Pressed to Death

by Kirsten Weiss

  “Huh.” Bringing up my brother was a cheap attempt to divert me. There was more to this story.

  “He wasn’t clear on what the promotion was, exactly,” she said, “but I’m sure we’ll know soon.”

  “No doubt.” I folded my arms over my chest.

  Dieter slung a two-by-four over his shoulder. “What’s with the lemon bars?”

  “They’re addictive,” I said.

  “I have some in the kitchen,” my mother said. “Would you like some?”

  “I wouldn’t start if I were you,” I said. “Highly addictive.”

  His gaze ping-ponged between the two of us. He shifted his weight. “Um, maybe later, Mrs. Kosloski. So how’s the investigation going, Mad?” he asked, trying to look disinterested.

  “You’ll have to wait and see, just like all the other bettors.” I lowered my head and stared at my mother.

  “I don’t actually bet,” Dieter said. “I simply facilitate—”

  “Whatever.” I flapped my hand at him. “I’m off to crime-solve.”

  I stomped to my truck. Maybe I shouldn’t have tackled my mother in front of Dieter.

  Meh, she wouldn’t have come clean even if we’d talked in private.

  Levering myself into the cab of my truck, I slammed the door. A light breeze wafted through the open window, rustling the oak branches above me. I leaned my head against the rest. I was getting closer, but I still had zero proof to back up my suspicions.

  There was one stop I hadn’t made, and even though my stomach fluttered with nerves, I was looking forward to it. I drove into town and glided along San Benedetto Avenue. Parking on the street, I hopped out and fed the meter.

  Green-and-white-striped awnings fluttered above the pastry-filled windows of Sugar Hall Bakery. I walked inside, my skin shivering in the air conditioning. The scents of baking flour, sugar, and butter tangled in the cool air. Heaven.

  Like my museum, the bakery had a checkerboard floor. Unlike my museum, their glass cases were filled with a dizzying array of pastries.

  I stepped up to the gleaming counter. An aproned man with salt-and-pepper hair dealt change to a plump elderly woman. She lifted a white box from the counter and tottered off.

  He adjusted his paper hat. “Can I help you?” he asked in a Slavic-sounding accent.

  “I hear you’ve got fantastic lemon bars.”

  He grinned, showing off a gold tooth. “The best in San Benedetto. How many would you like?”

  “A dozen?” I could hardly grease the wheels by ordering just one bar.

  I followed him along the counter to the lemon bars, gold and sugar-dusted and perfectly square. Those looked like Jocelyn’s all right. “My friend, Jocelyn, raved about them,” I said, throwing a note of what I hoped was sadness into my voice.

  “Mrs. Paganini was one of our best clients.” He shook his head, loading lemon bars into the white bakery box. “Tragedy. A real tragedy.”

  “Had you seen her recently?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I was at her house the night she died, and she had some lemon squares on the coffee table. I thought—”

  “YOU!” He snapped the lid of the box in place and glared at me across the counter.

  “Me?”

  “You are the woman who is trying to solve the crime. I tell you nothing!”

  “But why?”

  “I make bet with Dieter. No help! Take your lemon bars and go!” He stomped to the register and rang me up, punching the buttons.

  Dieter and his stupid bet! I gripped my wallet, clutching it to my chest and feeling like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. (That happened a lot when I was growing up.)

  Gulping, I paid and scuttled back to my truck with the lemon bars. The baker hadn’t confirmed Jocelyn had bought the bars the day of her death. But she had been a customer, and these looked like the same bars. Ladies Aid was off the hook.

  Sitting in the truck, I found Elthia’s phone number in my wallet, dialed.

  “Hello?” she asked, her tone cautious.

  “Elthia, this is Maddie Kosloski.”

  “Oh! What … What do you want?”

  “I’d like to meet.”

  “I’m super busy right now.”

  “We can do it later, if it’s more convenient.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Well, it had been worth a shot. “You told me Leo had once threatened Romeo.”

  “I don’t remember saying anything of the sort.”

  “Well, you did. Now, what exactly did Leo threaten Romeo with? And please think carefully before answering. It’s important.”

  She hesitated. “I may have only thought Leo threatened Romeo. You know they had a tense relationship.”

  “Leo is a teenager whose father left his mother and married another woman. Of course he had issues. But that’s a long way from a real threat.”

  “I don’t know why you’re defending him. He’s an angry young man who happens to benefit from the deaths of both his father and Jocelyn. If he looks guilty, don’t blame me.” She hung up.

  Elthia was lying. I thought I knew why.

  twenty-three

  A family knocked down pins at the Wok and Bowl. I watched from the far side of the bowling alley, turning the cooling coffee mug in my hands. The AC was up higher than I liked, and I shivered in my tank top. Sitting in the red faux-leather booth, I pulled my museum hoodie from my messenger bag.

  I glanced at my watch for the third time, comparing it to the ’50s-style diner clock above the alleys. My watch wasn’t wrong. Mason was late. Only by fifteen minutes, but it wasn’t like him. When it came to punctuality, the military had left an impression on Mason.

