A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

  “Maybe he was still in shock from having murdered his wife,” Aunt Jemma suggested. We hit the picnic area, and on cue, Holly came out of the restroom.

  “Well,” she said. “There was definitely ten minutes when I could’ve killed someone and gone to wash up.”

  “So Amy’s not in the clear.” I sighed. “We need to figure out the motivation. Was Amy mad when she found out that Laura was stealing her identity and selling it?”

  “Do we know that Laura was selling it? Perhaps she confronted the identity thief, and they killed her.”

  “How would she have found out about it if one of her staff members was profiting from stealing identities? Amy said they all got hit by the theft before Laura got them insurance.”

  “We need to talk to Amy,” Holly said.

  “We can’t,” I reminded her. “The lawyer won’t let her, remember? She might lose her job.”

  “Just because you can’t doesn’t mean that I can’t,” Holly said. “What if I happen to be going door-to-door, giving out flyers for my next gallery showing? I could talk to her and see what she thinks.”

  “Better yet, we could pose as surveyors and ask her neighbors about how safe they feel in her neighborhood.” Aunt Jemma smiled. “We can talk about the recent rash of identity theft and how it affected them.”

  “That won’t work. I met Amy,” Holly said.

  “But I didn’t. Come on. You can drive me.”

  “Oh, that sounds good,” I said. “Amy doesn’t know you. You should hit some of the neighbors as well so it doesn’t look like you’re targeting her.”

  “We will do a good job,” Holly promised. “All I need is a clipboard and a series of questions.”

  “Great,” I replied. “What’s the harm in finding out more information, right?”

  Chapter 21

  While my friends were out canvassing Amy’s neighborhood, I was online digging into Dan’s sister’s background. According to her LinkedIn page, Ivy Scott was a freelance graphic artist. Her social media page made her look like what my grandmother would have called a barfly. From her pictures, she spent a lot of time at various bars downtown. Most of them in not-so-good areas.

  Her favorite spot seemed to be Billy’s Bar outside of town. I called Holly.

  “How’s Operation Survey going?”

  “So far, so good. Your aunt has learned that two of Amy’s neighbors also had their identity stolen in the last six months.”

  “That’s strange. We should see how many people filed with the police. There has to be someone working on all these complaints.”

  “Oh, good idea. Or better yet, we can have my friend Chelsea McGartland look into it. She’s a freelance reporter for the North San Francisco Chronicle.”

  “Wait—didn’t she want to interview me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I told her no. In fact, Patrick said I shouldn’t give any statements to the press.”

  “Chelsea is a good person,” Holly said. “We’ve been friends since college. I bet she would look into all the identity theft even if you don’t give her an interview.”

  “I’ll want to meet her,” I said.

  “Of course. I’ll set up lunch.”

  “Good. In the meantime, want to go out?”

  “Honey, I’m always ready to go out. Where are we going?”

  “Wear your cowboy boots, your jeans, and a plaid snap-front shirt.”

  “Sounds like cowboy gear. Are we going to a dive bar?”

  “The diviest—Billy’s.”

  “Okay, what got you into the mood for a dive bar?”

  “It happens to be one of the places Dan’s sister, Ivy, hangs out. Maybe she told someone that she was at Quarryhill that night.”

  “Won’t it look suspicious if we go in asking questions?”

  “We’ll arrive late, look great, and chat people up. I’ll buy drinks, and no one but the bartender will remember we were even there.”

  “Oh, you are devious,” Holly said. “I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  “You’ll pick me up?”

  “Yes, honey. We can’t take your van—that’s something people remember.”

  “Right,” I said. “When’s your next gallery showing?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” she said. “I have time for a little fun tonight.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  * * *

  I was surprisingly nervous. I had on my oldest cowboy boots from my college days, skintight jeans, and a plaid Western shirt that snapped up the front. I’d done my hair up in hot rollers so it curled in cascades of waves down my back. Some black winged-tipped eyeliner and a pouty red lip, and I looked sufficiently tarty.

  “I don’t like it,” Aunt Jemma said as I waited for Holly to pick me up.

  “We’ll be safe,” I said. “I checked out Ivy’s pictures. I’m dressed like all the other girls who go to Billy’s. Nothing makes me stand out from the crowd of good-time honeys.”

  “You’re not a good-time honey,” she said. “Leading men on is not a good way to investigate. Besides, what if they recognize you from TV? They had cameras showing you walk in and out of the courthouse.”

  “I was wearing a suit with my hair pulled back and minimal makeup. Besides, the guys at Billy’s won’t care enough about some random girl to put together who I am.”

  “Text me every thirty minutes, or I’m calling the police.”

  “I will,” I said. “Can’t a girl get out of the house and have fun?”

  “Not when she’s in a murder investigation,” Aunt Jemma said.

  “Call your new boyfriend and forget all about Holly and me.”

  “Milo’s not my new boyfriend,” she groused.

  “Yet,” I teased her as Holly pulled up in a convertible. “Bye, Auntie. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I blew Aunt Jemma a kiss and got into the convertible. Holly stepped on it, her wheels sending gravel flying.

  “Wahoo!” she said as we drove out on the highway.

