it.”
CHAPTER 18
“We’re back, Angie. I gotta tell you, I’m ready for the sun to peep through the overcast. This grey mist is getting old. I’ve always heard Seattle has the highest suicide rate in the country because of all the rain up there, but if this keeps up, we might give them a run for their money.”
“I certainly hope not. With all the murders we’ve had in the last year, we sure don’t need something like a suicide epidemic.”
“You’re right. Got anything new for me?”
“Yes. A man by the name of John Baker called and would like you to call him.”
“Did he say what it was regarding?”
“No. Here’s his number. You know if it’s about a case or something like that, they usually won’t tell me much. It was that kind of a conversation.”
“Thanks. I’ll give him a call and see what he wants.”
A few minutes later after he’d given Rebel a fresh bowl of water and a treat, he dialed the number Angie had given him.
“May I speak with John Baker? This is Sheriff Reynolds.”
“This is John,” the voice on the other end said. “Thanks for getting back to me so promptly.”
“No problem. What can I do for you?”
“Well, Sheriff. I’d like this conversation to be confidential. In other words, I don’t want anyone to know that I called you, or what I’m calling about. I’d appreciate it if you do something with the information I’m going to give you, that there won’t be any reference to me. Would you agree to that?”
“I haven’t heard what you’re going to tell me, so I’m a little reluctant to promise you that in advance, but yes, I probably can.”
The man took a deep breath and began to speak. “I’m the controller for the Pellino Brothers Vineyard, and I’m very concerned about some things that have been happening around here. For instance, in the last two weeks alone, over five million dollars has been deposited into the company’s bank account from an unidentified account in the Cayman Islands.”
Mike let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money. Has that ever happened before?”
“No. I overheard the brothers talking about wanting to buy the White Cloud Retreat Center vineyard that’s adjacent to their vineyard. They didn’t know I could hear them. Dante told Luca that it was a good thing the Allen guy was dead. He said he thought it was just a matter of time before Luke Monroe, the owner of the White Cloud Retreat Center, would realize he couldn’t run the vineyard without some help, and therefore he’d be inclined to sell it to them. Luca told him maybe it was time to do something to hasten the process.”
“That sounds a little ominous. Did he say anything specific?”
“No, but there was a guy here from Chicago for the last week or so by the name of Guido Salerno. He left just a couple of days ago, but between you and me, he gave me the willies, and I think he scared the brothers, too. He was also here a couple of months ago. I hate to sound prejudiced, but if I was ever going to pick a guy who looked like he was a Mafia hit man, he’d be the guy I’d pick, hands down, no contest. Before Guido went back to Chicago, I overheard Luca tell Dante that he wished Guido would just get it over with and leave.”
“Are you telling me you think Luke’s life could be in danger?”
“Sheriff, I honestly don’t know. I’ve worked for the brothers for several years, and while they pay me well, I can’t say that I like them. I don’t think they’re good men, if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t put anything past them, but I don’t have any solid proof to back it up. The one thing I do know is that they want the land that the Center owns in a big way. And from my experience with them, they usually get what they want.”
“Why do you think they’re so focused on that particular property? I mean, there’s a lot of other land around here they could use to grow grapes on.”
“They want to make a pinot noir that’s as good as Scott Monroe made when he was alive. He grew the grapes for his wine on that property, so I think they feel if they can get that land, they can make an award winning pinot noir just like he did. Hate to say this, because I have absolutely no basis for it, but it’s kind of ironic that originally they hoped to buy the property because they didn’t think Luke knew what he was doing. Then Luke hired Jesse Allen to help him, and now Allen’s been murdered. I’ve got no proof of any tie-in, but I sure think it’s kind of interesting.”
“Yeah, so do I. Got anything else for me?” Mike asked.
“No. I just thought you might be interested in what I’ve observed here at the vineyard.”
“Thanks John, I appreciate you taking the time to call me. Do me a favor. If you see or hear anything else that you think might be important for me to know, don’t hesitate to call. I promise you I won’t divulge your identity or what you’ve told me.”
“Will do, Sheriff. If I hear anything else, I’ll definitely let you know.”
