A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

  “He better not have called you pathetic,” I said.

  “No, no, he spit when he talked, and he didn’t kiss all that well.”

  “Then what’s ending your life?”

  “Someone stole my identity.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, from the dating website. It seems they hacked me through the site, and since I have all my information on there, they were able to get credit in my name and run up a bunch of bills.”

  “Wait, aren’t those sites supposed to be secure?”

  “They are, but this one was breached last week. I got a notice this morning, and when I checked my account, I saw all kinds of charges I hadn’t made. So I contacted my bank and the credit card company. My bank told me I have to call and cancel all of the cards, change all my passwords, and stop using my banking apps.”

  “Ouch.” I winced. “This sounds serious.”

  “It is, and I was so stupid to include my phone number and date of birth and everything on that site.”

  “Any site is hackable to the right kind of hacker,” I said. “It’s why we get identity-theft insurance.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t have that.”

  “What?”

  “I thought it was a bunch of people trying to get money out of me by scaring me about something that happens only to people I don’t know.”

  “Oh, no,” I said and stood up to give her a hug. “What now?”

  “I’ve been advised by my bank to get an identity-theft lawyer and start writing a ton of letters to begin reestablishing myself.”

  “That’s horrible.” I hugged her.

  “Do you think I should contact Patrick and ask him to recommend a good lawyer?”

  “You most certainly should,” I said and pulled out my phone. “Here’s his number.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a sniff. “I’m kind of in shock. I don’t know what to do first.”

  “Did you shut down all your cards and freeze your bank account?”

  “Yeah, it took me four hours,” she said. “Everyone puts you on hold, and you have to listen to this terrible music. I’ve heard it can take years to get your credit back to normal.”

  “Are you getting bills?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Keep an eye out for them,” I said. “If the criminals are smart, they used your address.”

  “Ugh, why didn’t I get identity-theft insurance?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” I said and gave Holly a hug. “I guess there’s a lot of identity theft going around these days.”

  “Oh,” she said and wiped her eyes with a tissue from the box on the end table, “just FYI, there’s still a crowd of reporters outside your door. They’re trying to equate Laura’s murder with the crazy vineyard murderer from two years ago.”

  “What? I’m not crazy, and I had no reason to kill Laura.”

  “There’s speculation that she refused to pay her bill.”

  “Oh, come on, then you call a bill collector. You don’t kill someone.”

  “Also, you were having an affair with Dan and wanted him all to yourself.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Dan is thirty years older than me.”

  “It’s California, dear,” she said and patted my knee. “Rich older dudes date girls our age all the time.”

  “But Dan? Ew,” I said. “He’s the one who originally accused me of killing Laura.”

  “He’s the one who called the cops?”

  “No, his sister did.”

  “So she might be a suspect,” Holly mused.

  “Why would she kill Laura?” I asked and shut my laptop.

  “Well, Laura was controlling. What if Dan was her favorite sibling?”

  “That’s a weak motive. Besides, she wasn’t at Quarryhill.”

  “So let’s look at who all was there,” Holly said and waved her hand in the air.

  “I talked to Amy today.” I left my desk and climbed into the chair beside the couch.

  “Who?”

  “Laura and Dan’s office admin. She told me she knows I didn’t do it.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Holly said and sat up. “Why does she know that? Did she do it?”

  “Holly!”

  “I’m playing devil’s advocate,” she said, putting up her hands in defense.

  “Amy didn’t do it. I could see her on the trail, and then I left her with everyone else in the group when I took the trail back to find Laura.”

  “There goes another possible suspect. What about the others? You said that Laura was a micromanager and a control freak. Did she bother anyone else?”

  “That’s what I asked Amy. She said they were like a big family. They all had their little tiffs but then worked to fix them. That’s why Laura planned a corporate retreat day. She wanted everyone to have positive experiences to help flush out the negativity that had gotten into their work environment.”

  “So there was conflict in her little business. Are you sure no one else could have done it?”

  “Sheriff Hennessey agreed the killer most likely would have had blood on their hands, if not their clothes. Everyone else was clean, and before you say anything”—I held up my hand—“they were all wearing what they arrived in. At least, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Trust me. You were so worried about everything going on, you could’ve missed something. Do you have any before and after shots?”

  “What?”

  “Group pictures,” she clarified, “to see if anyone changed their clothes.”

  “No one took any pictures once we found Laura. People were in shock, crying, and hugging each other.”

  “Did you take any before pictures?”

  “Yes,” I said and opened my cell phone. “Here’s one of the group that morning.” I zoomed in on the picture so we could see people’s clothes up close. “Huh,” I said.

  “Huh, what?”

  “See that green Windbreaker jacket Rashida is wearing?”

  “The one around her waist?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I don’t remember her having that when we got back to the house.” I looked at Holly. “A Windbreaker could’ve shielded her from arterial spray. Right?”

