I SNAP ON a pair of latex gloves. I have yet to touch the men’s products in my bag. Rule number one: no fingerprints.
Buying those cases of oil and mud and body wash got Rayna out of the room long enough for me to steal the new men’s products the Neanderthal just put on the market. There’s no record of me ever having purchased them.
I hide those other big cases I bought in the laundry room since Hunter never goes in there. I’ll give them to Hunter’s colleagues for Christmas. My little way of showing the swine, I know what you’ve been doing. But right now, it’s these men’s products I want.
Upstairs, past the baby nursery, I go in my office and set my bag on my desk. I’ve hidden a baby monitor behind a lamp near the front door so I can hear Hunter coming in. I’m not expecting him for an hour. Right now he should be mud wrestling with that Neanderthal. Yeah, go ahead, Hunter, enjoy it, because when I’m finished, she’ll be mud wrestling with prisoners.
Quickly, I clear off my desk to make room for my new project. With my gloved hands, I line up the bottles of Mint Shaving Gel and the Musk Deodorant. I open the software program that creates cards and invitations.
Dammit! I should buy the cards first so I’ll know what size to make. I sit back and exhale. I shouldn’t make the cards on my own computer anyway. In my excitement to kill, I’m getting sloppy.
The products must be wiped and stored in a sterile bag. Even the tiniest piece of hair stuck to the bottom of a bottle can identify a killer. That’s why God made Ziplocs.
I skip down the steps feeling empowered again because my lying, cheating husband is no longer in control of this degrading situation.
I’m in control now.
In the kitchen, I pull open a drawer and yank out two large Ziploc bags.
The front door opens. Hunter is early.
I stuff the bags back in the box and rip off the latex gloves. I bury them underneath an empty egg carton in the trash compactor. And then, like a good wife, I go out to greet my husband after a hard day’s work. It was hard all right.
Hunter can’t go upstairs. My office door is open and all the men’s products are sitting out on my desk. I stand on my toes and throw my arms around his neck. He smells like lavender and I want to say something snide. Instead I say, “Let me pour you some wine.”
“Great,” he says. “I’ll run upstairs and change.”
“No!” I say, louder than I wanted. “I’m having trouble with the corkscrew. I need your help.”
Hunter half smiles and saunters to the kitchen.
I fly upstairs to my office and throw all the men’s products back in my bag. I open the closet and push the bag up on the top shelf. I stuff a sweater over it and when I come out of my office, I lock the door.
As I’m scurrying down the steps, Hunter is coming up with a glass of white wine. I don’t worry about my behavior appearing suspicious because I know I’m the last thing on his mind. I go to the kitchen to see if he poured a glass of wine for me too.
Nothing.
Perhaps he’s placed one on the table outside. I peer out the window.
The urge is rising.
I pour myself a glass. Red. And as I’m waiting by the pool, I take a sip.
Tastes like blood.
CHAPTER 18
VANESSA
HUNTER’S FINALLY GONE. I have the whole day to myself. In the vanity mirror, I’m adjusting a black and white floppy hat. It won’t budge with my long braid curled up inside it like a snake. I tilt the hat forward as far as possible. This will do.
The hat is perfect with my tailored black and white striped dress. I slip on black shades and a pair of white gloves to complete the look. Yes, summer chic.
Rule number one: When shopping for a kill, always wear gloves.
Even though Napa has a million places to shop, I drive thirty minutes south to Golden Ridge.
Rule number two: Never shop where you live. If you’re framing someone, shop where they live.
Once I arrive in Golden Ridge, I go to the stationery store closest to Spa di Neanderthal and I buy five inch square cards, blank with envelopes.
After that, I go to the nearest electronics store. There, I purchase a new tablet and a printer, even though I already have both. I grab a stylus, too. While I’m in line, I spot Visa gift cards. I pick up one and get five hundred dollars on it. I buy three more, each one at a different store. I smile at how well this day is going.
