A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

“No,” he said and sounded firm. “No, some new evidence has been brought to light, and you are officially named a person on interest in Laura’s murder.”

  “What? No, I didn’t do anything.”

  “They are having a warrant issued for your arrest,” Patrick said. “I haven’t read it yet, but I think we should head this off at the beginning and have you turn yourself in.”

  “Turn myself in? For what?”

  “Once the warrant is issued, they can take you into custody. I was given a heads-up so that you can walk in on your own.”

  “Walk in on my own?”

  “That way they won’t make a scene and cuff you in public,” Patrick said. “I told them we would come right down. I’m getting dressed now. I suggest you do the same. I’ll pick you up at your aunt’s house in twenty minutes. I want to get ahead of this before the press wakes up. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said and hung up. I stared at my closet door for a moment. What the heck do you wear to get arrested? I settled on a blue blouse and dark wash jeans. I hoped blue showed I was trustworthy. I let Millie into Aunt Jemma’s place, and she immediately got my aunt out of bed.

  “What are you doing here?” Aunt Jemma asked as she sat up and rubbed Millie’s ears.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I leave her with you,” I said as I leaned against her doorjamb. “I got a call from Patrick.”

  “Oh, no. What’s going on?” She got up and pulled on a long kimono-type dressing gown. It covered her floor-length nightgown made of pale-blue brushed cotton. Her hair was pulled back.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean for you to get up,” I said and put out my hand.

  “I was awake anyway,” she said. “Let’s make coffee while you tell me what is going on.”

  “Right,” I said and followed her to the kitchen. “It seems there is a warrant out for my arrest.”

  “Oh, my goodness! No!” She stopped in her tracks and came around to hug me. “What are you going to do?”

  “Patrick is on his way here. He said it was best if I came in voluntarily. It helps build my innocence.” I gave her a quick hug and checked my phone. “He should be here right now. Please watch Millie for me. I’ll let you know the minute I know anything.”

  “Okay,” Aunt Jemma said and wrung her hands while I stepped to the front door.

  “It will be okay,” I said and gave her another quick hug. “Try not to worry.”

  “All I can do is worry,” she said. “Please keep me posted.”

  “I will,” I promised and went outside to find Patrick pulling up in his car.

  Ten minutes later, we turned into the sheriff’s station parking lot. My hands were cold as I clutched them tight.

  “I told you not to speak to anyone about the case when I wasn’t present,” Patrick chided me as we entered the building.

  “Is this because I was talking to people?” I asked. “It shouldn’t be. I didn’t say anything. I was simply asking questions about the other members of the tour,” I said. “It should have in no way given anyone a reason to declare me a person of interest. In fact, someone else should be arrested for throwing a rock through my window.”

  “What did you ask? What did you tell them? Wait, don’t answer. I don’t want to know. Let’s go inside and see the judge.”

  “I’ve got to see a judge?”

  “It’s part of being processed, Taylor.”

  “What am I being charged for?” I asked.

  “Taylor O’Brian, come with me for processing,” a female officer with the name tag “Wolfe” said.

  “Patrick, what am I being charged with?”

  “Don’t worry. As soon as the judge signs the warrant, I’ll get a copy. We’ll know for sure where to go from there,” Patrick said. He looked so attractive in his high-end charcoal suit. But right now his handsome face was marred with concern.

  “This way,” the officer said. She took my mug shots and filled out paper work. They already had my fingerprints and DNA sample from the time I came in and offered them. The rest—well, I got a nice orange jumpsuit when they took all of my possessions.

  “When will I see my lawyer?”

  “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll put you in a holding cell until your lawyer calls for you, and then you see the judge.”

  “None of this makes any sense,” I said.

  She didn’t seem to care—it was as if she’d heard a thousand pleas. She stuffed me in a small room with a chair and a table, cameras, and a two-way mirror so people I couldn’t see would be able to watch me like they did on television. I sat down and hugged my stomach and studied the floor. What happened? Last night, I was having dinner with my friends. Now I was sitting in the sheriff’s office uncertain of my future.

  Hours later, the door opened, and Patrick came in. “They’re charging you with manslaughter,” he said, his tone serious. “I want you to plead not guilty.”

  “I am not guilty.”

  “Your Aunt Jemma will post whatever bail the judge sets for you. I’ll argue that you’re not a flight risk, and the judge shouldn’t ask for anything too crazy.”

  I tugged at my hair. “I don’t understand. What evidence do they have that’s strong enough to arrest me? I didn’t do anything.”

  “It seems a witness has come forward.”

  “A witness? Who?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find out who. But for now, I know that the witness claims to have seen and heard you arguing with Laura earlier on the trail.”

  “That’s a lie! We only talked about her wanting to mentor my business. I told her I wasn’t interested, and she left. If I argued with anyone that day, it was Dan because he was pressuring me to try out their marketing class. I turned him down because he was insulting. But the other ladies should be able to confirm that Laura wasn’t even present for that conversation.” I sighed. “That’s not enough to charge me with manslaughter.”

