"Some gangbanger. Playing all tough, but it turned out he was only seventeen."
Grant had not told me this. He'd told me he'd shot a man and he hadn't regretted it. Knowing that man was just a teenager left me with mixed feelings.
"Do you know what happened?" Ava asked, leaning forward in her seat.
Part of me didn't want to know more, but I couldn't not listen.
"We were at this house in the Tenderloin."
"You were there?" I asked.
Eckhart nodded. "It was supposed to be a routine arrest. Buckley and I were there as backup."
"Buckley was there too," I said. Another detail Grant had failed to mention.
"We thought we were going in for one guy, but it turned out a bunch of them were inside. They started shooting at us as soon as they saw blue. We shot back. In the end…the kid was dead, and it was Grant's bullet."
"Well, it sounds like it was clearly self-defense," Ava said, and I loved her for defending Grant in that moment.
"Sure it was," Eckhart agreed.
I almost hated to ask… "So why the IA investigation?"
He shrugged. "When the dust settled, they couldn't find a gun on the kid."
I closed my eyes. Grant had shot an unarmed seventeen-year-old.
"I mean, it wasn't like the guy was innocent. He was covered in gang tattoos, and prints came back with a list of juvenile offenses starting as young as ten," Eckhart told us. "I don't know why IA had to jam Grant up so hard over it. He did a public service, if you asked me."
I bit my lip, wondering how Grant had felt about it. The way Eckhart was talking about him, like he'd had some vigilante justice in mind…that was not the Grant I'd come to know. Then again, I didn't know how Grant did his job. All I knew was the side he showed me. Did that mean Eckhart knew him better than I did? Or was Eckhart seeing what he wanted to?
Or trying to distract us all together from our original purpose in being here.
I sucked in a deep breath, shoving down the host of confusing emotions this visit had brought.
"What about Katy Kline?" I asked, getting back to her.
He turned to me. "Katy Kline?"
"The madame who was bribing Buckley to look the other way."
"I know who she is," Eckhart said, and I could hear a hint of impatience edging into his voice, signaling that we were on borrowed time.
"Did you know she's out on parole now?" Ava asked.
"Of course. I was at her parole hearing."
Of course. What were the chances we were delivering news to the man who had been unwittingly at the center of her demise?
"Do you know where she is now?" Ava asked.
"Not offhand, but it's in the system." He nodded toward the ancient computer monitor on his desk. "Condition of parole. They have to keep their parole officer updated on where they live, where they work, where they go." Eckhart looked from me to Ava, the suspicion back in his gaze. "Why do you want to know?"
Great question. I looked to Ava.
"Just curious. I mean, it's interesting timing—her being out on parole right before Buckley is killed."
His eyes narrowed. "Is Grant thinking Kline had something to do with Buckley's death?"
Was Grant thinking it? Doubtful. But I knew two blondes who were. I slowly nodded, already feeling guilty for the half truth. "Does it feel possible to you?"
He did some more eye narrowing and pursed his lips. "Who can ever say what people are capable of?"
Which was a very noncommittal answer.
"Capability aside," Ava jumped in. "Is it even possible? I mean, is she still in the Bay Area?"
Eckhart shrugged. "I can check." He turned to the computer, jiggling his mouse to wake it up. We waited in silence while he did a little clicking and typed Katy Kline's information into his system. A minute later he frowned at the screen.
"Huh."
"Huh what?" I asked, leaning forward even though the screen was still facing too far the other direction for me to see anything.
"Well, it says here Kline's got some sort of bakery business now. Katy's Cookies."
"That's a switch from selling…er, from her other profession," Ava mumbled.
"It is. She's switched locales too," Eckhart informed us, still frowning at the screen.
"So she's not in San Francisco anymore?" I asked, feeling her possibility as a suspect fizzle.