Finally, I make a stop at the nearby post office to buy three small shipping boxes, some labels, and some packing tape. I pull out the business ID number I found online and I rent a post office box under the name Spa di Venus.
Rule number three: Pay cash for everything.
I’m never without a stash of cash, ten grand to be exact, hidden in tampon boxes in the laundry room.
On my way back to the highway, I spot a funky little smoothie shop with a line, which means the smoothies are delish. I pull in.
In front of me in line is a woman with an adorable baby girl in the cutest polka dot stroller. I say to the woman, “I love shopping, but it’s exhausting, and I don’t want to overdo it while I’m pregnant.” I hold my belly. “My daughter comes first.”
She lifts the baby out of the stroller and gently bounces her. “I was careful too.”
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Isabella.” She turns the baby so it’s facing me.
I smile and coo. “She’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen.”
“How far along are you?” she asks.
“One month.”
She looks befuddled. “How do you know it’s a girl?”
“A mother always knows.”
She puts the baby back in the stroller and gives her a pacifier. At first I think she’s being rude when she turns her back to me, but she starts ordering a smoothie and I realize I’m next in line.
After I order a cinnamon date smoothie and I’m waiting for them to make it, I turn around to see where she’s sitting. But she’s already taken the smoothie outside and she’s lifting Isabella in the back seat of a car. And I was hoping we could be friends. That our little girls could grow up together. I rub my daughter and say to her, “Isabella isn’t that great anyway.”
I get the smoothie and drive by Spa di Venus. Plenty of cars in the parking lot. The whore.
To blend in, I park in the middle of the herd of cars and grab the tablet I bought at the electronics store. I pluck the stylus out of its box because the tablet doesn’t work with gloves. I fire it up and register it under the name Venus—. And I realize I don’t know her last name. I get on my phone and do a county property tax search for the spa.
It’s there. Nancy Van Cleave.
I google that name under images and there’s Venus, looking like the hoax she is. Poor Hunter.
After connecting to the spa’s Wi-Fi, I register the new tablet to Nancy Van Cleave and make the Spa di Venus website the browser’s home page. And then I google, buy thallium powder online. I compare the percentage per gram to get the strongest powder possible. I find a white plastic jar of pure thallium powder on eBay for one thousand dollars. Rather than make an offer, I snap it up and use two Visa gift cards to pay. I have it shipped to Spa di Venus at my new P.O. Box, right here in Golden Ridge. When the transaction is complete, I put the car in drive and get the hell out of that parking lot.
On the ride home to Napa, I realize how clever I am to use thallium to poison Venus’ clients. After all, thallium was the main ingredient in rat poison, until the seventies, when they figured out a person could die by merely absorbing it through the skin.
Let them die like rats on a sinking ship.
On the nasty ship, Venus.
CHAPTER 19
DETECTIVE CANDICE BLAKE and her partner Todd drive north to St. Helena in silence. Todd cuts over to Silverado Trail and folds a piece of gum in his mouth. The scent of spearmint fills the car, but Candice barely notices. She’s rereading the file on the cold case.
The husband still owns and operates the vineyard where thirty years ago, his wife Rose Giovanni was raped and killed. These family owned vineyards don’t change hands often. They stay in the family for generations. And families who compete with one another to create the best wines can become fierce competitors. Candice never thought this investigation would take her into the Napa Valley wineries.
Todd turns on Giovanni Road and drives past rows of leafy grapevines. The Wine Train doesn’t stop here. This is an old winery, off the beaten path. After passing the Vincent’s Vineyard sign, they turn into the drive. No appointment. No warning. Candice wants to get a feel for the family and the murder scene without giving anyone time to set the stage.
“I’ll do the talking,” Candice says to Todd before they get out of the car.
With a sarcastic smile, Todd smacks the gum and raises his hands like he’s surrendering.