  I grinned and raised my hands up to let the air catch them.

  It was a fun and carefree moment with the wind whipping through my hair. The night smelled of vineyards and warm earth. Stars twinkled in the dark sky. It had been months since Holly and I were out late. Longer since we were out to party. My nerves turned to excitement as we pulled into Billy’s parking lot.

  Holly was wearing a cold shoulder shirt, short skirt, and thigh-high boots. She looked like a million bucks. “What’s say we go do some investigating,” she said as she put her arm through mine and we went to the door. Pounding bass from the speakers filled the air as we opened it. The smell of beer and the sound of peanut shells crunching under our feet gave us that cowboy feel. We went up to the bar.

  The bartender had arms that were ripped, and Holly looked from him to me and winked.

  “What’ll you two ladies have tonight?” he asked.

  “Got any craft beer?” Holly asked.

  “We’ve got craft everything,” he said and leaned forward.

  “Give us your best,” I said.

  He nodded, sending his thick dark hair into his eyes. He pushed it back absently. The man had the bluest eyes any dark-haired boy could ever have and a California tan to match.

  “Wow,” Holly mouthed to me. It was useless to talk since the music was so loud. I turned to face the room and saw four pool tables currently in use, some darts that two couples were arguing over, and no empty spots.

  “These two are on the gentlemen on the right,” the bartender said.

  “Well, hello there,” Holly said and elbowed me. “He looks like your type, Taylor.” The man who’d bought our drinks was tall, dark, and square-jawed. He wore a cowboy hat and tight-fitting jeans. He lifted his beer bottle to salute us. We lifted ours back. It took twenty minutes for him and his blond friend to come over to see us. Another hour until we got a booth where we could sit. I nursed my drink, careful to text Aunt Jemma on time for fear of being embarrassed by the cops.


  “So how come we haven’t seen you girls here before?” Holly’s guy, Matt, asked.

  “We’re not from around here,” Holly said. “Isn’t that right, Daisy?” She winked at me.

  “That’s right, Hanna,” I said. “We’re tourists.”

  “Well, welcome to wine country,” my guy, Adam, said, toasting us with his beer bottle. “Where are you all from?”

  “San Francisco,” I said, which was not a lie altogether.

  “Hey,” Holly said. “Have you ever had your identity stolen?” Okay, so that wasn’t subtle.

  “I’ve heard of it. Why?” Matt asked and took a swig of his beer.

  “I got mine stolen this week,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Did you know that I have to, like, do all this paper work to stop it?”

  “She does,” I said and batted my eyelashes. “She had to cancel all her cards too.”

  “It’s like starting over,” she went on to say.

  “Oh, honey, that’s terrible.”

  “Isn’t it?” she said. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “What happened?” Adam asked.

  “Somehow they got ahold of my name and address and wrote checks all down the five. They hit every big-box store and convenience store for miles.”

  “I bet they were done with you and onto the next by the time you found out,” Matt said.

  Holly nodded. “That’s exactly what the police told me when I called them and demanded they do something about it.”

  “Identity theft is big business,” Matt said. “You got to be careful with them Central Valley folks.”

  “Where did it get stolen?” Adam asked.

  “Sacramento,” Holly said.

  “They don’t have anything like that here, do they?” I asked and looked around.

  “No, no one does that in Sonoma,” Adam said and patted my shoulder. “Is that why you keep texting someone every half an hour? Or do you have a guy somewhere?”

  I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks. “Goodness me, no. No guy. It’s my aunt. She’s at the hotel, and she’s worried about us out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I told her we would be safe enough,” Holly said.

  “But she insisted that she’d send the police out if we missed a text,” I said. Then I excused myself to go to the bathroom. While it was fun to pretend to be good-time girls, it was hard lying, and I felt a little creepy about it. Matt and Adam seemed like nice enough guys. They worked at one of the ranches nearby.

  I went into the stall in the ladies’ room and overheard two women talking as they came into the restroom.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your sister-in-law, Ivy,” a woman said. Her voice was hoarse, as if she smoked heavily.

  “The witch had it coming,” said a surly voice I wasn’t sure I could place. Was this Dan’s sister? “She was so mean to my brother. I’m glad.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, don’t tell the cops I said that.” Ivy laughed. “I’m glad they caught the woman who did it. Now Dan can move on with his life.”

  The sound of running water from the sink filled the air.

  “When’s the trial?”

  “Date’s not set yet,” Ivy said, “but the girl who killed Laura is out on bail. Can you believe that? I don’t think she spent more than a day in jail. She should’ve gotten more jail time, but Patrick Aimes is her lawyer. He’s good.”

  “And good-looking,” the hoarse woman said. “I’d like a piece of that, except dating a lawyer would put a serious crimp in my business.”

  Ivy chuckled. “Good thing Dan never found out about the side business. Too bad I don’t have access to his business records anymore.”

  “It’s okay. You need to lay low for a while until this all blows over,” the hoarse woman said. “We understand. No sense in throwing the baby out with the bathwater.”

  “Right?”

  I waited while they must have be fixing their makeup.

  “You can come back to work for us once the trial is over and the scrutiny is gone.”