"No." Eckhart shook his head. Then he pried his eyes from the screen to meet mine, that flash of something running through them again so quickly that I had no chance to read it. "No, it says here that Katy's Cookies is on 2nd Street." He paused, infusing the next words with meaning. "In downtown Sonoma."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"So, Katy followed Buckley to Sonoma!" Ava said as we stepped back out of the station and into the cool air.
Even though it was well into the eighties in Wine Country, the coastal fog still enveloped The City in a perpetual chill. I inhaled the salty, moist air, hoping it would cleanse some of the discomfort I'd experienced in the station.
"Katy was in Sonoma at the same time as Buckley. That doesn't mean she followed him there," I pointed out as we walked the block and a half back to my Jeep.
"So you think it was just coincidence that she set up shop in the same place Buckley settled?"
"Maybe. I mean, Sonoma is a big place."
"Nuh-uh. Not that big," Ava countered. "Not so big they couldn't have had a chance encounter even if Katy hadn't known ahead of time that Buckley was living there."
I had to concede that point to her. "Okay, so Katy runs into Buckley…"
"…and it stirs up all the old anger over how Buckley put her behind bars. So Katy decides to get revenge for what Buckley did to her. She finds out that he's working at your winery. Alone. At night," Ava said, clearly on a roll with this theory. "And she decides it's the perfect place to take him out!"
It all sounded plausible. Too plausible. That chill was back, and as we got back to my car, I immediately cranked up the heater to stave it off.
"So, in this scenario, how does Katy find out Buckley is working for me?"
Ava thought about that a beat as she pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and touched up her makeup in the visor mirror. "Maybe she ran into Buckley and he told her?"
"I don't know. I can't see them being that chummy." I pulled away from the curb. Carefully, as a Prius and an ancient Dodge Dart had boxed me in since I'd parked.
"Well, maybe Katy ran into someone Buckley knew. Like, maybe she had a meal at the diner where his girlfriend, Sheila, works? Maybe they got to talking, and who knows?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I guess I could see that."
"Or maybe Katy got her nails done at Nadia's and Carmen started talking about her ex."
"That I could definitely see. Carmen is very light on the filter."
Ava laughed. "And light is generous."
I merged onto the 101 freeway, heading north back to Wine Country. "So, I guess there's just one question left."
"What's that?" Ava asked.
"Do we want cookies before or after lunch?"
* * *
Katy's Cookies was a small storefront in a strip mall anchored by a CVS and a bagel shop. Between them sat several mom and pop establishments, including a dry cleaner and a sandwich place with a big grinning pickle in their window. They all seemed to be doing a pretty brisk business, if the lack of parking in the lot was any indication. After spot-stalking a woman with a loaded shopping cart and three kids to her minivan, we finally got a parking place and locked my Jeep before heading toward Katy's Cookies.
Which, unlike the other shops along the sidewalk, seemed distinctly empty. I wondered if maybe Katy's reputation had preceded her into town and turned customers off to her baked goods.
A bell jingled above the door as Ava and I pushed inside. A long counter took up the bulk of the back wall, its glass cases showing off gift baskets of all sizes filled with cookies. To our right sat several more shelves lined
with baskets and tins—some bearing Get Well Soon wishes and others sporting stick balloons that read Happy Birthday. All of them were filled with cellophane wrapped cookies in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes. Two empty sets of white tables and chairs sat in the center of the room, facing the window that looked out onto the parking lot. The walls were painted in a cheery yellow, and the white tile floors clean, if clearly not new.
At the sound of our arrival, a middle aged woman appeared from the back of the shop to stand behind the counter, tying a pink apron on as she did.
"May I help you?" she asked in a cheerful tone that matched the overall vibe of the place.
"Hi," Ava said, stepping up the counter. "We're looking for Katy Kline."
"You found her," the woman told us, giving us a wide smile that caused creases to form at the corners of her eyes.
"You're Katy Kline?" I asked, taking in the woman before me. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but the term "madame" conjured up images of black leather or sexy lace and slinky Jessica Rabbit style dresses. The woman before me was short, round, and looked like someone's mom. She wore little makeup, and the silver streaks in her sandy brown hair, styled in a feathered bob, clearly betrayed her age. Nothing about her said sex, from her plaid shirt and wide-legged jeans down to the sensible shoes on her feet.
