A Case of Syrah, Syrah
Page 5
“Did you see anyone else at the gardens today?”
“Do you mean the tour members?”
“Besides them,” he said. “Were you the only group out here?”
“I don’t remember seeing anyone here but us. The garden is a hidden gem,” I paused, horror rushing through me again. “Wait, are you saying someone in the group may have murdered Laura?”
“If there was no one else on the trails . . .”
I covered my mouth and sat down hard. A quick glance over my shoulder told me the rest of the crew were being interviewed one by one. “Wouldn’t the murderer be covered in blood?”
He gave me a look.
“What?”
“You have blood on your hands, Miss O’Brian.”
It was then that I noticed I had Laura’s blood on my hands and pants. “I helped turn her over. She wasn’t breathing when I got to her.”
“Dan is also covered in blood.”
“He was distraught and had his hands all over her as well.”
“No one else seems to be bloody.”
“Well, I didn’t kill Laura . . .” I stopped in terror. “There’s no way Dan did it. He was devoted to her. I mean, the man was an emotional wreck when we got to her. Besides, we all saw him before we found Laura. No one saw any blood.”
The sheriff looked at me flatly. His expression gave nothing away. He held up a bag with the bloody corkscrew in it. “You told me earlier you recognized this?”
I tilted my head and looked at it. “Yes, it looks like the kind of wine opener I brought. I don’t know how Laura got it.”
“And if we find your prints on it?”
“It’s because it was my corkscrew—not because I murdered Laura. I was with the group every step of the way. I didn’t do this, Sheriff.”
“I didn’t say you had,” he said. “Here’s my card. Call me if you remember anything else. Also, my team will be calling you to schedule a convenient time for you to give your DNA sample and fingerprints to rule you out.”
“Okay,” I said weakly.
“Do you need my help getting up?”
“No,” I said and set my chin stubbornly. “I’ll be fine in a few moments. You can go question someone else.”
“It’s not personal, Miss O’Brian. I’m just doing my job.”
“Well, Sheriff, I hope you solve this soon. I hate to think I’m going to be driving a murderer home.”
“I’ll have a deputy escort you back to your place,” he said grimly.
“Great,” I said and pulled the blanket tighter around me. “Aunt Jemma will be thrilled.”
* * *
“What happened? You look like you’ve been through a war,” Aunt Jemma said as I unloaded the van. Everyone was weary and went back to their cars in a hurry to leave. I gathered up the remaining food and promptly tossed it in the garbage. No one wanted to eat food from a crime scene, even if it was hundreds of yards away.
“I feel like I’ve been through a war,” I said grimly as I pulled the cooler full of wine out of the back of the van and tucked it away in the wine storage shelves in the garage.
“What happened? Were you in a car accident?”
Millie barked and raced around my feet. She was leash-free on the farm and enjoying every moment of it.
“Worse,” I said. “You remember Laura?”
“The mean yoga instructor who asked you to take her team on this outing. Sure. Why? What happened? Is she okay?”
“No, she’s not,” I said and sat down on a bench outside the garage. “She was murdered, and apparently the murderer used my corkscrew.”
“What? That’s horrific. No wonder you look so bad.”
I pointed with my chin toward the group members getting into their respective cars. “It’s devastating for them. Laura’s business was their livelihood.”
“Who would kill her? And why?”
“Those are the big questions,” I said as I watched the last of the cars disappear down the driveway. It was one of those fall days that was warm during the day but cooled with an early sunset. The vineyard faced the mountains to the west, so the sun went down fast, leaving streaks of red and orange in the sky.
“Come on. Why don’t you shower, and I’ll make you some tea.”
“Thanks.” I got up and called for Millie. She followed us into the semidarkness of the house. Aunt Jemma went to work in the kitchen while I went back to my apartment and showered. The hot water on my skin felt good, but I was still cold inside. Someone had used my corkscrew to kill Laura. That took a lot of strength or a lot of anger. She hadn’t been the nicest person, but no one deserved to die like that.
I thought of all the people in the group. No one had been covered in blood. It didn’t make sense. An act that violent would surely have left evidence on the murderer. Maybe they’d gotten lucky. Maybe she didn’t bleed out until after they pushed her down the cliff. That was a morbid thought.
I wandered into the kitchen. Aunt Jemma had tea steeping in a pot and pulled down two blue ceramic mugs. “I made chamomile,” she said, pouring. “You need something soothing. Did you eat today?”
“No,” I said and climbed up on a barstool, wrapping my hands around the warm mug and resting my elbows on the table. “Laura was lost before I could eat lunch, and then after we found her . . .” I sighed.
Aunt Jemma patted my arm. She wore a floaty caftan made out of an orange-and-brown African print. She was the kind of woman who dressed however she wanted—styles be darned—so she bought many of her clothes from websites that sustainably supported weavers and craftswomen in emerging countries. Small businesses were her passion.
“Your hands are cold. I’ll make you some soup.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Looks like we wore someone else out too.” Millie was as tired as I was from the day. She curled up in the snuggly bed I’d bought her and was fast asleep near the breakfast bar.
