“Rush to judgment,” Patrick said. The two men stared at each other.
“Okay,” I said. “What is the motive for Tim to have done this? Why would he then stir the vat with the dead man in it in front of an audience?”
“Those are details for the courts,” Sheriff Hennessey said. “Why don’t you all go home now. There is nothing you can do for Tim here.”
“Why are you waiting so long to make a statement?” Chelsea asked. “People want details.”
“We need time to process evidence to ensure we don’t make any mistakes or false accusations,” Ron said. “You have to wait.”
“Fine, I have other sources you know,” she said and stopped recording. She walked out the door with the phone to her ear. I don’t know who she called, but I knew she wouldn’t go far as we still had the whole Dr. Brinkman thing to talk about.
“Oh, Taylor, thank you for calling Patrick for Tim.” Mandy hugged me again. “I’ll get Emily to check in on Maisie. I guess there is nothing to do but wait.” She pulled a tissue out of her handbag and dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Timmy. I don’t know how he’ll survive a night in that jail cell.”
“I’m sure he’ll manage,” Sheriff Hennessey said.
“Come on, Mandy, let’s get you home.” I put my arm around the girl and stepped her outside.
Patrick stayed behind and spoke to Deputy Bloomberg at the front desk. It looked like he was filling out paperwork of some sort.
“Thank you for coming,” Mandy said again.
“Are you going to be all right?” I asked as we stood just outside the door.
“Yes,” Mandy said with a sniff and raised her head. “I’m going to talk to Dr. Brinkman about this. He’ll know what to do.”
“Bye, Mandy.” I watched as she walked off and got in her car. Chelsea came up beside me, and we watched her leave.
“What’s her story?” Chelsea asked. “She seems a bit young to be caught up with Tim Slade.”
“She was a part-time manager at the realtor office that the deceased owned, and also the hostess at a Japanese steak house. Tim picked her up on one of his foodie nights.”
“She was working two jobs?” Chelsea tipped her head sideways and studied me. “She doesn’t seem the type to work that hard.”
“She’s harmless,” I said. “She’s spending a lot of money on her guru. She claims Tim is helping. Tim claims she needs to work both jobs.”
“Interesting,” Chelsea said. “I wonder who’s right? Say, do you have access to Tim’s place? I’d love to look around and get a feel for the crime scene.”
“I can take you out there after the press conference, but we can’t stay long. I have a tour in the afternoon.”
“Okay,” Chelsea said. “What was the other thing you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Actually, Mandy’s involved in that thing, too,” I said. “Do you want to go get some coffee?” I glanced at my watch. “Oh, darn it’s nearly ten thirty. The Beanery closes at eleven.”
“How about I meet you back at your place and we can have a nightcap?”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
“Here you go,” I said to Chelsea. “Aunt Jemma’s finest pinot noir.”
“Yum,” Chelsea said. She was curled up on my couch in the poolhouse. Millie sat in her lap and begged for pets. Clemmie stalked around on the back of the sofa also looking for attention. “So why did you really call me out here?”
“There’s this guru in town giving seminars,” I said.
“A guru? There are a lot of those that go through California, you know. They pop up like mushrooms, depending on the time of year.”
“Hmm, right,” I said and sat down in the overstuffed chair beside the couch. “This one seems to be different.”
“How so?”
“Holly and I left the Chamber of Commerce workshop yesterday, and there was this crowd on the corner. It was as if someone famous were visiting. People were three or four layers deep. That’s a lot of people for little Sonoma in the middle of a Friday afternoon.”
“Maybe he pays people to be his paparazzi,” Chelsea said.
“Really?”
“It’s how some of them make their cons look legit.”
“Huh, I guess that makes sense. We certainly couldn’t resist the crowd. Anyway, this guy turns to us and says that we should attend one of Dr. Brinkman’s seminars to see what all the fuss was really about.”
“Is it a con?” Chelsea asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said and took my ticket out of my pocket.
“Are you going to go?”
“Maybe … okay, yes,” I said. “I’m curious. I tried to do some research on him. All of his online reviews are glowing. Lots of testimonials—even on review sites that aren’t connected to his site.”
“Those reviews can be bought, you know,” Chelsea said. “It’s like Yelp—if a restaurant pays them enough money, they bury the bad reviews or take them down all together.”
“But that defeats the purpose of the review system,” I said and frowned.
“Ask any restaurant or hotel owner. Yelp is like the local mafia. As long as they pay, the good reviews go to the top of the site.”
“You should write a story on that,” I said and sipped my wine.
She laughed. “It’s been done. Most people don’t believe it or they think that we’re having a slow news day.”
“The internet is a very strange thing,” I said. “Maybe I should start a winery review site. That way I can ask the locals to advertise on the site.”
Chelsea smiled. “I think that’s been tried. Maybe you should stick to tours.”
“Yeah, I’m not that big into internet stuff anyway.”
“Rebel,” she teased me. “What do you want to know about the guru? Do you think there’s more to the story? I mean, why else get me involved?”
“I don’t like how Mandy is looking to this guy for advice,” I said. “I mean, everyone I’ve talked to seems to think he’s on the up and up, but it feels like …”
“There must be more to the story?”