"Katy Kline, you betcha," Katy replied, nonplussed by the question. "Can I interest you ladies in a cookie sample?"
"Uh, sure," I said, sending a glance Ava's way. From the raised pair of eyebrows she was giving Katy, I'd say the woman's appearance hadn't lived up to Ava's imagination either.
"I just pulled a tray of Oatmeal Raisin Cookies from the oven," Katy said, ducking into the back again. "If you're lucky, they'll still be warm."
Ava cleared her throat. "Uh, have you been in business here long?"
"Oh, a couple of months now. We do a lot of delivery orders. Gift baskets are our biggest sellers." She came back into the room with two cookies held in white paper. "Here. Give these a try."
"Thanks." Ava grabbed one of the proffered samples and took a small bite.
I did the same, the sweet brown sugar and spicy cinnamon mingling perfectly as the warm raisins melted onto my tongue. "Wow, this is good."
"Thank you." Katy beamed. "My mother's recipe. I know it's not as popular as chocolate chip, but I've always been an oatmeal raisin fan."
While I would have probably picked chocolate myself, I had to admit these were good enough to change my mind.
I leaned toward the glass case, seeing a basket of oatmeal raisin and snickerdoodles accompanied by a cute little teddy bear holding a sign that read Thinking of You. "Maybe I should get one for my mom," I said. I glanced at Ava. "I really haven't been visiting as much as I should lately."
Ava nodded, licking the last of the cookie crumbs from her fingers. "I think she'd love that."
"We can customize something for her," Katy said. "Delivery is free."
"You've sold me." I pointed to the bear. "Something like that is perfect."
Katy pulled out a notepad. "What's your mom's address?"
I rattled it off for her, along with the name to go on the basket.
"You said the shop's only been open a couple of months. Are you new to Sonoma as well?" Ava said, as Katy took my credit card and rang up the order.
"Yep. Gorgeous area. Pricey, but everyone has been so welcoming. I feel right at home."
"Have you been to Ed's Diner yet?" Ava asked. She shot me a side-eye glance, referencing the restaurant that Sheila Connolly had told us she'd worked at.
"Can't say I have." Katy shook her head. "Any good?"
Ava nodded. "Sure. What about Nadia's Nails? Over in Napa?"
Katy frowned. "No." She paused, suspicion suddenly clouding her pleasant smile as she handed my credit card back to me. "Why do you ask?"
Ava shrugged. "Oh, no reason. I just thought maybe you might have run into a mutual acquaintance there."
"Mutual acquaintance?" The suspicion was more than a hint now.
"Carmen Buckley."
At the name Buckley, all pleasantness dropped from her features, and I got a glimpse of the hardness that two years in prison could create. Her jaw clenched, the pleasantness in her eyes going dark. "You're an acquaintance of Carmen Buckley?" she asked. Though it came out more as an accusation than a question.
I stepped forward. "Actually, I knew Bill. He, uh, he worked for me," I confessed. "At my winery."
Katy cocked her head to the side. "That's where he was killed, right? At a winery? That's what they said on the news."
I nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. He was working security that night." I watched her reaction, trying to feel out if this was news to her or if she'd already known because she'd been there. Shooting him.
"Terrible tragedy," she said, though her voice was a deadpan monotone that conveyed no emotion behind the words.
"You knew Buckley, right?" Ava asked. "When he was a police officer in San Francisco?"
Katy's eyes flickered to the door, as if worried some other customer might overhear. But considering no one else had so much as even looked in the windows since we'd arrived, she just let out a sigh before answering. "Yes. I mean, it's public record, right? It's not like it's a secret." She set her lips in a thin line, a dark gaze going from Ava to me. "I led a life of crime at one point. I was caught, I paid my debt to society, and now I'm a reformed person."
