Sedona Law 5

by Dave Daren

  “We’re getting an architect today,” I said as I threw off the covers and got out of bed.

  Vicki mumbled something unintelligible, and then the rooster crowed again.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go for a sunrise jog.”

  “Like we have a choice?” she groused as she stumbled out of bed.

  A few minutes later, I turned on my phone pedometer, and we jogged through downtown Sedona. It really is beautiful this time of morning. The Red Rocks glowed a faint orange in the distance over the expansive pink and purple Arizona sky. The town was still asleep, and the hot desert wind blew across our faces as we rounded the corner toward the city.

  Quaint eateries, boutique health food stores, pleasing landscaping, and then the LotusWorx shop I had been hearing so much about lately. We kept going and passed a Native American craft shop, where people could buy beaded jewelry and southwest patterned blankets made on the reservations down Route 66.

  Not far from that, there was a health food store called Earth Market, which would have been our grocery store of choice, if Vicki and I actually cooked. As it was, I had helped Perry McGrath negotiate a deal to get his kombucha on the shelves.

  We kept going and finally rounded back around toward our office and Jitters. It was fully sunrise now, and we would have to open the office soon, but breakfast beckoned.

  “You wanna go in?” I panted to Vicki.

  “Are you kidding?” She doubled over to catch her breath. “How far did we go?”

  I checked my pedometer app. “Five miles.”

  She nodded, and, still short of breath, we went inside. We ordered a massive breakfast of omelettes, French croissants, fresh fruit, and crepes.

  “You know,” I said through a mouthful of food, “we should start cooking. This really isn’t that hard.”

  “I’ve been thinking that, too,” she replied. “You know Earth Market has gourmet cooking classes?”

  “Really?” I asked in surprise. “I did not know that.”

  “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “They’ve got that whole cafe area.”

  “That I knew,” I responded as I stabbed another piece of strawberry with my fork. “Their coffee sucks, but their sandwiches aren’t bad.”

  The health food store was known for its coffee shop-cafe that served as a gathering place for hipsters to hang out over paninis and mediocre coffee.

  “I was thinking we should sign up,” she said.

  “For a cooking class?” I asked and shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Why not?” she pouted. “It would be fun.”

  “I don’t want half of Sedona to know I can’t cook,” I grumbled.

  She laughed. “You and your ego. No one would care. Besides, they’d be so busy trying to corner you for free legal advice, they wouldn’t even notice.”

  I laughed. “You’re probably right about that.”

  “I am right,” she said with a grin. “I’m always right.”

  “Now who has the ego,” I teased and winked at her.

  “Well,” she sniffed and took a sip of her coffee, “at least I can make toast in the toaster.”

  “Okay,” I narrowed my eyes, “that situation was way more complicated than that. The toaster--”

  She laughed and cut me off. “Okay, Henry. You keep telling yourself that.”

  “Alright,” I said and pointed my fork at her. “You want to play this game? Let’s talk about those quote-unquote cinnamon rolls you made.”

  She buried her head in shame and laughed.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to practically chip a tooth on a cinnamon roll,” I added.

  “It was a bad recipe,” she groaned as she picked up her head. “I did exactly what it said on the video. I don’t know why it didn’t work.”

  “Uh-huh,” I teased. “I know why it didn’t work. User error is what happened.”

  “Fine,” she laughed. “Let’s sign up for the class.”

  “I don’t know,” I drawled. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain in this town.”

  She laughed really hard. “You are such a prima donna! I swear! Think of it this way, when we get our house built out, don’t you want to have dinner parties with clients?”

  “Clients at our house?” I shuddered. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Come on, Henry,” she cajoled. “The whole big city bachelor, I’m-too-cool-to-cook-unless-it’s-to-impress-a-date thing has played itself out. Time to grow up.”

  I laughed. “Fine. But I’m only committing to one lesson.”