“I fed her,” Aunt Jemma said. “She ate and then went straight to bed.”
“I forget she’s a little pup.”
“Any news on her owners?”
“No,” I said, my smile fading. “I hope I don’t hear anything, though. I’d love to keep her.”
“Well, your business could use a mascot.”
“That’s what Holly said.” I sipped my tea. It was warm and sweetened with honey. “Millie was a big help today in finding Laura. She was a good girl and stayed out of the way of the police and paramedics.”
“I’d love for you to keep her, but I’m not sure what Clementine thinks.”
My kitty had come out from her closet and given the sleeping dog a wide berth before leaping up onto the counter for attention.
“Clemmie will get used to Millie,” I announced. Clem seemed to sneer at me and jumped back down to go to her box. “I’m hoping,” I added and took another sip of tea.
“Tell me more about the day,” Aunt Jemma said and pushed a bowl of thick potato soup toward me.
I told her everything that happened. “I don’t know how anyone who was with us could’ve done this. Surely there’d be some evidence. But everyone seems to have an alibi since we were all together.”
“Who else knew you all were going to Quarryhill?”
“Well, Holly, and some of my other friends. The Quarryhill staff, people at the next destination.” I paused my spoon halfway to my mouth. “I used the itinerary as advertising for my business.”
“So anyone who hated Laura could have lain in wait for her.”
“But how would they know they could get her alone, and how did they get my corkscrew?”
“Did you lock the van before you hiked up the trail?”
“Yes . . . but it’s old and easy to jimmy. Wait . . . you know what? Now that I think about it, I didn’t have to unlock the passenger’s side door when we got back. I remember thinking I needed to remind people to lock the van behind them, but then I was busy setting up the picnic. I’ve got to call the sheriff and let him know.”
“Because they say the first forty-eight hours are the most important in an investigation.”
“They also say that witness recall is the most unreliable, especially after such a shock.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I think it’d be best for you to get a lawyer,” Aunt Jemma said. “I’ll call my friend Patrick Aimes.”
“Wait, Patrick Aimes? The hot guy from high school?”
“He’s defended some good, honest people in sticky situations.”
“How am I in a sticky situation?”
“Let’s call Patrick and let him explain,” Aunt Jemma said and took my cell phone. “Eat your soup.”
Great, Patrick Aimes was a lawyer and now he’s going to know I’m in trouble. Could things possibly get any worse?
Chapter 5
“Oh, my goodness, Taylor, are you okay? Did you hire a lawyer?”
“Holly,” I said. “It’s eleven o’clock at night. I’m tired.”
“I can’t believe I had to call you. When did this happen? Why didn’t you call me? Did you hire a lawyer?”
“Do you think I need a lawyer?”
“Of course, anyone who is involved in a murder investigation needs a lawyer. Don’t you watch crime shows? They can make innocent people confess to crimes and stuff. You need to lawyer up.”
I rolled my eyes and sat up in my bed. It was clear I was going to be on the phone for a while. Millie wiggled beside me as if my moving bothered her. “Hey, it’s my bed,” I whispered. Clemmie reached out as if to bat the dog as well, so I put my hand between them. “Stop it.”
“Taylor, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good because this is serious. Really I’m so offended you didn’t call me the moment it happened. When were you going to tell me?”
“Tomorrow?” I sounded guilty to my own ears.
“Taylor!”
“What? I’m in shock. I can’t unsee what I’ve seen today, Holly.”
“Oh, poor girl,” she said, sounding contrite. “Yes, okay, so just because I would’ve called you within the hour doesn’t mean you’re wrong for not calling me—”
“Holly!”
“We each react to shock differently.”
“Look, I’m sorry. But the police kept us for hours. When I got back home, I wanted to shower. Then Aunt Jemma called a lawyer—”
“Who did she call?”
“Patrick Aimes.”
“The young hot guy from Derrick’s class?” Derrick was Holly’s older brother. He and Patrick had been three years ahead of us at school. Derrick had been nicknamed “McDreamy” by me, and Holly had nicknamed Patrick “McSteamy.” Yes, we’d stolen the nicknames from a television show. We’d been in high school.
“Yes.”
“Then what happened? Go on . . .”
“You keep interrupting me.”
“I’ll stop. Go on.”
I stared at the phone for a full minute.
“Taylor, I’m listening. Really.”
“Fine. Aunt Jemma had Patrick come right over. He left about an hour ago, and I crawled into bed. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but normal people don’t call each other after nine o’clock at night unless something bad has happened.”
“Taylor, something bad did happen,” Holly pointed out.
“But it wasn’t urgent.”
“So you let me watch it on the news.”
“The news?”
“Yes, the news. They’re reporting Laura’s murder and how she was on a corporate outing with Taylor O’Brian Presents ‘Off the Beaten Path’ Wine Country Tours.”
“They said my name?”
“They said the name of your company, yes, so expect reporters to be calling all day tomorrow.”
“Great, my first tour group, and I’m going to be forever associated with murder.”
