Seven Deadly Zins

by Nancy J. Parra

  “Maybe it only works on some people.”

  “Maybe,” she said with a shrug, “but highly unlikely.”

  “So let’s say Bruce is right. That there are no drugs in the tea. The scent is simply essential oils. Maybe I simply don’t understand the message.”

  Chelsea shrugged. “Maybe he was just a charismatic speaker.”

  “With a doppelganger,” I said. “We should talk to Mandy. The body was found in her dressing room. And if Dr. Brinkman was dead, then who gave the lecture?”

  “Wow, that is weird,” Chelsea said. “Maybe he was a twin.”

  “I never thought of that. You looked into his background, right?”

  “Yes,” she said as we walked back to the front of the theater. “Dr. Brinkman didn’t exist two years ago. So there’s no telling who the man really was.”

  “Oh, there’s that Bruce guy,” I said. Bruce had walked out the front of the theater with a box in his hands. “Maybe he can tell us more.”

  We hurried toward Bruce.

  “Excuse me,” I said. Bruce turned toward me and sent me a gentle smile. “Bruce?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “This is my friend Chelsea. She’s helping me look into Dr. Brinkman’s death.”

  “Are you police?”

  “No,” we both said at the same time.

  “I’m a journalist with the North San Francisco Chronical,” Chelsea said. “We understand that Dr. Brinkman might have been dead while he was supposed to be lecturing last night.”

  Bruce’s gaze shifted left and right. “Oh.”

  “I was backstage,” I said. “I didn’t get a close look at the man lecturing. Who was it?”

  Bruce moved closer. “Look, I’m not supposed to talk out of turn.”

  “Off the record,” I said quickly.

  Chelsea made a noise of protest, but I put my hand on her arm to stop her.

  “Off the record?” Bruce asked.

  “Yes,” we both said.

  He shifted the box in his hands. “Dr. Brinkman was training a few of us to evangelize other counties. That’s why we all dress the same and wear the same headgear. The more like Dr. Brinkman we look, the better. It’s a brand thing.”

  “So who was speaking last night?”

  “Harvey Winkle,” Bruce said. “We were surprised Dr. Brinkman was even in the building.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t like to be around when one of us is giving the lecture. That way his secret is harder to uncover.”

  “Wait. With Dr. Brinkman dead, you all just lost your jobs.”

  “Not really,” Bruce said. “You see Dr. Brinkman set up an employee-owned corporation. When we joined, we gave our money in exchange for stock. Last night the board of directors had an emergency meeting. We’ve decided to move forward after a period of public mourning. We’ll simply lecture using the Dr. Brinkman Method.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient,” Chelsea said.

  “No, no, don’t take it that way. Dr. Brinkman was a brilliant man who was always looking out for others. He set up the corporation this way on purpose. He really believed in the communion of souls.”

  “Communion of souls?” Chelsea asked.

  “Yes, you know—community. All for one and one for all.”

  “I see,” Chelsea said. “And what about the killer? It seems there was someone who didn’t like the communion of souls.”

  “That’s the thing. We can’t imagine who would do such a thing. Everyone loved the doctor.”

  “Literally?” Chelsea asked.

  I looked at her quizzically.

  She shrugged. “Some people take community to a whole new level, and you did see Mandy kissing him.”

  We both looked at Bruce.

  “We’re not that kind of community,” he said. “Besides, Dr. Brinkman was married.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see that in his background check,” Chelsea said.

  Bruce shrugged. “He wasn’t a formal contract kind of guy. He and his wife, Alycia, were handfasted.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They had a ceremony of commitment, but no government license.”

  “Oh, what about Mandy?” I asked. “I saw her kissing him.”

  “I doubt that,” Bruce said. “Where did you see it?”

  “Two nights ago, I came back to look for Mandy after the lecture, and I saw her in her office, kissing him.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been him,” Bruce said. “I happen to know that Dr. Brinkman was sick that night and stayed home.”

  “So the first lecture I went to wasn’t given by Dr. Brinkman?”