  “Are you and Joe going to be okay?”

  “Sure, we have lots of side jobs going on. We can withstand a few months without fresh intel. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “I agree.” I heard water run as they washed up and the rip of paper towels. I waited until the door closed behind them and I was alone in the bathroom before coming out.

  Ivy was here, which meant that if she saw me, she might recognize me. I washed my hands and looked out to ensure she wasn’t going to see me right away. I hurried to our booth. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. We need to go now.” I grabbed Holly’s arm. “Bye, guys.”

  “Wait—” Matt said.

  “Sorry, we’ve got to go.” I pulled Holly out of the booth.

  “But you ladies haven’t finished your drinks,” Adam protested.

  “What’s up?” Holly said as we hustled to the door, but it was too late.

  “Murderer!” Ivy screeched and rushed toward me.

  “Oh,” Holly said and put herself between me and Ivy, pushing me toward the door. “I think you have the wrong person.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t.” Ivy was headlong into making a scene. Everyone was looking, and I pushed through to the outside, where I ran into a woman with long brown hair and kind intelligent eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No worries,” she replied. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

  “I’m trying not to cause a fuss,” I said. The noise from inside grew as someone else stepped outside.

  “Come with me,” she said and pulled me around the side of the building. We hid in the dark as the crowd spilled out.

  “I’d know that murderer anywhere,” Ivy shouted. “Where are you?”

  The woman with me put her finger to her lips, motioning for me to be quiet and stay back. She pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and walked around the building into the fray. “Chelsea McGartland, North San Francisco Chronicle. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I heard Holly say.

  “That woman who murdered my sister-in-law was in here,” Ivy said loudly. “Where is she? Did you see her leave?”

  “I didn’t see anyone leave,” Chelsea said. “She murdered your sister-in-law? Tonight? Here? Do I need to call nine-one-one?”

  “No need to call anyone,” Holly said.

  “She ran out of here,” Ivy said. “She had to be too afraid to face me.”

  “She happens to be innocent,” Holly said.

  “That’s not what the cops think,” Ivy said.

  “I’ve been trying to get an interview with her,” Chelsea said. “I’m sure if I had a chance, I’d be talking to her instead of you.”

  “Fine,” Ivy said. “I swear it was her.”

  “You ladies all right?” I heard Adam’s voice.

  “We’re fine,” Holly said. “It was a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Funny,” Adam said. “She got sick right before this here young lady accused her of murder. She didn’t kill anyone, did she?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Holly said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home.”

  “That’s right. Get out of here,” I heard Ivy say.

  “Hey, now,” Matt said. “Leave the girl alone.”

  “I’ll do what I like,” Ivy said defiantly.

  “I’d love to interview you,” Chelsea said. “Let’s go inside. I’ll buy you a drink, and you can tell me what it’s like to find out your sister-in-law was murdered.”

  “Why don’t you tell her all about how you were there that day?” Holly said.

  “What?” I heard the surprise in Chelsea’s voice, and I peeked around the corner.

  “I was not,” Ivy said and put her hands on her hips. She wore skintight jeans and a bustier. Her facial expression was sour.

  “Oh, you were,” Holly said. “They have a witness who saw you.”

  “Really?” Chelsea was taking notes.
“What’s the name of the witness?”

  Holly closed her mouth as she realized she might have gone too far, giving away one of our clues.

  “I was not there!” Ivy’s voice went up two octaves.

  “Oh? Where were you, then?” Holly asked.

  I bit my lip to keep my mouth quiet. This was a disaster in the making.

  “You don’t need to know where I was,” Ivy said and grabbed a heavy girl beside her. “Come on. Let’s go in. I don’t want to think about these ridiculous accusations.”

  “No more ridiculous than the idea that my friend would murder your sister-in-law,” Holly called to her back.

  “Psst, Holly.” I waved at her. I waited until Holly came around the corner, then I peeked back out to see that everyone but Chelsea was back inside Billy’s. Chelsea was close behind Holly.

  “What were you doing?” I asked Holly.

  “Is it true?” asked Chelsea. “Was she at the scene?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Holly said and put her arm through mine.

  “No, don’t go,” Chelsea said. “I’ve been trying to get an interview from you forever.”

  “I can’t give an interview,” I said. “My lawyer says I can’t speak to anyone.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t,” Holly said. “Meet us at the coffee shop on Main. I’ll text you directions.” She pulled me toward the car, and I got in as Chelsea walked toward her vehicle.

  “Are you nuts?” I asked as Holly pulled out of the gravel parking lot.

  “I think some people would say I’m as crazy as a fox,” Holly said. “Ivy was trying to incite a riot. She needed to be taken down a peg.”

  “You let her know that we know about her being there,” I said. “Now she can come up with an alibi.”

  “Only if someone lies,” Holly said as we pulled into the coffee shop. “I think it’s good for her to know that we have a reporter investigating.”

  “You know I can’t talk to Chelsea,” I said.

  “But I can. Come on,” Holly said. “Let’s get a table.”

  We went inside and got a table by the front windows. Then we ordered lattes and waited for Chelsea.

  “I don’t know if this was the right thing,” I hedged.

  “Having coffee?”