Judging by the worn ivory stucco, the house with dark wood shutters and a red tile roof was built long ago. Candice knocks on the arched wooden door with iron hardware. A woman answers. She’s short, with shoulder length gray hair and blue eyes.
They flash their badges and for once, Todd lets Candice speak. “Detective Candice Blake. Detective Todd Pierce. May we come in?”
The woman’s brows peak. “Is anything wrong?” she asks.
“We need to talk to any family members who lived here in 1987,” Candice says.
The woman looks puzzled. “That would be my husband. He’s out in the vineyard, but I’ll call him.”
Candice sits on a tan leather sofa in a room with thick wooden beams across the ceiling. Todd studies framed wine medals lined up on the walls. Ten minutes later, a man in his sixties walks in. He’s tall and thin with thick gray hair that’s starting to recede and smooth olive skin. If she didn’t already know his name, Candice would have guessed he was Italian.
“Vincent Giovanni,” he says. “How can I help you, Detectives?”
Candice shakes his hand. “I need to talk with you about a murder that occurred here in 1987.”
Vincent’s face melts into sadness. “Yes, my wife. My first wife,” he says softly. “Did you find out who did it?”
“Not yet. We have the killer’s DNA. It doesn’t match any criminal records, but other evidence has surfaced.” Candice nods her head in assurance. “May we see the room where the crime occurred?”
“Yes, come.” He waves us over and walks down the hall to the back of the house.
Candice always expects these vineyard owners to have gaudy houses, but this feels like a genuine family home, aside from the fact that it was a murder scene. From the case file, she’s fully aware of where the rape and murder took place. Still, she likes to let family members do all the talking. It’s an easy way to find out who has something to hide.
When they reach the kitchen, Vincent says, “My new wife wanted to sell the house, but I couldn’t do it. My grandparents started this vineyard seventy years ago and I want to pass it down to my children.”
“I understand.” Candice looks around for the wine storage room.
“Why should I let one evil man destroy all our dreams?”
“I hear ya,” Candice says. “Can you explain what happened?”
Vincent ambles to a door in the corner of the kitchen. He opens the door and waves me in. “Back then, this was our wine packing room.” He explains the crime scene exactly as it is written in the report. Wine racks from floor to ceiling, metal table in the middle of the room. As if the table is there, he places his hand on it and says, “This is where my beautiful Rose died.”
“I understand there was a witness,” Candice says.
Tears well up in Vincent’s eyes. “My baby girl. She was four.” He steps back out of the room. “A blue curtain was here, where the door is now. My baby Vanessa, she hid behind the curtain and watched her mother get—”
Candice shakes her head. “Jeeze.”
The report said that Vincent and his two sons were at a wine competition in St. Helena at the time of the murder. Since Vincent’s getting upset, Candice doesn’t make him explain where he was.
“I just have one more question, Mr. Giovanni. Your children, do they still live in the area?”
He stares at the floor and says, “My two sons have moved away to raise their families. Seattle and Denver. I rarely see them.” And then he looks up. “But my daughter’s still here. Vanessa. She lives with her husband in Napa.”
Eureka! The witness. “What’s her husband’s name?”
“Dr. Hunter Flynn.”
“And she’s Vanessa Flynn?”
“Yes.”
Candice knows those names. She’s questioned them. The Napa Valley Killer’s fourth victim was the father of Dr. Hunter Flynn. Vanessa Flynn’s maiden name was Vanessa Giovanni. During the investigation into the murder of Hunter’s father, Vanessa never mentioned her mother was killed the same way.
But Vanessa was only four. That horrific trauma is probably erased from her memory. The mind has its own mysterious coping mechanisms.
Candice thanks Vincent for his time. As he walks them out, he looks worried, but says nothing. Candice gives him her card. “If you think of anything that will help us find the man who killed your wife, call.”
On the road back to Napa, Candice looks at Todd and says, “If Rose Giovanni’s assailant was the Napa Valley killer, he’s thirty years older now. But why would he switch to killing men?”