  “Sure. They repel wind and water. I got mine from the hiker’s superstore.”

  “I wonder what happened to hers.” I studied the photo. No one else had a protective garment.

  “Does she have any issues with Laura?”

  “I don’t know. I can ask Amy.”

  “Or we can ask around about Rashida,” Holly said. “They all must be out of work right now, right?”

  “Don’t they all work at Divine Yoga?” I asked.

  “Yes, but Laura’s business was their main source of income.”

  “That means Laura was the glue that held the company together.” I looked at Holly. “So if it was one of her employees, the killer had to know they were risking their livelihood when they took Laura out.”

  “Maybe it was premeditated.”

  “Why use a corkscrew? That had to have been a weapon of opportunity.”

  “What was a weapon of opportunity?” Aunt Jemma asked as she came into the house through the back door.

  “The corkscrew,” I said. “It’s a tough thing to plan to kill someone with. Why didn’t they use a hunting knife or switchblade?”

  “Oh, good question,” Aunt Jemma said as she took the chair across from the couch. “Are you trying to investigate the murder like I told you to?”

  “Yes,” Holly said.

  “No,” I said at the same time and sent my friend a look, which she promptly ignored.

  “Taylor had coffee with Amy today. Amy told her while everyone who worked for Laura felt like a family, there were times when things were not so hunky-dory.”

  “I figured as much,” Aunt Jemma said. “Some small business owners are crazy protective of their ideas and products. So you think one of her own did the deed?”

  “It feels like a crime of passion.”
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  “Because of the corkscrew?” Aunt Jemma asked. “But even then, it might’ve been easier to pick up a rock and smash her head in than drill a corkscrew into her neck.”

  I pursed my lips. “True.”

  “So was it a crime of passion or a deliberate form of torture?” Holly asked. “When you bash someone’s brains out, it’s quick and messy. But a corkscrew—it seems like that would take planning to find the perfect place to stab it for it to do that kind of damage. I vote for premeditated murder. Maybe even a few turns of the screw just to make sure the deed was done.”

  “Gosh, we’re getting gruesome,” I said.

  “Ladies, the second tour bus is arriving. So why don’t you girls go down to the tasting barn and help Juan and Cristal out, please? It’ll be good to think of something else for a while instead of your problems.”

  We both got up. I slipped my arm through Holly’s and walked out the back door with her. “So do you need any help with the letters for the creditors?”

  She looked at me and smiled. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Sure. That’s what friends are for,” I said.

  “You’re the best,” she said and kissed me on the cheek. “We can get started tonight after dinner.”

  I smiled back. The scent of grapes and loamy earth filled the air as we crunched our way over the gravel path past the wine bar to the tasting barn. It was a warm fall day, and the sun was low over the mountains. The bus had pulled to a stop, and seniors were unloading step by slow step. They laughed and teased each other. Clearly we were their last stop for the evening.

  I had forgotten briefly what it was like to be so carefree.

  Chapter 10

  The next day, I got up at dawn, grabbed a cup of coffee, and took Millie for a walk the length of our driveway to see if the press had moved on. Julio was snoozing near the locked gate.

  The weather was fair and lovely. The scent of fall vines filled the air. The leaves were turning on the grapevines and would soon be shed. Then the workers would mulch the vines by tilling the leaves into the dirt. The grape skins and leftover pulp that were filtered out of the fermented juice would be made into compost to nourish the roots of the vines.

  Millie playfully barked and ran to Julio. “Good morning, miss.” He took off his hat with respect.

  “Hi, Julio,” I said. “How’s guarding going?”

  “Better today. No one tried to sneak in through the grapes.”

  “Seriously? Someone climbed the fence and came up through the vines?”

  “That happened the first day. We had one or two newshounds, but today only two vans remain.”

  I glanced over his shoulder to see that he was right. “Good. I’m turning into an old news item.”

  “Why did they think you killed that lady, anyway?” Julio asked.

  “Someone said I was a person of interest because Millie and I found the body. But I didn’t kill her.”

  “No, miss, you wouldn’t do that. I’ve seen how you can’t stand it when we butcher the chickens for Sunday dinner.”

  “Ugh, poor chickens.” I made a face. “It’s hard to eat anything with a face.”

  “But God put those animals on this earth to nourish his people. You should eat the foods he gave you.”

  “I eat plenty of plants,” I pointed out.

  “And the occasional burger.” He winked at me. “I’ve seen you sneak them.”

  “They are yummy,” I said.

  “Cows have faces,” he pointed out.

  “But they aren’t as sweet as chickens,” I added.

  Millie sat and watched us, her head turning from me to Julio and back as if she were watching a tennis match. Suddenly she jumped up, barked, and rushed by us. I turned to see that one of the news vans had its door open, and a camera guy rolled out, yawning and filming Julio and me in the driveway.