  “No,” he said. “That was Harvey, too. He’s good, though, isn’t he?”

  “Very,” Chelsea said and took notes. “Where’s Harvey now?”

  “Last I saw him, he was at the house last night. He’s on the board of directors.”

  “Where’s the house?” I asked. “We should probably go see Harvey.”

  Bruce looked nervous. “No press. I’ve said enough, and it’s off the record.” He turned on his heel and crossed the street, walking quickly away from us.

  “That was interesting,” I said.

  “Off the record or not, this gives me more things to look into,” Chelsea said.

  “Do you think someone killed Dr. Brinkman because of something someone else did?”

  “I don’t know,” Chelsea said. “But I think we should try to find out.”

  Chapter 18

  We sat in The Beanery at a small table near the front windows. My chai tea latte steamed in front of me. Chelsea was on her phone, searching the Web.

  “This makes more sense,” she said and blew out a long breath. “Harvey Winkle is thirty-two years old. He went to Berkeley and studied psychology. He likes blonds and long walks on the beach.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, perplexed.

  She showed me her phone. “Social media.”

  “Oh, huh,” I studied the picture. “You know it could have been him that I saw Mandy kissing. All I saw was the back of the guy, dressed in white with the signature headdress. I guess I just assumed it was Dr. Brinkman.”

  “Hey, girls, what’s up?” Mandy said as she entered the coffee shop. “I got your text. What did you want to meet me about?”

  “Come join us,” I said and patted the chair seat next to me. “I’m buying.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go order and be right back.” She left to put in her drink order. It only took a moment, and she was back at the table, taking her seat. “I’m glad you texted. It’s been rough with Tim in jail. I could use some girl time.”

  “Are you staying out at the winery?” I asked.

  “No, I’m in town with my mom. I can’t go out there, knowing a guy died there. It’s super scary to be alone out there.”

  “You’re not a fan of the quiet country life?” Chelsea asked.

  The barista came over and put a frothy cup of cappuccino in front of Mandy. She wrapped her hands around it. “No, not really. I always thought it would be romantic to live out on a winery, but it’s just a farm.” She blew on her drink and sipped. “Besides, my mom won’t let me go back since Tim got arrested twice.” She shrugged.

  “I texted because I was worried about you after Dr. Brinkman died,” I said.

  “I know, terrible, right? I mean I have no idea why Tim would kill anyone, but to suddenly find out he’s a serial killer is super creepy.”

  “Oh, I don’t think Tim did it,” I said.

  Chelsea put her hand on my wrist in a sign not to go down that path. “What about your job with Dr. Brinkman? His death must have put you out of work—and your dream job too.”

  “I still have my new opportunity,” she said and sipped her drink again. “Dr. Brinkman’s company is employee owned. He wanted everyone to be invested in the company. I heard we’re going to call it the Dr. Brinkman Method of Soul Truth.”

  “Wow
,” I said. “That’s—”

  “Great, right?” Mandy interrupted. “It means his good message will go on and on.”

  “As long as the money lasts,” Chelsea said as she took a swallow of her latte.

  “Oh, there’s no worry there. We’re a thirty-million-dollar company and climbing.” Mandy leaned forward. “Followers just hand their money over to learn more about Dr. Brinkman’s method.”

  “Sounds … strange.” I wiggled in my seat.

  “If you get it, you get it,” Mandy said smugly. “It’s clear you don’t.”

  “I’m glad you’re going to be okay,” I said. “Still it’s terrible about Dr. Brinkman. Do you know who might have wanted him dead?”

  “Well, the police are saying Tim did it, silly.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Do you know why Tim would have killed Dr. Brinkman?”

  “I think it’s because he was jealous of Dr. Brinkman taking all my time. It’s why I’m thinking of breaking up with Tim. I can’t have that kind of negativity in my life. I’m just waiting for the right time. Like if he gets out of jail. Break-ups are hard, you know?”

  “Probably for the best,” Chelsea said. “Do you think anyone else didn’t like Dr. Brinkman?”

