A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

  “It seems people are interested in getting a look at a murderer firsthand.”

  “What?”

  “Kidding . . . not really. The point is that people are coming today. So get up. Let’s get going.”

  “Oh, good, I think . . . That should help with yesterday’s bad business, anyway. Is Juan still out at the gate?”

  “He and Julio camped out there last night. Mary told me that she had a few scoundrels try to sneak in through her property last night, but Juan was onto them. He and Julio caught a few people climbing over the fence, but mostly the press went home around eleven—after the late news.”

  “Do you think they’ll be back today?”

  “Let’s hope not,” she said. “I’d love to pick up a few stragglers coming for a tasting and not simply rely on the buses today. I mean, the more the merrier, right?”

  “Right.” I grabbed the coffee and took a deep sip, glad for the rush of caffeine.

  “So did you discover anything interesting last night?” Aunt Jemma asked.

  “How did you know I was looking?”

  “Because you’re my niece,” she said with a grin. “What did you find out?”

  “Laura ran a couple of seminars a year teaching a mastermind class on yoga marketing,” I said. “Her website offers promises of increasing wealth and reaching more people to help them heal, lose weight, and better their lives.”

  “Sounds magical,” Aunt Jemma said.

  “I know, right? Next is Dan. He’s a new-age marketer and is pitching a program that’s supposed train your brain to make new connections based on listening to a daily series of tones.”

  “That’s weird. How does it work?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” I said. “I signed up for the first thirty days free. I was listening to the tones when I must’ve fallen asleep last night.”

  “Can I hear?”

  “Sure,” I said and gave her my earphones, which had been hanging around my neck. I got up and stretched, letting her take my chair.

  “So the sounds move from ear to ear and high to low,” she said loudly.

  “You don’t need to shout. I’m right here and can hear you fine.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “The tones are strange.” She took off the headset. “How is this supposed to retrain your brain?”

  “It stimulates growth by getting you to pay attention to different sounds and frequencies,” I said. “At least that’s what the website claims.”

  “I wonder how many people use this?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think it’s relatively new, but they’re using the same seminar and subscription marketing as her yoga business.”

  “Do you think an angry customer could have killed Laura?”

  I shrugged. “Why go so far as to kill her? They have a money-back guarantee. And at a couple thousand dollars for personal service and one-on-one time with Laura for six months, I wouldn’t think anyone would be that angry.”

  “So it probably wasn’t a disgruntled customer.”

  “We didn’t see anyone else out at Quarryhill.”

  “That doesn’t mean someone wasn’t waiting in the wings.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You did use the itinerary as an example of possible tours on your website.”

  “So you think someone read my website and went out there looking to kill Laura?”

  “Did you list on your website who your first tour was with?”

  “Oh, gosh no,” I said.

  “Then maybe Laura wasn’t the initial target of the murderer.”

  “Wait, are you saying whoever killed Laura might have actually wanted to kill me? Whatever for?”

  “Who knows,” Aunt Jemma said and sipped her coffee. “You can’t rule anything out at this point.”

  “Trust me, my website did not give an exact time or date of our tour. There is no way a person was waiting in the wings, as you say, to kill anyone.”

  “Did you check Twitter?”

  “What?”

  “People tweet where they are going all the time.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “If you tell people where you are, you invite stalkers.”

  “Now wait—don’t blame the victim.”

  “I wasn’t blaming anyone,” I protested. “I meant—for safety—people shouldn’t tweet where they are when they’re there. Everyone should know that. It’s like removing the place and time stamp on your pictures before you upload them. There are crazy people out there, and you need to be as safe as possible.”

  “I see. Well, then you need to call everyone in the yoga group and see who else might have known your group was at Quarryhill.”

  “Oh, right, and have them accuse me of blaming them? No, I think that’s something I’ll leave to the police.”

  “Don’t leave anything to the police,” Aunt Jemma said. “According to the newspaper, the sheriff is looking at you as the murderer.”

  “Sheriff Hennessey said they were collecting evidence and asking questions. Does that sound like I’m the number-one suspect?”

  “He won’t tell you if you are,” she said. “If there is even a small rumor you might have done it, then you are a person of interest. Trust me, it’ll be easier to put you away than someone no one knows about.”

  “Stop. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m not trying to scare you,” Aunt Jemma said. “I want you to understand that this is serious. I don’t want you to simply rely on the goodwill of others. Or think that people will go out of their way to prove your innocence. It’s not their job.”

  “Fine. I’ll work on figuring this out. Maybe you are right. Someone else could have been there. It is a public place. I got along well with Amy,” I said. “I’ll call her today and go for coffee. Maybe she can help me figure out if anyone tweeted the time and place.”

  “Good girl,” Aunt Jemma said. “Now go shower and get dressed—we have a busy day today.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said and walked to my bathroom. I sent a quick text to Amy, “Are you doing okay? Do you want to meet for coffee?”

  “Sure,” came the answer.

  “How about one?”

  “Perfect. Abuelo’s?”