  I turned my back on the camera. “Come on, Millie. Let’s go home. We have a lot to do today. Thanks for your help, Julio,” I said, then walked back up the hill. So this is what it felt like to be a prisoner in your own home.

  My cell phone rang as I walked. “Hello?”

  “Taylor O’Brian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sheriff Hennessey,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Do I need my lawyer?”

  “Do you think you do?”

  “That’s not an answer to my question. So what’s up?”

  “Can you come down to the station?”

  “I have a tour today that starts at ten AM and goes until six PM. I can come in before if that works for you.”

  “It does. I’ll see you at nine?”

  “Sure, but don’t be surprised if the news crews follow me in as I’ve still got a few trucks camped out outside the winery.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  I went into the house, made some oatmeal, and got ready to go into town. First I checked my e-mail to ensure that today’s tour group hadn’t canceled. So far so good. I planned a trip to the Di Rosa Outdoor Sculpture Exhibit. It was an exhibit of Californian art that was located on acres of a local vineyard. I loved the Di Rosa. Inside the buildings was the largest collection of Californian art in the world.

  Today we would simply sip wine and tour the outside collection, then move onto the winery to taste the new Syrah, and finally end up at Aunt Jemma’s for an outdoor dinner. My friend Alison was catering with some classic California picnic food—guacamole and chips with fresh Mexican enchiladas and tacos.

  I had gone against my plan not to mix our businesses. The news crews made it nearly impossible not to use Aunt Jemma’s winery. It was the only place where they couldn’t come to harass me and my guests. Now not only was I hosting the picnic on the grounds, but Aunt Jemma would provide the wines in hope of selling memberships to her wine club.

  Thankfully no one had contacted me looking for Millie. So far she was still mine. As each day passed, I became more relaxed. Before heading out, I poured Millie some kibble for breakfast and gave her fresh water. Then I ran to my van. Perhaps I’d draw the last of the news guys away from the winery.

  I headed out with a wave to Julio as he opened and closed the gates for me, then went to town, where I parked in front of the sheriff’s department. Inside, Deputy Blake was at the reception desk. “Good morning,” I said. “I’m here to see Sheriff Hennessey. He’s waiting for me.”

  “You’re name?”

  “Taylor O’Brian.”

  “Have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  I went to the plastic chairs and sat, waiting for him to call me. There was nothing much to do, so I used my phone to research new tour sites.

  “Miss O’Brian?”

  “Yes?” I looked up to see Sheriff Hennessey sticking his head out of the door between the waiting room and the rest of the department. “Hi, how are you?” I asked as I followed him to an office in the far corner of the building.

  “Thanks for coming in. I have some things to ask you,” he said as he closed the door. “Take a seat.”

  I sat down. “What’s up?”

  “We found a small SD card on Laura’s body.”

  “Okay.”

  “It had your information on it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it had your address, social security number, and bank account details. It also had your friend Holly’s information on it, along with data from fifty other people.”

  “Holly said someone stole her identity, created credit cards in her name, and racked up hundreds of dollars in debt. But how did they get my name?”

  “It seems we found a motive for whoever killed Laura.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She has your identity and Holly’s identity, which she most likely sold.”

  “So you think I killed her to wrench back my identity? That’s crazy. I have identity insurance.”

  “Hold on—I didn’t say anything about you killing anyone. She had your information.
Perhaps she was blackmailing you or someone else on the list.”

  “For what? I’m an open book.” I waved my hands wide to demonstrate my openness.

  “So you had no idea that she had your social security number? Bank account info?”

  “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “Should I be worried?”

  “No,” he said with a slight frown. “I wanted you to know so that you can cancel your accounts and protect yourself.”

  “You wanted to know if I knew she’d stolen my identity,” I pointed out. “You wanted to see my reaction. Well, you got it. I had no idea Laura had anything.”

  He studied me for a moment. His handsome face unnerved me a little, and I crossed my arms to protect myself. If I wasn’t being investigated as a criminal, I might have reversed my thinking on dating. The man’s eyes could captivate.

  “I’d recommend that you contact your financial institutions and your identity-theft company to share that your information has been compromised.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked.

  I got up. “Thanks for the info,” I said and turned to leave, then stopped. “You would tell me if I were still a person of interest, right?”

  “There is one other thing,” he said. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but there is an eyewitness who saw you arguing with Laura the day before the tour.”

  “Arguing? Where?”

  “At the yoga studio,” he said. “They told me it was pretty heated.”

  “Not that heated.” I put my hands on my hips.

  “What was the argument about?”

  “She didn’t like that I was late to class,” I said with a shrug. “She told me she wouldn’t have second thoughts about kicking me out of her yoga class if I was late again.”

  “Sounds like she didn’t care for you much.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “Then why did she hire you to do the tour?”

  “I’m still figuring that out,” I said. “Who was the eyewitness, anyway?”

  “An even better question is, did Laura pay you for the tour? I mean, don’t people prepay for those things?”