  “Oh no, everyone loved him … well, everyone who got him.” She gave me a side eye.

  “Were there a lot of people like me?” I asked.

  “Not many,” she said. “Outliers are about twenty in every one hundred, and then we try the message three times before we don’t include them in it. That’s why I was paying special attention to you. You see, if I got an outlier into the fold, I would have gotten promoted to top producer. But”—she shrugged—“after finding Dr. Brinkman dead, we’re pretty sure you won’t come for a third lecture.”

  “I heard that Dr. Brinkman wasn’t supposed to be there last night,” I said.

  “Who told you that?”

  “We know that he was training other guys to give the talk,” Chelsea said. “People like Bruce Warrington and Harvey Winkle.”

  I studied Mandy closely to see how she reacted to Harvey’s name.

  “Oh,” Mandy said. I think she blinked a couple of times. “Well, yes, Dr. Brinkman thought we could better serve the global community if there were others who could give the speeches. But I thought Dr. Brinkman was scheduled to talk last night. It’s why I wanted you to go backstage and meet him. I wouldn’t have taken you back if I had known one of the others was speaking in his stead.”

  “And he didn’t usually come when someone else gave the lecture, so people wouldn’t get confused,” Chelsea surmised.

  “Exactly,” Mandy said. “It’s why I didn’t take you backstage after the first lecture.”

  “So maybe it’s not that I’m an outlier,” I said. “Maybe it’s because I never actually met the real Dr. Brinkman.”

  “That was my argument,” Mandy said. “They told me if you didn’t get it after two lectures, then I was to bring you to Dr. Brinkman’s talk next.”

  “Did Dr. Brinkman or anyone in the group get angry emails? Bad reviews? I mean, it’s a social world.”

  “Oh yes, there are a few people who are unhappy, but we return their money right away. It’s a serious one hundred percent happiness quota. We can’t afford bad press of any kind.”

  “What do you do if they are unhappy?” I asked.

  “Well, Dr. Brinkman would bring them in himself and speak to them for an hour-long session. If they were still unhappy, he would give them their money and walk them out of the building.”

  “How many unhappy people actually came back to the fold after he spoke to them?” Chelsea asked.

  “Most,” Mandy said. “At least that’s what I heard. Dr. Brinkman is very persuasive.”

  “Was,” I said.

  “Poor man,” Mandy said.

  “You spent a lot of time out on Tim’s winery before all this happened, didn’t you?” Chelsea said.

  “Oh yes, I lived with Tim, and then I helped in the tasting barn. He can produce a gorgeous wine, very full bodied and tasting of berries and chocolate.” She smiled dreamily, placed her elbows on the table, and rested her chin in her hands. “I loved doing wine tastings. There was no money in it, but I did it for the people and the wine, of course.”

  “Not for Tim?” I asked.

  “I supposed at first I did it for Tim, but he was more impressed with his wine than with anything I did.”

  “Did you ever help with the winery?” I asked. “Like cleaning out the barns or turning the must or picking grapes?”

  “Oh gosh, no,” she said and waved her fingers. “That kind of work would damage my manicure.”

  “Did your boss go out to Tim’s place on a regular basis?” Chelsea asked.

  “What? My boss? Dr. Brinkman? No, no,” she said and shook her head.

  “No, not Dr. Brinkman,” Chelsea said. “The realtor, Jeffery Hoag.”

  “Oh, Jeffery, I had no idea that he had come out to Tim’s. I mean, I know he was looking at property out in the area, but as far as I know, he didn’t have any intention of meeting with Tim.” She shook her head. “Last I knew, they weren’t speaking to each other.”

  “You said Jeffery was looking at property in the area. Do you know why?”

  “I think he was trying to put together new zoning or something. Whatever it was, I think it had to do with politics. I’m not so much into that.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked with a tip of my head.

  “Well, you see, Paul Sutter ran for the senate, right? So, he wanted the wineries to back his campaign. Some of them chose not to, and, well, he won. So the first thing he did was pull some strings and have the zoning commission take a hard look at the wineries that didn’t back him.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I know, right? Tim told them where they could put their request for political backing. Jeffery told me that was why Tim’s was the second winery on the list to be reviewed.”