“Exactly.”
“Huh, what if it’s a cult?” Chelsea asked. “Did he ask her to give up all of her possessions? Come and live with him?”
“I don’t think so. She keeps talking about money and destiny and fame.” I shook my head. “Not that she couldn’t get those things, but they aren’t generally handed out by a positive-living spokesperson.”
“What’s the name of this guru again?”
“Dr. Brinkman,” I said.
“First name?”
“Richard. I believe he’s from San Diego. I checked out his website ‘Reach your true potential.’ It looks like it was put up two years ago. I have no idea where he got the title of doctor. There doesn’t seem to be any record of a Richard Brinkman with a medical license.”
“Maybe it’s a PhD,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll do some digging and get back to you.”
“In the meantime, Holly and I are going to attend his lecture and see what it is about him that has people clamoring to get his autograph.”
Chapter 9
The next morning, I met Patrick for coffee at The Beanery. “Thanks for meeting with me,” I said. “I got you a latte with an extra shot.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean you aren’t meeting me for drinks,” he said and took the latte from me. I’d gotten our drinks in to-go cups because I didn’t want to stay at The Beanery.
“No, we’re still on for drinks,” I said. “I wanted to know if you could get me in to see Tim.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see if he needs me to do anything for him while he’s out. Mandy told me she got a pet sitter for his dog, but he might want me to water his plants or stir his vats or something.”
“You don’t have to go see him for that,” Patrick said and opened the door for me. “I can find out and relay the information to you.”
It was a sunny and
cool fall day. The streets of Sonoma were just waking up, and business owners were opening their shops and putting out their signs.
“I’d rather talk to him myself,” I said.
He gave me a sideways look. “You really like Tim.”
“He’s like a brother to me,” I said with a shrug. “An older brother with too much money and a smart-alecky mouth.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but remember jail isn’t like the hospital. You can’t just go in during visiting hours. Especially with his bail hearing set so quickly.”
“Thanks for your help,” I said and kissed him on the side of his cheek. “Text me when I can come, and I’ll be there.”
I crossed the street to my car. The press conference was in an hour, and I wanted to be there when it happened. In the meantime, I drove over to La Galleria. Holly was working the day shift so that she could attend tonight’s seminar. The contemporary art gallery was open during the day for tourists but did most of its business at night, when it offered art showings and exhibits.
“Good morning,” I said to Holly as I walked in. “I brought you coffee—mocha with two shots, and an extra pump of raspberry syrup and whipped cream on top.”
“You are a life saver,” Holly said as she took the cup from my hands. “What brings you here so early in the morning?”
“They arrested Tim for the murder of Jeffery Hoag last night.”
“Oh no, that’s terrible.”
“I called Chelsea like you suggested, about the guru. She came when she heard about Tim’s arrest and then I told her about Dr. Brinkman.”
“What did she say?” Holly asked as she sipped her coffee and then set it down on the shelf under the cashier counter.
“She’ll look into it.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes,” I said and took a swallow of my own coffee. “She also asked that we not join any cult or allow ourselves to get brainwashed until she can figure out what his deal is.”
Holly laughed. “Why would we join a cult? We both have jobs and families and friends we care about.”
“Don’t laugh,” I said. “You saw Mandy. There might be something in the air with this guy.”
“Like hypnosis?” Holly’s eyes went wide.
“Maybe,” I said a trifle too eagerly. “I’ve always wondered if hypnosis works. I guess we may be about to find out.”
“Maybe I’ll wear ear plugs,” Holly said. “That way if you start to look glazed over and willing to do whatever Dr. Brinkman says, at least one of us will still be in her right mind.”
I laughed. “There’s probably nothing going on with the man other than he’s good at convincing desperate people to do his bidding.”
“Whew—then we’re in the clear,” Holly said. “Neither one of us is desperate.”
“Well, I might be a little if my business doesn’t pick up,” I said. “Who’s your latest artist?” I noted the colorful abstracts made with paint, gesso fiber, and twine. La Galleria specialized in Northern California art, which was a bit more abstract and colorful than your average living room art.
“This is Orson Summar,” she said. “He has a real flair for color and light.”
I went to look at a few of the abstracts. “How’s he selling?”
“He’s doing okay,” she said. “Let me tell you, I think in a few years he’ll be a big name. Now is the time to get one of his pieces. I’m betting his prices double or triple.”
“You bought one?” I asked, looking at her. Holly always said she wouldn’t buy from the gallery because that meant she was playing favorites with the artists.
“Shh,” she said and glanced around the empty room. “Maybe I talked Jeremy into picking up a couple pieces for his new resort. It’s a good investment.”
“You are a good salesperson,” I said with a smile.
“Thanks. I try.”
I glanced at the time on my phone. “Oh, I’ve got to run. They’re holding a press conference on Tim’s arrest, and I want to be there to see if they’ll spill any of the details as to why they arrested him.”
“Good luck,” she said. “See you at the seminar at eight tonight?”
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
The sheriff’s office wasn’t too far away, and I decided to walk there. There was something lovely about a clear California morning, especially in the fall. I waved to a few of the shop people, who all waved back.