  “Alright,” she said. “I’ll sign us up for the next one.”

  I sighed. “Are we becoming a legit Sedona couple?”

  “I would say so,” she said and smiled at me. “Is that so wrong?”

  “Not with you,” I replied instantly, and her smile only grew.

  We paid the bill and jogged the quarter mile back to the cottage. Then we showered, changed, and drove back out to the office.

  AJ was there when we arrived.

  “Have you ever heard of those cooking classes at Earth Market?” I asked her as I set my bag down.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “They teach you how to grill paninis and make quiche, I think. Those classes are wicked expensive.”

  “Hmm,” I hummed and scratched my cheek. “Are they any good, do you know?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “They’re really good at turning people into food snobs, if that’s what you mean. But, teaching them to cook, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “That’s about what I thought,” I sighed, and Vicki laughed.

  “He thinks it’ll be bad for his rep to go to a cooking class,” Vicki told her.

  “What rep?” AJ responded with a grin.

  AJ and Vicki both laughed.

  “The rep that keeps money and clients coming in through that door,” I muttered in mock offense.

  “Uh-huh,” Vicki said and flipped her hair. “Oh, you mean the rep about how hot I am?”

  “Yeah,” AJ said to me. “People say she’s the Kate Middleton of Sedona.”

  “What can I say?” Vicki smirked proudly as she sat on her desk and affected an overly prim pose. “I’m just mesmerizing. This town needs me.”

  I laughed and threw a crumpled piece of paper at her, and she ducked with a snicker.

  “That was one reporter, and I think he was just kissing our asses so we wouldn’t sue him for libel,” I said. “Because of what Jerry Steele posted, I might add.”

  “Said Mr. Sour Grapes,” Vicki responded.

  “You’re ridiculous, both of you,” I mused as I shook my head and laughed. “That’s it, AJ. You’re fired.”

  “Good,” AJ said. “I could use a nap.”

  We laughed, and then Perry McGrath came in through the door.

  “Perry,” I greeted warmly. “Good to see you.”

  “Likewise,” he said and rubbed his hands together. Then he took a seat in front of my desk and smiled. “We’ve hired the contractor for the update. We start construction next week.”

  “AJ,” I asked. “Could you get that check?”

  “Absolutely,” she said and typed away.

  “That is something about the contractor,” I told Perry as I turned back to him. “How is it going to fit in the credo of Tranquility?”

  “Well,” he sighed, “to tell you the truth, we have lost some momentum in the community.”

  “How so?” I asked with a frown.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “A lot of people in our community weren’t supportive of us taking Coconino Brew to the next level. They think we’re a sell out.”

  I could definitely see that, I thought so myself. Although, in my mind, it wasn’t a bad thing to make money.

  “How do you feel about the expansion?” I asked.

  “I think it’s good for us,” he replied, “for the community. I think it will provide a cash flow we’ve never had, and that we can use to do some really great projects. Li
ke, we need updates to all of the living facilities. We need better solar generators if we’re going to get off the grid. There’s a lot we can do for the betterment of the community, if we’ve got the kind of cash flow Earth Market is bringing in for the brew. And I tried to explain this, and a lot of people get it, but not everyone is on board.” He sighed long and shook his head, and a shadow crossed his face. “We lost Rob.”

  “Aww, man,” I sympathized.

  Rob was Perry’s right hand man on the kombucha factory, and from what it seemed like, the creative mind behind it all. But I could have predicted he’d go. He was a verifiable genius who graduated college at nineteen, and by his early twenties, had been through the work world, saw the strings, and wanted out. He had come to Tranquility for a better way to live. With Perry bringing the business world to the commune, I would have thought he would be the first to go.

  “When did he leave?” I asked.

  “Oh,” Perry whistled and shook his head, “it wasn’t that simple. I wish it had been. He left in a blaze of glory. Started a mutiny, accused me of taking advantage of people, and it was … ”

  He trailed off and studied his hands for a minute before he looked back up.