Mike buzzed Angie. “Hold my calls for an hour or so. I’ve got a little more research I need to do. For the next hour he read everything he could find on the Internet about Guido Salerno and the Pellino brothers. He finally sat back in his chair, troubled by what he’d found out about the three of them.
So Guido Salerno was tried for murder in New Jersey, he thought as he doodled on the piece of paper in front of him. The newspaper clippings said that it was a classic type of Mafia contract murder. The District Attorney couldn’t prove his case, and Guido got off because of a hung jury. Both of the Pellino brothers were arrested numerous times for extortion, money laundering, and other white collar crimes when they lived in Chicago. Their names were tied several times to a man named Angelo Rossi, who it turns out, has well-known Mafia connections in Chicago.
Confidential tax records of the IRS, available only to law enforcement authorities, indicate the IRS thinks Rossi and the Chicago Mafia are the secret owners of the Pellino Brothers Vineyard, but they haven’t been able to prove it. Guido Salerno moved from the New Jersey area to Chicago and now allegedly works for Rossi as an enforcer.
Guido and the Pellino brothers certainly qualify as suspects. Maybe Rossi sent Guido out to get rid of Jesse. If he is a Mafia hired gun and if the Pellino brothers are Mafia, it makes perfect sense that Guido would stay at their vineyard. It’s also interesting that he returned to Chicago immediately after Jesse’s death.
All this makes me concerned about Luke’s safety. I suppose the good news is that this guy Guido has left, but based on what I’ve just read, the Pellino brothers might be capable of killing Luke. Sounds like they’re willing to do about anything to get the White Cloud property.
He found Luke’s number and called it. “Hi Luke, it’s Sheriff Mike. I don’t want to alarm you, but I’ve received some confidential information that makes me concerned for your safety. It may be nothing, but I’d feel better if I knew you were taking some safety precautions, like keeping a gun near you.”
“That’s great, Mike. Just the call everyone wants to get from their sheriff. A call alerting them that they might be in danger. As a matter of fact your wife also cautioned me to keep a gun with me at all times, so I have one right next to me as we speak.”
“Like I said, it may be nothing, but I kind of remember something that Benjamin Franklin said about an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Think it might be appropriate here. In other words, I’d rather have you avoid a problem than try to fix it later on or worse y
et, have me try to fix it.”
“Thanks for calling. I’ll be very careful, so you won’t have to fix any problems concerning me.”
“Good. Hate to have anything happen to my wife’s favorite yoga teacher. Talk to you later.”
CHAPTER 19
Angie buzzed Mike just after he’d ended the call with Luke.
“Mike, sorry to bother you, but Lem’s on line one. He says he’d really like to talk to you if you have a few minutes.”
“Thanks, I’ll take the call.”
“Good afternoon, Lem, how was your vacation?”
“As always, way too short, but we really had a good time. We left right after your wedding and went up to Seattle for a couple of days. Love that town! My wife’s a big Dale Chihuly fan. He’s the guy who does all the art glass stuff. His pieces are pretty incredible, and he’s got exhibitions all over the world. Fascinating stuff. Wish we could afford a piece of his work. I think my wife’s one regret in life is that she never bought a piece of his years ago when she was a student at the University of Washington, and he was selling his art glass out of the trunk of his car. If she had, I could probably retire.”
“Kind of rings a bell, but I’m not familiar with him, or for that matter, anybody in the art world. It’s one of the things I never got around to learning about,” Mike said.
“He’s got a permanent exhibition in the Tacoma Art Museum. We stopped there on our way up to Seattle, and there was also a special show of his blown glass pieces at the Seattle Art Museum. Take a minute and look him up on the Internet. I think you’ll like his work. Some of his pieces are huge, I’m talking twenty feet tall, or more. It’s amazing! You look at his stuff, and you can’t figure out how anyone could blow glass and make those huge pieces. It’s kind of ironic he was blinded in one eye by glass, but it wasn’t from blowing glass. He was in an automobile accident, and it was from the windshield.”
Marriage and Murder (Cedar Bay Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 9