“Sorry to hear about Tim,” Mr. Feldman called from the newsstand.
“He’s innocent, you know,” I said.
“I’m sure that’s what they all say,” Mr. Feldman said.
I shook my head and walked into the sheriff’s station. Inside the lobby was a small handful of local reporters—one from each TV channel—Chelsea, and two other print journalists. Not exactly a big crowd. “Hey, Chels,” I said and stood beside her. “Am I too late for the announcement?”
“No,” Chelsea said. She glanced around at the small handful of reporters. “It seems that the death of a small town realtor isn’t a big ratings draw.”
“Maybe it’s because they don’t think that Tim is the real culprit,” I suggested. “I don’t know what evidence they have on him, but it can’t be much. I know Tim. He’d rather talk bad about someone then physically fight with them. Plus, his wine is really important to him. There is no way he’d ruin a whole batch that way.”
“Excuse me, do you know the defendant?” A man with a CBS microphone asked me.
“I’m sorry,” Chelsea said, “but she’s my exclusive.” She stepped between me and the other reporter. Two others were watching with interest.
“What’s your angle?” A woman with an NBC microphone asked Chelsea.
“Read tomorrow’s Chronicle to find out,” Chelsea said.
The door from the front pushed open, and the mayor came out and stood behind a podium that was placed to the right of the reception counter. “Ladies and gentlemen, we brought you here to let you know that we have made an arrest in the Rocky Paths Winery homicide. The suspect is thirty-nine-year-old Tim Slade of Sonoma County. Fred Ranch, Sonoma County prosecutor, will be giving more details in a moment. But first, on behalf of the Sonoma County sheriff’s office, we’d like to extend our condolences to the family of the man who lost his life. We have worked diligently and quickly to bring the person responsible for this crime to prosecution. Ladies and gentlemen, Fred Ranch.”
The county prosecutor stepped up. He was an older man with a close-cut white beard and a bald head. He wore a dark gray suit and white shirt and a gray and red striped tie. “We have reason to believe that the cause of death was due to a blow on the head with a blunt force instrument. Our suspect is being charged with murder in the first degree. He’s being held in the Sonoma County Jail until such time as a bail hearing can be met. If the public has any information on this case, we ask that you come forward or call the crime stoppers hotline.”
“What is the evidence against the suspect?” Chelsea asked.
“There was DNA on the victim that matched the DNA of the suspect,” the prosecutor said.
“I understand the suspect performed CPR on the victim,” Chelsea said. “Couldn’t the DNA have been shared during that life-saving action?”
“The merits of the DNA will be debated during the trial,” the prosecutor said.
“Aren’t you rushing to arrest a suspect?” Chelsea pushed.
I felt pride that she wasn’t letting them get away with being smug about arresting someone quickly.
“The first forty-eight hours are the most important after any crime. Our Sheriff’s office and forensic team have worked diligently to find and arrest the suspect.”
“I heard he turned himself in,” Chelsea said. “It’s not like you went down and dragged a reluctant man in.”
The prosecutor scowled at Chelsea. “We are confident we have the right man. Thank you for your attention.” He turned on his heel and stormed off.
“Hmmm,” Chelsea
said. “That was interesting.”
“It didn’t sound like they had concrete evidence,” I said.
“They had enough to charge Tim with murder,” Chelsea said. “They aren’t telling us what else they have.”
“He didn’t mention a murder weapon,” I pointed out. “Maybe they didn’t find one yet.”
“Why don’t you take me out to Tim’s place,” Chelsea said. “I’d love to get a good look at the scene.”
“Are you going out to the winery?” The CBS lady asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Rocky Path is not open at this time.”
The CBS lady shrugged and walked off. “Not much of a story here,” she muttered.
“That’s because Tim is wrongfully accused,” I said. I grabbed Chelsea’s arm. “Come on—let’s go get some coffee.”
“At Rocky Path’s?”
“Well, I may need to check on Tim’s dog,” I said.
“Cool. I have a dog biscuit or two,” Chelsea said. “Your car or mine?”
“Let’s take mine. I don’t think the reporters will follow me, but they might get snoopy and follow you.”
“Got it. Let’s go.”
* * *
The trip out to Tim’s place took about twenty minutes. Luckily, we weren’t followed, though there were a couple of news vans hanging out on the street.
“Do you think they’re waiting for Tim to get out on bail?” I asked as we drove slowly by the vans and turned onto the property. Mateo stood in the middle of the drive. He flagged me down, and I stopped and rolled down my window.
“Oh, Miss Taylor,” he said, “what brings you out here?”
“Hi, Mateo,” I said. “What are you doing in the middle of the drive?”
“Keeping the news reporters off the land,” he said. “I put up a sign that says the winery is closed, but they still try to come snooping around. So I’ve been keeping close to the driveway and stopping anyone who comes down.”
“I remember when the press was all over Aunt Jemma’s place,” I said. “José put a chain across the drive. You might want to try that.”
“Mr. Tim likes to have the place accessible to the public, but I think it’s best to wait until he gets back before we let anyone on the property.”
Seven Deadly Zins Page 7