  “It was hard,” he continued. “To have one of your best friends turn on you and stab you in the back like that. And then to bring other people into it, and bring you down, too. It was awful.” He drew a deep breath and smiled. “But it’s over. And we’re moving on. Bigger and better things.”

  “Right,” I said with a nod. “So, who have you got managing the factory now?”

  “Right now,” he started, “I’m double timing it. But we’ve cut back on blends to keep up with the demand. And Earth Market is shitting a brick on how well our stuff is selling. The brand is selling itself being from a Sedona self-sufficient community. All natural, organic, free trade and all of that. They want to know if we can add anything else to our catalog. But I told them we’ve got our hands full right now. I just don’t have the time to develop new product without Rob, or another manager.”

  A light bulb went off in my head, and I locked eyes with Vicki across the room, but she frowned and didn’t follow my thought process.

  “Perry,” I said. “What do you think of Jimi Hendrix?”

  He looked at me quizzically and then shook his head. “Hendrix? Dude, that guy was kick ass.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. I was hoping you would say that. I think I’ve got your new product for you.”

  “Really?” he raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  I smiled and wrote down my dad’s name and number. “Call this guy, and ask him about Jimi’s Red Hot, Purple Haze Salsa.”

  Perry looked at the number and nodded slowly.

  “Moondust Irving,” he said. “Saffron’s husband … your dad.”

  I winked. “Give him a call. And do yourself a favor, have Jimi playing in the background when you call.”

  He laughed. “Okay. Now, about that check … ”

  On cue, AJ presented him an envelope.

  “Thanks,” he said and checked the amount. “This will get us started definitely.”

  “Don’t spend it all in one place,” I teased.

  He laughed and then headed out of the office. “Don’t forget the placenta party.”

  “Dude,” I groaned. “You’ve got to think of a better name for that. It’s grossing me out.”

  He laughed. “Alright. How about tree party?”

  I shrugged. “Better.”

  “See you there, then?” he asked.

  “See you there,” I agreed, and he left.

  “What’s this about Jimi Hendrix?” AJ asked.

  I just laughed.

  After Perry left the office, we focused our attention on the Jerry Steele case. AJ and Vicki got on the phone and started kicking up dirt on contacts.

  “I’m going to go talk to Jerry’s assistant,” Vicki said. “Leila Jaxson is her name.”

  I smirked as an Eric Clapton song popped in my head, and I didn’t even notice I started singing it.

  “I’m sure everyone she’s ever met has done that to her,” Vicki snorted.

  I shrugged. “I’m the guy whose dad thinks he talked to Jimi Hendrix. Leave me alone.”

  She laughed and headed out to meet Leila. In the meantime, I pulled up the crime scene photos AJ had taken at the studio. AJ babbled on the phone as she tried to get information out of Matt Chelmi, the news site editor who’d once employed Jerry. We had a good relationship with Matt, but I could tell from the one sided phone call, he wasn’t being particularly helpful to AJ.

  I printed out the photos and read over the police report findings. According to the report, Jerry had been bludgeoned over the head with a marble statue. It was a bust in his office of the Greek god Dionysus. The bust was said to be ten pounds, and the victim died of a wound to the head. I did an online search for Dionysus to see if there was any poetic meaning. If our murderer was deep, as writers tend to be, maybe it had some sort of hidden meaning. Dionysus was a god of wine, theatre, fertility and it looked like all around partying and death and resurrection. I spent a good hour stuck in web pages reading about this god. He was a pretty hedonistic being, but my research turned up no real clues on the death of Jerry Steele.

  Vicki arrived back and had no real progress with Leila Jaxson. “She spent a whole lot of time telling me a whole lot of nothing and made me drink homegrown herbal tea and listen to Johnny Cash on vinyl.”

  “That’s helpful,” I chuckled. “A useful day.”