  “I love their coffee,” I texted back. “See you then.” Maybe, just maybe, Amy could help shine some light on what was going on inside Laura’s team.

  * * *

  After the first busload left the winery, I grabbed my car keys and headed out to Abuelo’s. Unfortunately, the press was still camped out at the foot of our drive.

  Someone recognized me as I turned onto the road, and everyone jumped into their cars and vans and followed me. There was no way I could have a private conversation with this kind of tail.

  I lost half of them at the first light into town when I turned right, then left, then right. It was weird, but watching television had taught me a little bit about watching out for cars following you. I decided to park five blocks from Abuelo’s. Then I ducked into the back of Stacey’s dress shop and came out the front. I found my way into Sonoma Hardware and slipped out the side door, where I took two more alleys, went up to the second-floor vintage shop above the donut shop, and left by the back door.

  Finally, I sneaked in the back of Abuelo’s. “Hey, Austin,” I said to the barista. “I’m meeting someone here. Can I slip through to your far corner?”

  “Sure,” he said and waved me in through the kitchen. I ordered a latte and took the far table with my back to the wall and my vision squarely on the front door. He brought me my drink. “What’s with all the cloak-and-dagger?”

  “I seem to be the news item of the day,” I said. “I’m hiding out from the press.”

  “Awesome. What’d you do?”

  “Nothing,” I insisted.

  Austin, a thin blond guy with a beard that was darker than his hair, was two years younger than I was. Surfing and the coffee shop were his life. “Dude, is this about that woman you killed?”

  �
�I didn’t kill anyone,” I protested.

  “Cool,” he said with a grin. “Was it, like, gory?”

  “It was not cool or fun,” I said. “A man lost his wife.”

  “Dude, sorry,” he shrugged.

  “Keep my presence a secret, okay? For me?”

  “Sure, whatever,” he said and went back to his station behind the counter. Five minutes later, Amy walked in. I watched as she looked around until she spotted me.

  Amy was a nice girl with rounded features and dark-brown hair. She had deep-green eyes and wore jeans and a T-shirt. “Hi, Taylor, how are you?” she asked as she gave me a hug.

  I waved Austin down. “I’m buying.”

  “I’ll have a chai tea latte,” Amy said and took a seat.

  “Coming right up,” Austin said.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked Amy.

  She sighed long and hard and put her elbows on the table with her chin in her hands. “I left an emergency employee meeting at Dan’s house. He’s all fired up.”

  “I know. I tried to bring him a casserole yesterday, but he refused it and accused me of murdering Laura.”

  “I know. He was really upset today. So strange. He’s normally such a nice guy. I once saw him give a homeless man the shirt off his back and his lunch.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, he works nights helping poor kids sharpen their reading skills so that they can go further in school. He once gave the school five grand to cover any outstanding lunch bills. He’s that kind of guy.” She sighed. “You know, the classic really nice guy with the intense woman.”

  Austin brought over the latte. “Are you hiding out from the press too?” he asked.

  Amy shook her head. “No, why?”

  “You’re sitting with the undercover girl.” He nodded at me and left.

  “What is he talking about?” Amy asked.

  “Someone called the local news channel and said that I murdered Laura.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Amy said. “You were with someone on the trail the whole time.”

  “Except when I took Millie to find Laura,” I pointed out. “At least, that’s why Dan’s sister accused me of murder.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Yes, well, I agree. So the question is, who did do it?”

  “I have no idea,” Amy said. “Laura was really intense and that rubbed some people the wrong way. But there are things you don’t know about her. She was a very private person. A control freak, yeah, but you should’ve seen her at her workshops. She was really magic. She had twenty yoga instructors who were part of her mastermind group. Our goal was to stretch that to twenty-five this year.”

  “So who found her intense?” I asked. “I mean, besides me.”

  “Well, I worked closely with her at her home for the past year. She would say things without thinking them through whenever she was stressed.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how she couldn’t trust anyone to do anything right. How we were all incompetent without her. How if we only did everything she said, nothing would ever get messed up—and trust me, everything we did was messed up in some way. Really, it was nothing that I would kill anyone over, but she was intense. There were times when it was superinsulting.”

  I put my hand on hers. “I’m sorry to hear you had such a harsh boss.”

  “The thing is that she didn’t even pay me until I’d worked for her for six weeks.”

  “What? That’s nuts.”

  “Well, she paid monthly, but if your first payday fell within your first two weeks of working, you had to wait until the next one to get a check. So I had to borrow money to cover my living expenses until I got my first paycheck. I’d asked Laura for an advance, but she said it wasn’t in their policy to cover it. I should have had better control of my finances.”

  “Wow, that’s crazy.”

  “But nothing to kill someone over,” Amy said.

  “Oh, I’m not accusing anyone of murder,” I said. “I wondered who you thought might have done it. I mean, it seems that everyone in our group has an alibi. We watched each other hike down the hill.”

  “Well, Laura did go down the trail by herself.”

  “Do you think someone was lying in wait for her? Do you know if she had a stalker?”