  He strode into the bowling alley five minutes later and looked around. He wore his usual jeans and tight T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. Catching my eye, he waved and jogged down the steps to my booth, smiling.

  He kissed me on the cheek, slid into the seat across from me, and raked his hand through his blond mane. “Sorry, Maddie. I was at the school with Jordan and his mother. We’re trying to enroll him, but the soonest they can take him is after the December break.”

  And suddenly I felt I was cheating with a married man. That wasn’t me. It never would be. I would never be the other woman, the one who broke up a family. “What’s Jordan going to do in the meantime?” I asked, stalling.

  “Anabelle’s going to homeschool him as best she can to make sure he’s caught up when he starts.”

  A waitress, poodle skirt swirling, appeared at our table.

  “I’d like a cup of coffee, please,” he said.

  She left, and he eased back in his seat. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling.

  “You’ve been busy,” I hedged, pushing my hair out of my face. I’d never expected this conversation, and felt like I was tiptoeing barefoot through broken glass.

  “So have you.” Reaching across the table, he took my hand. “How’s the haunted house going?”

  “I have to take back the grape press. They say it’s too haunted.” Just say it, Maddie. Just say it!

  He grinned. “Too haunted? What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure. Mason, I think we should take a break.”

  He withdrew his hand, his expression stilling. “A break?”

  “You’re dealing with a lot right now, and your ex-girlfriend is living with you.” My throat tightened. This was the right decision. But I was having a hard time breathing.

  “She’s not staying with me forever,” he said. “Just until she can get back on her feet.”

  “Anabelle wasn’t able to find a job after her husband died and ended up on the street. I imagine it will take a little time for her to find one here.”
<
br />   “Sure, maybe a few months. It’s been hard for her. She was a stay-at-home mom.”

  A few months! I took a slow, steadying breath. “I can’t even imagine how hard it’s been for her. She’s lucky to have you.”

  “If this is about the last week—”

  “It is, and it isn’t. You’ve left me in limbo.”

  He began to speak, and I held up my hand.

  “I get it,” I said. “And it’s not all your fault. I could have tried harder to track you down. And the situation would have thrown anyone for a loop. I know you’re doing your best to make things right. But I haven’t handled the ambiguity well, and I don’t think I’m going to start handling it well any time soon. For both our sakes, I need to step away. That will give you and Anabelle time to figure things out, and I won’t be trapped in relationship purgatory.”

  His eyes darkened. “Is that how you feel? Trapped?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. But do you really feel like things are the same between us?”

  The waitress brought his coffee and winked. “Here you go, sir.” She swished away.

  Mason looked after her, a pulse beating in his jaw. “You’re right.” He cleared his throat. “This situation isn’t fair to you.”

  “It’s not about fair, it’s about what’s right for everyone.” I swallowed. “If you need anything, I’ll always be there. I wasn’t lying when I said—”

  “I know. I meant it too. I still do.” He rose and laid some bills on the table, then bent to kiss my forehead. “I’ll see you around, Maddie.”

  Heart breaking, I gripped my coffee mug and drew ragged breaths. It had been the right thing to do.

  Hadn’t it?

  On shaky legs, I walked to my truck in the Wok and Bowl parking lot. The afternoon sun radiated off the macadam. Sweat prickled my back and I peeled off the hoodie. I opened the door, letting the heat escape. Leaning against its hot metal side, I blinked back tears.

  I had done the right thing.

  Mason might be fine with living with his ex, juggling sudden fatherhood, and dating me. I wasn’t.

  I didn’t know if that made me a bad or a weak person, but I hadn’t liked myself much last week—the neediness, the panic, the insecurity. Months or more of some sort of half-relationship with Mason would send me around the bend. I needed to find my footing again. And Mason needed to deal with his family without another woman in the mix.

  Once my breathing evened out, I stepped into the truck and drove into downtown. The shops were busy, pedestrians hurrying down the brick sidewalks. A young man in black slouched toward me. Leo.

  I pulled into a free spot on the side of the street and tapped the horn. Leo looked up and jogged to my truck.

  I leaned out the window. “What’s up?” My voice was strained, and I forced a smile.

  He didn’t seem to notice, lifting one shoulder, letting it drop. His black hair was lank, his face pale. “Just walking. Where’re you off to?”

  “The haunted house. I need to pick up that grape press and turn the exhibit back into the invisible haunted grape press.”

  He shook his head. “When are they going to make up their minds?”

  “Never, is my guess.”

  “Need some help?”

  “Sure.” I leaned across the seat and unlocked the passenger door.

  He slid inside and buckled up. “You got the dolly?”

  “In the back.”

  “Cool.” His lower jaw went sideways, twisting his mouth.

  I drove on, focusing on the road. A pink Cadillac cut in front of me and braked, drifting into the gas station.

  “I’ve been taking a web design class at the JC,” Leo said.

  “Oh?”

  “We need to do a shopping cart project for the class. You know, online sales? I was thinking maybe I could work on the museum website?”

  It was an answer to my frugal capitalist prayers. “Why not?”