“It’s fine,” Holly said. “Any publicity is good publicity.”
“Not if people think they might die on one of my tours.”
“Maybe you could start some sort of mystery tour . . .”
“I’m not doing mystery tours. I’m doing ‘Off the Beaten Path’ Wine Country tours.”
“You could turn them into mystery tours! People would love it. You could visit that winery where the proprietor chased the investor through the vineyard and shot him dead.”
“I’m not touring that winery.”
“Oh, and you could tour—”
“Stop it. I’m not doing it.”
“It could be your niche,” she pointed out. “Like ghost tours, only scene-of-the-crime tours.”
“Holly.”
“Fine, but when you see how popular you’re going to be, you’ll remember this conversation.”
“Holly.”
“And when you start doing crime tours, you have to call and tell me I was right and let me say ‘I told you so.’”
“Holly, I’m not going to do scene-of-the-crime tours.”
“Your loss,” she said. “Is Patrick still steamy?”
“Is your brother still dreamy?”
“Ugh, he’s my brother,” Holly said. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s creepy for me to think of him as anything other than stinky.”
“Fine,” I said. “Your brother—even though he’s married now—is still dreamy.”
“So that means that Patrick is still steamy. Is he married?”
“We didn’t talk about his love life. We talked about the case and how the murder weapon came out of my van.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yes, but I’m pretty sure someone stole it while we were on the trail. I think Laura left her side door unlocked. Then we hiked for over an hour. Anyone could have come, taken the corkscrew, and left unseen.”
“She was killed with a corkscrew? Yikes, that had to hurt.”
“Holly.”
“Fine, go on . . .”
“I wanted to go to the police when I remembered that the driver’s side door was unlocked when I came back, but my aunt convinced me that my memory of things may have been affected by the shock.”
“That’s not like you. You’re nearly obsessive about locking that silly van. As if anyone would want anything out of that hot mess.”
“It runs fine, and it’s a living piece of California history. People like it.”
“Because it reminds them of the Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine. Hey . . .”
“No.”
“It was a thought.”
“Holly, I’m tired.”
“What advice did McSteamy give you?”
“He said I should wait and have him go with me when I speak to the police about my van. They’d most likely want to search it and check for fingerprints and such. They can’t do that without a search warrant or my permission. Patrick told me it’d go a long way if I give my permission to have it done.”
“I hear fingerprint testing is pretty messy.”
“Yes,” I said. “But it’ll be worth it if they can lift any fingerprints that don’t belong to me or the group.”
“But what if someone in the group actually did it?”
“Then they could have pocketed the corkscrew any time during the ride there. It’s not like I hid it or anything. All the supplies were packed around them in the back.”
“Oh, the plot thickens . . .”
“Be serious—a woman died today. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I mostly called to see if you were all right. Do you need anything?”
“Some sleep,” I said wearily. “Want to have coffee after yoga tomorrow?”
“Sure. I wonder who they will pick to teach since Laura’s. . . . you know.”
I fell back against my pillows, startling the animals. Clemmie darted off the bed, and Millie stood
and licked my face. “I bet they cancel class.”
“Let me come by and bring you coffee. We can talk at your place.”
“I have an appointment to see Sheriff Hennessey at ten,” I said. “What time are you coming by?”
“I’ll be there at eight, and I’ll bring gluten-free donuts.”
“See you then.” I hung up the phone and cuddled with Millie. It was going to be a long night. I was tired, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw Laura’s lifeless body at the bottom of the ravine. It made me wonder: Who could do such a thing, and why?
Was there something I’d missed on the ride to the gardens? Or while on the trail? Could I have prevented this tragedy? I hadn’t really cared for Laura, but that didn’t mean I wanted her dead.
I closed my eyes and petted Millie. She smelled of puppy and warm sunshine. My first tour had been a disaster. How long could I stay in business if this murder didn’t get solved? I was afraid people would always wonder if they were riding in a murder van. If someone they trusted would come after them with whatever weapon was handy . . .
* * *
The next morning, Holly arrived with the goods as promised. We were both trying to eat clean, but I had a hard time refusing sugar. Especially when I’d only slept a couple hours last night.
“You look gorgeous,” I said. Holly wore a cute black jumpsuit that flattered her figure to perfection and maroon-red heels that added a pop of color.
“I figured if McSteamy was stopping by, I wanted to be ready.”
“You’re awful.” I grabbed a coffee and sipped, letting the heat and caffeine infiltrate my system. “But beautiful. Can I be you?”
“Stop—you’re lovely.”
“Ha!” I snorted. I wore black slacks and a blue top that had a halter neckline. No high heels for me—I was running on so little sleep, I’d fall and break my ankle. My hair was up in a messy bun and my makeup minimal. “Next to you, I’m chopped liver.”
“Oh, pooh,” she said. We chatted for a while about yesterday and the horrible things that had gone wrong.
I nervously watched the clock until the doorbell rang. Millie barked, and Clemmie went running for her closet. I opened the door to a gorgeous dark-skinned man with a shaved head, brown eyes, and muscles from here to eternity. “Hi.”