  “I thought so,” she sighed. “She spent most of the afternoon telling me about how she was Jerry’s assistant as a day job, but in reality, she was a music journalist that freelanced for some tabloid called The Sedona Scene. And her claim to fame was the day she interviewed some rapper named Big Chocolate for Rolling Stone. Then her story got dropped, and Big Chocolate got all outraged his story didn’t run, and now no one takes her seriously in the local music scene.”

  “Sounds like it’s a cutthroat world out there for a music journalist,” I mused.

  “What would you expect from a woman named after an Eric Clapton song, with the album cover tattoed on her ankle?” Vicki laughed.

  “Her ankle, huh?” I shook my head. “I’m sure we’ll run into her again before this is over. At least we established contact, that’s good. I had little luck too, researching Greek gods.”

  At that moment, The Count walked in.

  “Hello, Alfred,” I said. “Good to see you.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Irving,” he replied and did a quick bow. “Ms. Park, and Ms. Castillo, I presume?”

  “Yes,” AJ shook his hand, “AJ Castillo. Nice to meet you. We’ve been doing quite a lot of work on your behalf.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I have come to find out the progress on the investigation into my case.”

  I gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

  The Count sat primly in the chair in front of my desk, crossed his legs, and waited for me to speak.

  “Vicki has brought you up to speed on the deal with the prosecutor, yes?” I asked.

  “That is correct,” he said with a nod. “I am elated your contacts have afforded me a generous bargain.”

  “What we are doing now,” I explained, “is we are personally interviewing anyone who might have an axe to grind against Jerry.”

  “That would be many,” he remarked.

  I laughed. “Yes, there are many.”

  “And what is the conclusion of your findings?” he asked.

  His tone was direct, and in any other context I would have found his manner condescending, but with The Count, I took it as he just said what he thought.

  “We have found there are lots of people who could have committed the crime,” I told him. “We are talking to his ex-wife and some old business partners.”

  “Clare,” he supplied.

  “Yes,” I said. “Do you know her.”

  “She is a restless woman,
whose feet never stay at home,” he replied, and his tone indicated he was quoting something.

  “What?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Mysterious. I find it difficult to trust her.”

  I nodded. “Me too.”

  “So,” he cleared his throat, “what else do we have?”

  I looked at Vicki, and she said, “You know what? We don’t want to burn anymore daylight. Let’s discuss this over dinner.”

  Alfred smiled and clapped his hands on his thighs. “That’s perfect,” he said. “My place. At half past seven.”

  I cleared my throat. I really had in mind a restaurant, not the private home of a man suspected of murder.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Vicki chimed in. “Should we bring anything?”

  “Not at all,” he refused and bowed low. “It would bring me great pleasure to serve you as you are serving me.”

  He left with a tap of his hat, and I looked at Vicki.

  “Well,” I sighed, “I guess we can cancel Fifth Street Bistro tonight.”

  “What kind of place does a guy like that live?” Vicki mused.

  “Watch,” I laughed, “he lives in this totally normal house with a wife and kids.”

  “There are no normal houses in Sedona,” Vicki snickered. “Remember?”

  I laughed as I remembered our recent search for real estate. When we told our realtor we wanted a “normal” house, she looked at us like we had asked to live on Mars or something.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon poring over the crime photos and trying to piece together some sort of reason or something the police didn’t see. I looked at every angle and pixel of those photos, but I still couldn’t come up with anything.

  Would we lose this case? Was Chet right when he had told me in our last case I couldn’t win them all, and that it was beginner’s luck?

  I threw the photos on the desk and rubbed my face.

  “Hey,” Vicki broke into my thoughts. “Let’s give it a rest. We’ve got dinner at The Count’s.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, “and we’ve got a whole lotta nothing to tell him.”

  Chapter 7

  “Why does this address sound so familiar?” I asked Vicki as we drove out to The Count’s house.

  “Because we’ve been there before,” she replied.