  We drove through town, beneath the welcome arch, past the Wine and Visitors Bureau, and into the vineyards.

  Leo rolled down his window. “Ever think of getting air conditioning?”

  “In this old truck? It would ruin the charm.”

  A truck full of oranges bounced past us.

  “Do you attend the junior college Jocelyn worked at?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you see her around much?”

  “I’m not in the viticulture program.”

  It wasn’t really an answer, but I let it lie and turned at the massive gates to CW Vineyards. We bumped down the shaded gravel drive and pulled in front of the tasting room/haunted house. A few cars parked there. A sandwich-board proclaimed, Yes, we’re open for tasting!

  I frowned. “Chuck planned to keep the tasting room running when the haunted house wasn’t operating. I don’t know where they’ve moved our exhibit. Let me go inside and see where everything’s at before we drag the dolly out.”

  I trotted up the porch steps and into the tasting room. The hanging divider had vanished along with the Haunted San Benedetto exhibit. Couples stood at the tall round tables, drinking wine and sampling cheese. Others lined up at the cash register.

  Elthia worked behind the tasting bar, filling a box with bottles of wine.

  I waved to her, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Hi,” I said. “I just came to pick up the grape press.”

  “Sure you are.” Her mouth twisted in disbelief.

  “Hey, I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “Part-time.” She handed a customer the box. “And I don’t know anything about the press. You’ll have to ask Chuck.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Barn.”

  Nodding, I strode out of the tasting room and across the yard. The barn doors were open, but I hesitated outside.

  “Can I help you?” Chuck asked from behind me.

  I jumped a little and turned.

  He stroked his beard, grinning. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

  He seemed to make it a habit.

  “Ladies Aid wanted me to remove the grape press and replace it with my invisible grape press exhibit,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Right. I heard there was a commotion the other night.”

  “What sort of commotion?”

  “Some type of mass hysteria. One woman started sobbing when she got near the press on the first night, said she was a psychic or something. People heard about it, and now everyone’s imagining stuff. Someone actually fainted last night.”

  “Fainted? Were they hurt?”

  “No, the woman’s fine. I think she got a rise out of the attention. Anyway, all of your things are in the storage room. You’ll find it unlocked, behind the tables in the tasting area, beneath the loft.”

  And beneath all those wine barrels. Great.

  “Will you be able to manage on your own?” he asked.

  “Leo’s with me, and we’ve got a dolly.” I walked back to the truck and collected both.

  Leo carried the dolly into the tasting area and wheeled it to the storage room door.

  I opened it and followed him inside. The room was cool and dim and I fumbled for a light, switched it on. Its bulb flickered, clicking. The grape press stood beside stacks of CW Vineyards boxes.

  Leo’s lip curled. “That stuff is no better than table wine.”

  I raised a brow. Leo hadn’t hit drinking age yet.

  “That’s just what I heard,” he said hastily.

  “Sure it was. And don’t be a snob. Table wine has its place.” I switched the haunted grape press sign for the invisible haunted grape press sign.

  The air in the closet congealed, cold and cloying. Gooseflesh prickled my skin.

  I grasped the grape press, my grip damp, and
heaved. The press shifted an inch. Had it always been this heavy? A shadow crawled across it. I blinked and it vanished. I stared hard at the press. It was too easy to imagine splatters of blood on its decaying wood.

  Leo put his back into it, but the grape press resisted, squeaking, crawling, edging across the floor. I panted. The air seemed thick, oppressive, and I gulped.

  My now ex-boyfriend wouldn’t have had any problem lifting the press, and cold silence slithered inside my heart. What had I done? I’d never find someone like Mason again. I knew girls who picked up new boyfriends within weeks of discarding the old ones. I wasn’t one of those girls.

  A puff of mist appeared before Leo’s mouth. “This place is a freezer,” he grunted.

  “I know. They must be keeping it cool for the wine.”

  “Wine’s supposed to be cellar temperature. Not refrigerated.”

  I nodded. I’d lost Mason. For good. My chest ached. My movements were clumsy, useless.

  We tipped the press at an angle, shuffling it into place.

  Leo grasped the dolly handles and his shoulders slumped. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to repress some emotion.

  Sadness.

  I’d felt it every time I’d gotten near the grape press. Could the vintage press be somehow triggering it?

  I shook my head. No, my first instinct had been right. I was attributing powers to the object because others claimed they’d experienced something dark.

  Chuck stuck his head in the storage room. “You two doing okay in there?”

  “Got it.” Leo grunted.

  “Careful with that curse now,” Chuck said.

  “It’s not cursed.” I shook my head to clear it. The fluorescent light flickered in the ceiling. “It’s the key to a murder mystery.”

  “Oh?” Chuck leaned against the door frame, blocking our exit.

  Scalp prickling, I shifted. I wasn’t scared of Chuck, not with Leo beside me and a tasting room full of wine drinkers outside the door. So why was my skin crawling? “Two burned bodies were found in a cottage in 1922—Alcina, daughter of a vintner, and Luigi, one of the workers. Everyone thought Luigi killed Alcina because she’d turned him down. Male and female blood was found on this grape press—”