  “The witness claims they saw you throw Laura down the hill.”

  “That witness is making this up,” I said.

  “It was enough to get probable cause.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You were covered in Laura’s blood.”

  “I tried to help her, and Dan was covered in her blood too.”

  “It was your corkscrew.”

  “This is nuts.”

  “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

  “I want to see Sheriff Hennessey.”

  “No,” Patrick said firmly. “As your lawyer, I’m telling you not to say a word to the sheriff from here on out.”

  “But—”

  “No.” Patrick was firm. “Now let’s go over what’ll happen in court tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? I have to spend the night in jail?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Patrick said, “but the good news is that I got you the earliest available time in court.”

  “Great. I have to stay in this orange jumpsuit?”

  “Taylor, focus. They’re charging you with manslaughter because they can’t prove premeditation.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “We can deal with manslaughter. The repercussions are not as big as murder one.”

  “So they’re saying I accidentally killed Laura and then threw her down the cliff?”

  “It’s better than the alternative.”

  “But I didn’t do it.”

  “And we’ll get our day in court to prove it. Now let’s go talk about how to look and when to speak.”

  * * *

  It was the worst twenty-four hours of my life. At least I had a cell alone.

  Finally, they gave me breakfast and brought me a suit to wear to court. Being handcuffed and walked to court was humiliating. At least Aunt Jemma and Holly were there when I entered the courtroom. They sent me a thumbs-up and a smile.

  My heart raced when the charges were read. It was terrifying to think I could actually go to prison for years for a murder I didn’t commit.

  “How do you pled?” T
he judge asked.

  “Not guilty,” I said. It was all I was allowed to say, according to Patrick. It was hard not to shout out to the court that they had the wrong person. That I’d never dreamed of hurting anyone. How could an innocent person be in this situation?

  “Trust me,” Patrick had said. Fine. I had to trust that Patrick knew more than I did. After all, he was a trial attorney, and I had never before set foot in a courtroom.

  “The prosecution would like to recommend that bail be set at one million dollars,” the district attorney said, and my heart dropped to my feet. Who had that kind of money?

  “Your honor, my client has never been accused of a crime before. She is not a flight risk. Bail should be set at one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Your Honor, the charge is manslaughter.”

  “Not murder one,” Patrick pointed out. “She is not a danger to the community.”

  The judge slammed down his gavel. “Okay, gentlemen, I’ve heard enough. Since Miss O’Brian only recently moved to Sonoma, she is—in the court’s opinion—more of a flight risk. Bail is set at one million dollars.”

  “But I grew up here,” I said.

  Patrick shushed me and I crumpled in my seat. That was a lot of money. How was I going to raise it? We all stood as the judge left the courtroom.

  “Don’t worry,” Patrick said. “Your Aunt Jemma can use the winery as collateral. You’ll be free in a matter of hours.”

  I looked at my aunt while the bailiff handcuffed my hands behind me and put his arm through mine to guide me out.

  “I love you,” Aunt Jemma said.

  Holly stood beside Aunt Jemma, her expression stricken.

  My gaze went to the other side of the courtroom. Dan and his sister stood there, angry and shooting daggers at me with their gazes. The bailiff took me back through the crowded hallways. I could feel the heat of embarrassment rush over my face as I was dragged back into a holding cell. The cuffs were removed, and I was left in silence to ponder my fate.

  Someone was framing me. Why? Who was the witness who claimed to see me do something I didn’t? Why would they say such a thing?

  How in the world would I get out of this mess?

  * * *

  “I have to cancel all my tours,” I said with a moan. I was finally back at Aunt Jemma’s house. My cell phone had to be turned off because of the constant calls from the press for interviews. I used Aunt Jemma’s phone to call my insurance company after I had gotten an e-mail notification of cancelation of policy. “The insurance company won’t insure me since I’ve been charged.”

  “I could do the tours for you,” Holly offered.

  “I still couldn’t get the proper insurance,” I said. “Besides, you have enough on your plate between trying to regain your identity and the art gallery.”

  “I could do them,” Aunt Jemma said. “It could be fun.”

  “I really don’t think the insurance would cover you,” I said. “I’m going to have to shut down before I even really get started.”

  “Let me do them,” Aunt Jemma said. “I’ve got my own insurance for the vineyard. Plus, Millie can help me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure.”

  I caved. “Then let’s try one and see what you think. Tomorrow is a small writer’s group that wants a tour of Cornerstone Gardens and then to catch wine tastings at two of the nearby wineries. They will end up with dinner at a local diner—and wine, of course.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I’ll organize dinner if you handle the tour.”

  “I wish I could help,” Holly said.

  “We need to figure out who really killed Laura,” I said.

  “I thought Patrick told you to stay out of it.”

  “My entire life is on the line,” I said. “There’s no way I can stay out of it. We have to find out who the witness is. Someone is lying.”

  “Oh, I have a friend in the county court system. Maybe she can find out for me.”