  “As far as I know, she didn’t. It would’ve taken some planning to find us, isolate Laura, kill her, and then get out—sight unseen.”

  “I know,” I said, “and the killer had to be covered in blood. That corkscrew hit her artery.”

  “See? None of us could have done it and gotten cleaned up in time to drive home with you in the van.”

  “Then someone was ready and waiting for her,” I concluded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Who all knew where we were?”

  “No one.”

  “Did you tweet or mention our location on Facebook?”

  “Oh, wait, yes, I did tweet and Facebook it. The goal was to get people to see that we were team building. Being a strong team is the best thing we can do for the business. We wanted to show the group bonding, working hard, and playing hard. So I took pictures and posted them on Facebook.”

  “Did anyone else post or tweet?”

  “You’ll have to ask them. My posts went to the official accounts, not my private account.”

  “You were her assistant—do you know if she got any bad mail or threats?”

  “I told the police the same thing I’m going to tell you.” She leaned in close. “There was a nasty letter sent without a signature a week or two back. Laura was creeped out by the note.”

  “Do you know where it is now?”

  “The cops have it. It bothered Laura enough that she asked the police to look into the incident.”

  “Did she get many such notes?”

  “Your average number of death threats.” She smiled at me and sipped her chai latte.

  “Average number? You mean she got more than one?”

  “She was a public figure. Whenever you put yourself out there, you put a target on your back, especially marketing through the Internet. Laura wasn’t a big corporation. She was the face of her company. Let’s face it—there are a lot of strange people out there looking to bully and hate.”

  “Yes, well, the police will say I’m reaching if I try to find some random hateful stranger who murdered Laura. It’s safer to assume someone she knew did it. Is there anyone else on staff who didn’t get along with Laura? Anyone who would have sent that letter?”

  “Oh, we all had our tiffs,” Amy said. “Laura was a difficult boss, but I think it’s because she was so nervous about everything.”

  “Funny, but I would have thought she would have been more Zen.”

  “Why? Because she teaches yoga?”

  “Yes. She meditated too, right?”

  Amy sent me a look. “She meditated because she needed to. Trust me, down-to-earth, gentle people don’t need to meditate.”

  I frowned. “I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get along with Laura.”

  “No.” Amy leaned in again. “Now that I think about it, a few months back, Laura got a few threatening e-mails. When that happened, she nearly hit the roof. She and Dan saved them all and started a police file. The thought was that, with enough complaints, it would eventually lead to an investigation.”

  “You mean the police didn’t look into it at all?”

  “No, they said there was nothing they could do until a crime was actually committed.”

  “I’ve heard it’s difficult to get stalkers to go away.” I sat back, sad to think of Laura having a stalker.

  “Well, my sister tells me that you can eventually get a restraining order, but they are hard to enforce.”

  “Did Laura get a restraining order?”

  “No.” Amy shook her head. “It never went that far. She collected the e-mails. There were about four or five of them, and they all seemed to come from different sources. The odd thing was, the threats all
sounded the same.”

  “Maybe they were from the same person,” I mused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you’re good enough with computers, you can make various fake e-mail addresses that are tough to track down.”

  “Do the police have this ability?”

  “I don’t know,” I said and shrugged. “Did you tell them about the e-mails?”

  “Yes,” Amy said. “Sheriff Hennessey sent them to their cyber unit.”

  “Hopefully, they aren’t swamped and can look at this mail soon.” I tapped my chin. “I could look at it faster,” I said. “I know a guy.”

  “Do you think it’ll help capture Laura’s killer?”

  “I do,” I said. “Can you send me a copy?”

  “Sure,” Amy said. “As Laura’s assistant, I have access to her e-mail account.” She picked up her smartphone, entered Laura’s e-mail account, and sent me a link to the files.

  I knew a guy at Google who could track anything. If these came from the same person, I’d have a point of reference to start my investigation. “Thanks.”

  “Listen, Taylor,” Amy said and touched my hand, “I know that yesterday was horrific for you. It had to have been a shock to find her. Take care of you. Know that I know you didn’t do anything bad.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “If you think of anything else, can you let me know? I want to get to the bottom of things before I find myself in jail.”

  “You should never even get close to jail.”

  “Yes, well, tell that to the court of public opinion,” I said. Suddenly a news crew came into the coffee shop. “Oh, no, I’ve got to go. Thanks for your help.” I dashed through the back before anyone had time to see me. All I needed now was for the news crews to get tired of waiting for me to give them a statement.

  Chapter 9

  “My life is over,” Holly said and dramatically flopped on the couch in front of me. I sat at my computer, e-mailing the links to Mike, my contact at Google. Hopefully he could figure out where Laura’s threats originated.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Holly looked at me with wide eyes. “I’m stopping online dating for good.”

  “Is this about the guy you saw the other night?”

  “Yes and no.” She sat up. “Yes, he was another dud in a long line of duds. But my life isn’t over because of him. He simply brought to my attention how pathetic I am.”