  “What was the first winery?”

  “Alan Clove’s place,” she said. “Alan was quoted in a story that exposed Paul Sutter as a misguided entrepreneur.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he invested in some pretty shady things a few years back. According to Tim, Senator Sutter tried to cover up that fact, but Alan never liked Sutter. Alan made it his mission to expose the truth.”

  “So Alan tried to tank the race and instead got caught in a revenge plot,” Chelsea said. “That’s a pretty interesting story.”

  Mandy shrugged. “Not as interesting as what Dr. Brinkman said about Paul.”

  That caught my attention. “What did Dr. Brinkman say?”

  “He said that the Senator was an outlier and not to be trusted.”

  “Because he didn’t understand the message?” Chelsea said. “Or did he do something else?”

  “Personally, I think it was more than the Senator not understanding the message. Dr. Brinkman didn’t like the man. I don’t really know why. Dr. Brinkman loves all people.”

  “Maybe we should look into the reason why,” I said to Chelsea. “There might be a real motive there.”

  Chelsea nodded and took notes. “Politics are crazy. Maybe Dr. Brinkman was involved in the senate race somehow.”

  “Maybe Senator Sutter has more enemies than friends.”

  Chapter 19

  Mandy had to meet her mom at the yoga studio, and I left Chelsea to do some digging into Senator Sutter. I was to meet Aunt Jemma at La Galleria to check on Holly. Neither one of us had seen her since the good doctor’s death, and I had a feeling she might need an intervention. She had gotten attached pretty quickly.

  “Taylor!” Aunt Jemma called my name. My sweet aunt was wearing a turquoise-blue caftan and a white turban. She smothered me in a hug. “I know we live on the same winery, but I feel as if I haven’t seen you for days.”

  “It’s been a busy day,” I said. “Thanks for meeting me here.”<
br />
  “Of course. I understand that Holly might need some help?”

  “I haven’t seen her since the murder, and she was so into Dr. Brinkman. I’m afraid she might be in mourning or something.”

  “She seemed a bit shocked last night, but not enough to jump off a cliff,” Aunt Jemma teased me. “I’m sure she’s just fine.”

  “She’s my best friend. Let’s make sure, okay?”

  “Of course. I wanted to talk to Holly’s boss, Miss Finglestein. I have a friend coming up from San Diego. She paints the most vibrant watercolors. All flowers, and they are so sexy. It would be great if I could get her a showing.”

  “Who is your friend? Have I met her?”

  “It’s Blake Kastor. I’m not sure you’ve met her. She has the warmest laugh. I’ve known her for years. We went to Berkeley together. I married my dear Anthony and came to Sonoma while she met her Michael and moved to San Diego.” Aunt Jemma shook her head. “We were so ambitious. We were going to change the world.”

  “You have changed the world,” I said with a squeeze. “Perhaps not as grandly as you had hoped, but you changed my world.”

  “You’re sweet, dear.”

  I opened the door, and the soft scent of flowers rushed out. The art gallery was cool, the white walls and skylight windows highlighted the latest collection of California art. This week was pop art with bright colors and whimsical shapes.

  “Welcome, my dear,” Miss Finglestein called as she came around the corner. Holly’s boss was in her nineties. She was skinny and dressed like an Audrey Hepburn character. She had short, gray hair, and wore large, round glasses. Today she had on a pair of capris and a pale blue sweater set. “Jemma, it’s been a few weeks.”

  “I’m sorry—I’ve been busy with harvest and then blending the right grapes for this year’s wines.” They kissed each other on both cheeks in a dramatic European fashion.

  “Is Holly around?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course—she’s in the back.”

  “Thanks. You two catch up. I’ll be right back.” I walked through the paintings to the tiny door in the back and opened it. The soothing music faded as I walked into a room with tall industrial ceiling and tables with stacks of shelves and wooden crates. “Holly?” I called.