A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

He had the grace to blush. “Ron. When this is over, you can call me Ron.”

  “Only if I’m declared innocent.”

  “Be safe, Taylor.” He left, closing the door behind him.

  “Why? So you can prosecute me for something I didn’t do?” I shouted at his back. I doubt he heard me. I slumped in a chair. How was I going to get out of this one?

  * * *

  Aunt Jemma was blushing and her eyes were sparkling when she returned from the tour.

  “How was it?” I asked.

  “Wonderful,” she said. “See that handsome man over there?” She pointed at a chubby gray-haired guy with a beard. He had twinkling green eyes. Oh, no. Twinkling eyes. Blushing aunt. Hmmm.

  “Yes, what’s his name?”

  “That’s Milo, and he is so sweet.” Aunt Jemma was all aflutter.

  “What does he do for a living?” I asked, concerned. My aunt was a beautiful woman with money, and there were a lot of so-called retired guys in the area looking for a woman of substance to finance their lifestyle.

  “Oh, he’s a consultant in mergers and acquisitions,” she said. “Isn’t that nice?”

  “Very nice,” I said, trying not to squash her joy. “Is he married?”

  “Divorced,” she said. “He’s been single for five years. Why all the questions?”

  “I’m curious,” I said and shrugged.

  “Well, keep your curiosity to yourself, missy,” Aunt Jemma said. “He’s a nice guy, and I’m having fun.”

  “Good. You deserve to have fun,” I said.

  “I’m glad you agree.” She seemed genuinely excited. “Since we’re back, I’m going to go spend some time with Milo.”

  “Of course, go.” I made a shooing motion with my hands. “Have fun.”

  The tour group left quickly, and Milo and Aunt Jemma went into town for coffee. I tried not to worry about her too much. She was a grown woman after all.

  Instead, I went inside the tasting room and pulled up my schedule of tours on my laptop. How was I supposed to get my business going when I couldn’t do anything for the next few months, if not years if I end up going to prison for this crime I didn’t commit? I mean, innocent people got convicted all the time, right? There was nothing for it. I was going to have to close my business within the first month of opening it.

  “Hey, there,” my friend Tim said as he entered the tasting room. Tim owned a winery south of us. He often popped in when he was in the area scouting out the competition.

  “What brings you by?” I asked.

  “I saw the press outside when I drove by and thought I’d come check on you,” he said. Tim was a tall guy with a slender build and blond hair. “Why do you look so gloomy? There isn’t gloom in the wine business. Only happiness.”

  “I think my business is over before it starts,” I said. “Ever since I was arrested, I can’t take any tours. The insurance is too high. At least I got my van back.”

  “I always did love that VW van you have. I’m surprised you were able to find one after all these years, and a working one at that.”

  “Aunt Jemma knew someone who was storing it in their barn,” I said.

  “Good old Aunt Jemma,” he said and went behind the bar to grab a cab and a bottle opener. “Let’s drink to her.”

  “Fine,” I said and went to sit with him. He put down two glasses and poured. I’d started a fire in the wine-tasting barn’s fireplace. The doors were open, revealing a clear star-filled night.

  “Here’s to us,” he said. “The best people we know.”

  I clinked his glass and took a sip of really good wine. Syrah was one of the darkest full-bodied red wines. Aunt Jemma’s wine held dark fruit flavors of sweet blueberry, licorice, and chocolate that ended with a spicy peppery note in the aftertaste. I loved the darker wines for their antioxidants and full flavors. Millie came over and jumped on me, begging for a scratch behind the ear.

  “So how’s everything? I mean, besides all the doom and gloom.”

  “Well, Aunt Jemma might have a new boyfriend.”

  “Really?”

  “She met him on my tour group today. She volunteered to take the group around for me. My last tour, and she finds a boyfriend.”

  “Meanwhile, your love life . . . ?”

  “Is what it has been since I moved here,” I smiled at him. “Salute.” I toasted him with my glass and sipped again. “No one is going to want to date a murder suspect.”