Todd doesn’t answer. It’s like whatever Candice is saying has the significance of a speck of dust.
Candice pulls up an address. “Next stop, the one eye witness to her mother’s murder. Vanessa Flynn.”
Time to awaken the memory. It’s a start. And it’s the only lead.
CHAPTER 20
VANESSA
ON THE NEW tablet, I track the shipment of thallium powder I bought online. It’s delivered, so I put on my hat and sunglasses and drive to Golden Ridge to pick it up. Even though I won’t need it again, I keep the P.O. Box I rented for Spa di Venus. Another piece of evidence for the Neanderthal’s murder trials.
After I get home with the thallium, I change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I go to my office and pull out a new box of latex gloves. Next, I connect the tablet to the printer, both registered to Nancy Van Cleave. The name makes me snicker. Neanderthal Nancy.
Even though I already have it on my own computer, I purchase and download the software program that creates cards and invitations with one of the VISA cash cards and register it to Nancy Van Cleave. I google the Spa di Venus logo, which is basically a black silhouette of the armless statue with Spa di Venus scribbled underneath. I save the image and open the five-inch square card template. I put the logo on the outside of the card and inside, I type:
A gift from Spa di Venus…
My two new products for men.
Thank you for being a valued customer.
Venus
I print the cards. Perfect! Now for the envelopes. On my phone, I scroll through the screen shots of Venus’ client list and randomly choose three men. I print a name on each envelope and place the cards inside. I don’t lick the glue on the envelopes. That’s DNA evidence. And since I don’t have Neanderthal Nancy’s spit, I tuck in the flaps.
Now to taint the products. My heart races at the thought of it.
The deodorant is a liquid spray, so that’s easy. I unscrew the lids to the deodorant bottles and with tweezers, I gently lift the thin Styrofoam seal, but keep one side attached. Still wearing gloves, I sterilize a cuticle pusher with an alcohol towelette before scooping the thallium powder. I drop six scoops into each bottle, and then add four more. The dose must be fatal. I press the seals back into place, screw on the lids, and shake until the thallium powder dissolves. I set the bottles aside.
My new recipe for murder.
Now for the shaving gel. I completely remove the seals from the jars to mix in the powder. I put ten scoops in each jar and stir with the cuticle pushe
r. I replace the seals and screw on the lids. I can’t believe how easy this is.
I set up three small cardboard boxes, three labels, and the clear packing tape I bought at the post office in Golden Ridge last week. I place a tainted shaving gel and a tainted deodorant in each one. On top of the products, I lay the envelope with the printed note card from Venus.
On my phone, I have my victims’ addresses. I print a label for each one and seal the boxes with packing tape.
And I’m done.
My phone rings. It’s Dad. I don’t have time for that. It’s only noon and I want to mail the boxes now. I still have time to go to that post office in Golden Ridge before Hunter gets home. And I know exactly how I’ll plant all the evidence at Spa di Venus.
I’ll mail the printer, the tablet, the thallium, the tape, and the notecards to Rayna at the spa. No return address. She won’t know what it is, but she’ll never throw out an expensive tablet and printer.
A foolproof plan. I rub my belly. My daughter will be clever like me. I can feel it.
My car is right out front. While I’m still wearing latex gloves, I take the three boxes of tainted spa products downstairs and set them on the foyer table. But when I open the front door, standing there, about to push the doorbell, are two people in business suits. They hold up Napa County Sheriff badges.
I can’t breathe. I’m standing in front of these gun packing law enforcement officers. I’m wearing latex gloves and stacked behind me are my three murder weapons with the victims’ names on the boxes.
“Vanessa Flynn?” the woman says.
Normally I don’t scare easily, but this is not normal.
CHAPTER 21
THE DOOR OPENS before Candice touches the doorbell and standing there is Vanessa Flynn, wearing a T-shirt, shorts, tennis shoes, and latex gloves. Her eyes widen until she tilts her head and smiles.
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