The statement sounded like a cliché taken straight from some TV crime drama, but as I glanced around her cheery yellow cookie shop, I had to admit it did look like she'd turned over a new leaf.
"From selling nooky to cookies, huh?" Ava joked.
The corner of Katy's mouth curved up, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Something like that."
"It was Buckley's testimony that ended your other career, wasn't it?" I asked.
"More than testimony." She scoffed. "He led the police right to my door."
"That must have been upsetting," Ava said.
"You think?" Katy's jaw clenched again, and even the thick layer of sarcasm couldn't cover the genuine anger I felt radiating off her.
"Right," Ava said. "Clearly upsetting."
Katy smirked and shook her head. "Look, yes, of course I was upset with Buckley. I paid him to keep his mouth shut, and what did he do? Blab everything to the police."
"And you ended up in jail."
"But I did my time. I've paid my debt to society," she repeated, "and I've moved on." She gestured around her to the empty cookie shop as evidence of that.
"Still, you must not have been a Buckley fan?"
"I didn't shed a tear when I heard he was dead, if that's what you mean."
"What made you choose Sonoma to open up a shop?" I asked.
"I like wine." She crossed her arms over her chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture.
"Did you know that Buckley was living in Sonoma?" I asked slowly.
"Was he." Again her tone was a deadpan that was neither a question nor an answer. "Small world."
"So small one would assume you'd run into each other eventually," Ava pointed out.
She shrugged. "Maybe eventually. But I've only been here a couple of months."
"Right. Interesting timing."
"Excuse me?" She narrowed her eyes, the soccer mom pleasantness replaced by the former inmate suspicion again.
"I just think it's an interesting coincidence that Buckley is killed right after you move to town," Ava said.
"I did not kill Buckley," she said hotly, taking a step around the counter. "I haven't seen him since my trial, and if I never saw him again, that would have been too soon."
"I'm curious," I said. "How much did you pay Buckley?"
"What?" she asked, her attention diverting from Ava's thinly veiled accusations to me.
"The money you gave him to keep quiet about your escort business. How much was it?"
She sucked in a breath, the question seeming to calm the anger th
at had been bubbling up inside of her. "Over the course of the year? Probably around a hundred grand."
I blinked at her. "A hundred thousand dollars?"
She shrugged. "Give or take."
I was so in the wrong business.
"You must have really been raking it in," Ava said.
"I did okay." She grinned in a way that said she'd done a whole lot better than okay. "But it's all gone now. What wasn't seized when I was arrested was spent on my useless lawyer."
"Then where did you get the start-up money to open this place?" I asked.
"Not that it's anyone's business, but I got a loan," she told me. "From family. My brother sold his butcher shop and had some cash sitting around."
"The butcher shop you used to run your other business out of?" Ava clarified.
She shrugged. "What can I say? The place wasn't nearly as popular without my girls' services on the menu."
"So your brother invested in your cookie business?" Ava said.
She nodded. "Why not?"
"I hate to say it, but it seems pretty quiet in here," Ava pointed out.
Katy shrugged again. "Like I said, most of our business is delivery." She nodded toward the glass case. "Our baskets are very popular."
As if on cue, the bell over the door jingled and a tall man in a blue T-shirt that read Katy's Cookies walked in.
His shoulders were broad, his hips slim, and his tanned arms rippling with biceps that strained against the tight T-shirt. His blond hair was artfully tussled back from his chiseled features, and his blue eyes looked so bright that they had to be contacts.
"Allison Beech loved the friendship basket—" The guy paused, realizing Katy had customers. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't know you were with someone." His eyes flickered to me before resting on Ava. And giving her a slow up and down that curved the corners of his mouth upward.
"Hi." Ava waved.
"My nephew, Derek. He does deliveries for me," Katy said.
"Hey." Derek held up a hand in greeting. "Have you tried the oatmeal raisin yet? They're really good."
"They have," Katy said before either of us had a chance to answer. "And they were just leaving." She gave us a pointed look.
Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7) Page 9