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Tim said, then leaned forward. “So tell me, did you do it?”

  “No, I barely knew her. Whoever killed her had a lot of rage.”

  “What’s it like in jail? Did they make you wear an orange jumpsuit?”

  “First of all, it’s nothing like television,” I said. “Second, yes, I did have to wear the jumpsuit until the hearing.”

  “How was it?”

  “Scratchy.”

  He laughed and leaned closer. “Tell me, did you have to make friends with the biggest girl to stay safe? Did anyone hurt you? Are they all like rabid dogs like they show on television?”

  “No, no, and no,” I said and laughed at his antics. “I was processed and went in front of the judge for a bail hearing within twenty-four hours. There was no time to make friends. Besides, I was in a cell by myself.”

  “Too bad,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. “I would love to hear your prison stories.”

  “Stop it,” I said and smacked his arms. “It’s not funny.”

  “But now you’re free.”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Aunt Jemma put up a million dollars in bail money, and I can’t run my business because insurance won’t cover the liability of having a murder suspect for a tour guide.”

  “Darn, no juicy gossip.”

  “No juicy gossip,” I said. “How are you? What’s up in your love life?”

  “I’ve been stirring the vats every twelve hours, so there is no love life,” he said and sipped his wine. “You know how much time wine making takes in the fall. You have to punch the vats every six hours. I do have a real nice batch of zinfandel going this year. I mixed two parts of my grapes and one part of bought grapes from La Montague. The sugars are good. It should be amazing.”

  “It’s all chemistry to me.” I wrinkled my nose. “Not my favorite subject.”

  “That’s why you don’t have a love life.”

  I smacked his arm. He chuckled.

  “So who do you think really did it?” he asked.

  “Ugh, I’ve hashed it over a million times and have no proof of who it could be. Now I can’t really investigate because Dan’s lawyer is against me talking to anyone else who was there.”

  “That’s awful,” Tim said.

  “Give me the town gossip. What are they saying about me?”

  “That you did the world a favor and got rid of a horrendous person.”

  “They are not,” I said, horrified.

  “No, that’s me,” he teased. “Truth is, everyone is shocked that you were arraigned. The word is that the mayor is being pressured to get this under control quickly. The tourists are our livelihood, and no one wants to have to a killer on the loose. I’m sure they’re jumping the gun due to political reasons.”

  “Well, while they’re doing that, the real killer is going free.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes, keep your eyes and ears open,” I said. “You’re tuned into the local gossip. Let me know if anything seems strange.”

  “You mean if I hear anything about Laura, Dan, or the people who were there?”

  “Yes, or the people who weren’t. What do you know about Dan’s sister?”

  “Ivy?” Tim said. “She is as big a force as Laura was. I guess Dan married what he knew. You know, he was one of those quiet guys who picks the mean girl and champions her.”

  “Did Ivy like Laura?”

  “Rumor is that Ivy hated Laura. She thought she was taking advantage of her brother’s
good nature. Dan put his career on hold to support Laura and her yoga business. Did you know that before he met Laura, he was a neuroscientist with a staunch reputation for doing great work in his field? But when he got with Laura, he went all metaphysical and started studying energy and such. When he started marketing the metaphysical technology, he was denounced by his community.”

  “Seriously? I thought he was a new-age marketing guru.”

  “It’s the new age angle that got him denounced as a quack,” Tim said. “It was Laura’s idea to put her yoga business together with his brain-wave techniques. It made Dan the laughingstock of his community.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  Tim shrugged. “Word is that Dan didn’t mind at all. Laura and he were touting his new listening device. The sound was supposed to solve depression and anxiety, help you stay focused and meet your goals, and increase energy.”

  “Sounds like meditation.”

  “In a way,” Tim said. “Not that I’m into all that. The rumor mill has been all abuzz since Dan broke away from the scientific community and entered Laura’s metaphysical world. When it first happened, everyone was sure Ivy was going to pop her cork. She was spreading rumors about Laura and trying to discredit her instead of Dan.”