  “Perfect!” I was starting to have a little hope that I could keep my business and restore my life. “Did you see Dan and his sister in the courtroom? They were so angry with me. I wonder if they know the witness who is framing me.”

  “Did Patrick find out who it is yet?”

  “No, the DA said they are processing all the evidence and will get us our copy in due time.”

  “We need to find out who the witness is and why they seem to think you did this,” Aunt Jemma said. “I’m guessing Dan and his sister know something about it.”

  “I’m on it,” Holly said. “I’ll do a little door-to-door soliciting at Dan’s and see what I can find out.”

  “Oh, gosh no,” I said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for hampering a murder investigation. My being out on bail is bad enough.”

  “Amy would know,” Aunt Jemma piped up. “Don’t you think?”

  “You know what? She might,” I said and gave Amy a quick call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Amy, it’s Taylor.”

  “This isn’t your usual number.”

  “I’m calling from my aunt’s home phone. I had to turn off my cell phone. I wanted to ask you—”

  “I can’t talk right now,” she interrupted me.

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m not allowed to talk to you until after your trial.”

  “But—”

  “Dan hired a lawyer, and the lawyer said that I’m not supposed to talk about that day, and neither is anyone else who works for Dan.”

  “But—”

  “Good-bye, Taylor.” She hung up. I stared at the phone.

  “What?” Aunt Jemma asked.

  “Amy said Dan hired a lawyer and doesn’t want any of his employees to talk to me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Darn. How do I investigate when no one will tell me what they know?”

  “We’ll have to get sneaky,” Holly said.

  “Oh, right, I can’t talk to her, but maybe you can?”

  “My guess is that they have all been advised not talk to anyone about it,” Aunt Jemma said. “Sorry, kiddo, looks like your investigating days are over.”

  “No!” I said. “No, no, no. I’m not going to prison for something I didn’t do.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. We won’t let that happen.”

  “I certainly hope not.” How was I going to investigate when no one would talk to me?

  Chapter 16

  “You know I didn’t do this, right?” I said to Sheriff Hennessey the next morning. He had come out with backup to take care of the traffic and bring my van back from processing.

  Since my plea, reporters had returned in droves to squeeze back into the small space at the mouth of the winery. This time, they were more aggressive. It was harder for Juan and Julio to keep them out.

  Aunt Jemma had called the police to evict the reporters who didn’t respect the winery’s boundaries.

  “I can’t comment,” Sheriff Hennessey said. “I only came out to bring back your van and ensure you were safe.”

  “What did you find on my van?”

  “There was a partial print, but ultimately there wasn’t anything to use in the case. That’s why I returned it. I see the press is back. Would you like us to leave a police presence in the vicinity?”

  “That would be perfect.”

  “I don’t want you to think we’re holding you hostage.”

  “But you are,” I said. “I can’t do my job. I can’t talk to anyone to investigate what really happened. I’m stuck here with nothing to do but sweat. I hate having my hands tied.”

  “My hands are tied as well. The DA is convinced that you are the strongest suspect,” he said. “Come on, Taylor, you know the wheels of justice are already set in motion.”

  “You are the law. Figure out who the real killer is, because it’s not me,” I insisted. “What about the three yoga ladies? Did you ask Rashida what happened to the jacket she was w
earing at the beginning of the day? Did you ask them about how they were collecting Laura’s students for their own? Did you know that Laura was cutting their pay and charging them more for their classes? It seems to me that their motive, means, and opportunity are stronger than mine.”

  “They all have alibis.”

  “Yes, each other,” I pointed out. “What if all three of them did it, and they’re each other’s alibis? The only thing I haven’t figured out is why they would frame me for the deed. I mean, they didn’t even know me. Was I the closest person?”

  “There’s no evidence that all three did it, Taylor,” he said dryly.

  “What about the missing Windbreaker?”

  “I can ask about the jacket.”

  “You can?”

  “I will,” he said. “I’ll look into Laura’s pay cuts as well, but it doesn’t mean anything. You’re grasping at straws.”

  “You’re grasping at straws too. By arresting me, you’re letting the real killer get away with murder.”

  “Taylor . . .”

  “What about the SD card with all the identity information on it? What if someone was angry because Laura was selling his or her identity? Sally claimed she had the card because of her computer failure, but Amy said that Laura would never be so careless with customers’ data that way. Maybe that’s suspicious too! Did you know that everyone in her organization had their identities stolen at some point over the last year? You need to look into that.”

  “Taylor . . .”

  “What?”

  “I am looking into things.”

  “Then why have me arrested? Why put me through booking and a hearing?”

  “Because we have an eyewitness.”

  “Who is lying,” I said. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “I think you’re the one not listening. Look, we’ll have hourly patrols to ensure that the press and anyone else you don’t want stays away from your property.”

  “Don’t you think that’ll keep out the wine tasters Aunt Jemma depends on?”

  “No,” he said plainly and stepped to the door.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “What?”

  “What’s your first name?”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I just want to know,” I said with a shrug. “You know mine.”