  “So she had motive to kill Laura.”

  “But she wasn’t there, was she?”

  “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I can’t prove she was there.”

  “That stinks.”

  “I know, right?” I sighed. “Listen, I can’t investigate, but maybe you can. Can you look into Ivy’s whereabouts the day Laura was killed? I mean, Quarryhill is twenty-five acres. She could have parked somewhere nearby and waited on the property for an opportunity to get Laura alone.”

  “But how would she get your corkscrew?”

  “I left it in the van,” I said. “I remember that when I got back after the hike, the passenger’s side door on my van was unlocked. She could have gotten in and stolen the corkscrew.”

  “Did she?” His eyes were wide.

  “I don’t know if she did or not. I thought if I took it to the police, the CSI people could tell.”

  “And could they?”

  “No,” I said with a small pout. “The results were inconclusive. But, unlocked or locked, she could’ve somehow gotten in and searched the van for a weapon and then gone up the end of the hiking route and gotten Laura alone. After all, Laura was marching ahead of everyone else at the time of her disappearance.”

  “Okay, look, if there is proof Ivy was there, I’ll find it. Meanwhile, you sit tight and keep yourself safe. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said and gave him a hug. “You’re the best.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now let’s have another drink.”

  As if wine could make it all go away.

  Chapter 17

  “Hey, I’m having a gallery showing tonight,” Holly said on the phone. “Why don’t you stop moping on the farm and come out. It might do you some good.”

  “Who’s the artist?”

  “Anna Fran,” Holly said. “She is a modern plein air artist. She has some really gorgeous landscapes of the area. I think tourists will love them and buy them as souvenirs.”

  “Isn’t that sort of commercial for you?”

  Holly usually showcased the more bizarre art that came out of San Francisco and northern California. She liked to think of her gallery as one that specialized in edgy pieces.

  “Her mother is a friend of my mother’s,” Holly said. “They got together and pushed this.”

  “Oh, no,” I said in sympathy. Holly’s mother, Cookie, was such a wonder. When she got an idea into her head, there was no getting it out. The best way out was like a whirlpool. Simply let go and let her suck you in, knowing that you’ll come out the other side a little wiser for the journey.

  “It’s okay. The art is really good,” Holly said. “I like Anna. You’ll like her too. Come on. I’m serving your aunt’s wine and some really great local cheeses.”

  I opened the door to let Millie out. It was dark, but there was a light on in the back. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m afraid everyone will be talking about me and not the art. I mean, it’s not every day you meet or know a suspected murderer.”

  “Stop it,” Holly said. “We all know you didn’t do this.”

  “Except for the police and the prosecutors.”

  “Come out,” Holly said while I watched Millie sniff around. “If nothing else, news of you being there will draw a crowd, and Cookie”—Holly always called her mom Cookie—“and Anna’s mom will see that I did all I could to showcase Anna’s art.”

  “Oh, I see. You want to use me.”

  “Did I say that?” Holly sounded falsely innocent.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there by eight.”

  “Yay!” Holly hung up as Millie barked and ran away.

  “Millie,” I called. “Millie, come back here.” No answer. Her bark was farther away. Darn it. I slipped on a pair of boots and grabbed a flashlight. The winery was big. There were a lot of places to lose a puppy. “Millie!” I called and tromped out into the darkness. The moon wasn’t out, and the stars shone in the clear sky. There was a fogbank rolling in over the mountains. The ocean was a mere twenty miles away.

  “Millie,” I called and whistled. “Come here, girl.”

  There was a happy excited bark in the distance. She was moving away from the road and to the right of the house. There were neighbors in that direction, but they were at least a mile away. What would cause her to run out here? A rabbit, I suspected. Unfortunately, rabbits were also prey for local coyotes and mountain lions. Millie was a puppy. Any one of those big predators could do away with her.

  Her barking was getting closer. I came around the corner of the vines to see Millie eating out of the hands of a strange man. It suddenly occurred to me that I was alone outside. A shiver ran down my back.

  “Who are you, and what are you feeding my dog?” I demanded, wishing I had a gun or a stick or something. I didn’t suppose that I would have known what to do if it were a mountain lion or coyote that had drawn Millie’s attention. In fact, right now I felt pretty silly for having gone after her with nothing but a flashlight in my hand. At best I could blind him.

  The man raised his hand to protect his eyes. I could see that he wore an old corduroy coat that had been patched. He wore jeans and boots and had shaggy hair. “I said, who are you, and what are you feeding my dog?”

  “This here’s my dog,” he said, his voice gruff. “Not yer dog.”

  “Millie, come,” I demanded. But she simply sat down at the feet of the man and wagged her tail at me.

  “So ya named her Millie,” he said, “after my best girl.” He stood up, and I recognized him from the soup kitchen.

  “Jack Henry? How? Why are you here? What are you doing?”

  “Just my usual,” he said. “I’ve been wandering these parts for my entire life.”

  “Did you abandon Millie in my vineyard?”

  “I didn’t abandon her. She’s free to come and go as she pleases, like me.”

  “I see,” I said. I didn’t step closer. I was acutely aware of the danger of being alone in the middle of nowhere with a man I hardly knew. Sure, Jasper had introduced us, but that was before someone had thrown a rock into Aunt Jemma’s window. “Did you have her microchipped?” It seemed weird that a wanderer would microchip a puppy.

  “Got her that way,” he said. “The folks who gave her to me said the pet store did it in case she got lost.”

  “Well, she did get lost, and we couldn’t get ahold of anyone to return her,” I said. “So I adopted her.”

  “She was never lost,” he argued. “I knowed where she was the whole time. She asked if it was okay to stay with ya, and I said sure.”

  I looked down at Millie. “She asked to stay with me?”

  “She did,” he said. He looked me up and down. “She likes the vineyard. She
likes you. You better treat her right, or I’ll be taking her back.”

  “I’ll treat her right,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “Oh, one more thing.” He reached into a bag he carried. I stepped back out of reflex. “It won’t hurt ya.” He pulled a jacket out of his bag. “I do some general gardening work for Quarryhill. I found this jacket half buried near the waterfall. I figured since you took people out to tour the place, you might know who it belongs to.”

  “What? Why are you giving this to me?” I asked, suddenly feeling confused.

  “I know a lot of what happens around here,” he said. “I’m always around. Ain’t got no TV or nothing to distract me from what’s going on in real life.” He shook the jacket at me. “I think you need this. Are ya going to take this, or what?”

  “This is the jacket from Quarryhill?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you take it to the police?”

  “I don’t like police. Do you want it or not?”

  “Thank you,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a tissue, then carefully took the jacket from him so that I wouldn’t get my prints on it.

  “I see what ya done there,” he said. “Smart. Now I’m gonna say my good-byes to Millie here. You take good care of her and know I’m watching to see that you do.” He bent down and patted Millie on the head. She licked his face, and then he stood. “Good night, now.” Jack Henry disappeared into the darkness.

  I stood still for a moment and tried to put together what happened. Jack Henry Stokes had given me not only his dog but a piece of evidence that could clear my name in this murder. I juggled the jacket and the flashlight to pull out my cell phone.

  “Sheriff Hennessey. Leave a message at the beep.”

  “Hello, Sheriff, this is Taylor O’Brian. I have what might be a crucial piece of evidence from the crime scene. I think you need to come collect it.” I hung up, and then I dialed the number I probably should’ve dialed first.

  “This is Patrick.”

  “Hi, it’s Taylor.”

  “What’s going on, Taylor?”

  “I had a run-in with a guy called Jack Henry Stokes.”

  “I know Jack Henry,” Patrick said. “Where are you?”