by Dave Daren
After all, the prosecutor only gave us a week.
“Did you get any sleep?” I asked, and my voice came out hoarse.
“A bit,” she replied before she took a sip of her coffee. “You?”
“Same,” I sighed. “Vic’s down for the count.”
“Wuss,” AJ teased, and I laughed.
“She’s a diva sometimes,” I admitted goodnaturedly as I took a sip of my own black coffee. “Where are you?”
“I’ve been cataloging all of the tapes to see if I can find any patterns,” AJ answered. “I found this app that translates foreign audio files.”
“Nice,” I commented. “Is it giving us anything?”
“No,” she shook her head and frowned, “just a lot of dead ends. He just wrote a lot of sad and angry break up songs, and then there’s some love songs on here, too. The app’s not perfect, though, so I’m just getting the gist of the content. But now I’ve got a spreadsheet of topics, dates, and languages, so maybe it will help us find something.”
“Good thinking,” I said, but then my phone reminder popped up to call Wright Way, so I got on the phone.
“Hello?” a deep voice answered.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m looking for Paul Wright.”
“Speaking,” he replied.
“Hi, Paul,” I began cordially. “This is Henry Irving. I’m an attorney working with SPD. I wondered if I could--”
“If this is about Jerry Steele,” he interrupted me brusquely, “I don’t know anything.”
“I know you talked to AJ Castillo, one of our associates,” I told him, “and she mentioned a couple of things I wanted to clarify, if I could.”
“I told the girl everything,” he argued, and his voice took on a sharp edge. “Look, Jerry Steele ruined me, my career, my family, my financial future. Everything. And it’s unfortunate he passed before he could make things right, although I don’t know how he would have done that. But now, I want to stay far, far away from anything to do with that man. He is chaos. You open the door to him, and all hell comes flooding in with a vengeance.”
“I know that’s true,” I said. “I’ve worked with him a bit myself.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he grunted.
“Look,” I tried a different tactic, “I’ve done my homework on Jerry and the case with Morales. I know all about it and how he screwed you, and I don’t blame you for wanting to stay away. I would, too. But--”
Suddenly, the line went dead.
“He hung up on me,” I muttered with a frown.
I tossed the phone on my desk, and then it lit up with an incoming call from Chet Levinson. I let it go to voicemail.
Vicki walked in at that point, dressed in fresh clothes, but not smiling.
“We have the party at Tranquility this morning,” she mumbled.
“The placenta thing,” I groaned and dropped my head back. “We can cancel.”
“No,” she argued. “Not after they just became partners with your parents.”
“But we’ve got so much … ” My voice trailed off when I realized she was right. Then I sighed. “Alright. We’ll only stay for an hour. Hey.”
“What?” Vicki asked with a scowl.
“Smile,” I said gently.
Her expression softened, and she looked a little sheepish.
“I’m just so tired,” she groaned as she plopped into a chair.
“I know,” I said, “me too. Let’s just make it through the day. And then we can get massages or something.”
“A massage?” she echoed with a bit of a smile.
“Yeah,” I chuckled. “We’ll get one of those couple’s massages, with hot stones and aromatherapy and chanting the bad energy away.”
She laughed. “I think we’ve had enough chanting for a while.”
AJ groaned from where she was hunched over her laptop. “I second that.”
“You’ve been a trooper,” I told the young woman with a grin. “We’ll get you a certificate, too.”
AJ’s face brightened. “Thanks, boss!”
“On the one condition you never call me that again,” I joked with a shudder.
“Alright,” Vicki sighed as she hauled herself back to her feet. “Let’s go plant some trees and shit.”
“You’re starting to sound like me,” I teased.
“I’m starting to feel like you,” she shot back with a smirk. “Cynical and jaded.”
I laughed as we headed out of the parking lot to my car. The drive to Tranquility commune was about half an hour, and it took us outside of town. It was a mostly quiet drive, and in our current sleep deprived state, this was preferable.
Tranquility was a somewhat self-sufficient Marxist type commune, run by our clients Perry and Kristen McGrath. We met them several months ago when they contacted us out of the blue, after Earth Market wanted to sell their kombucha in stores.
It was a massive property, with a full vegetable garden, a chicken farm, and at one time, there were goats and cows. To my knowledge, the goats were still around, but cows got nixed in favor of the burgeoning success of the kombucha plant.
The latest addition to Tranquility was Neptune--both a zebra and a baby by the same name. It was a long story, heartwarming, but long.
We arrived at the property and parked in the grassy area known to be a drive. There were only a couple of vehicles there. Perry once told me they do a lot of vehicle sharing, for one to keep down their living expenses, but also given that the commune was largely self-sufficient, there was little need to leave the property anyway.
The field stretched endlessly, and since I knew the property a bit, I could pick out the different areas for chickens, and the garden, and the little cluster of wooden buildings that served as the main hub of the community.
“Where’s the zebra?” Vicki wondered as we made our way through the field.
“I don’t know,” I said and glanced around. “I want to make sure we check in on him, but I’m sure he’s alright. I also want to see the kombucha facility update.”
We reached the buildings, about a hundred yards in. They were a handful of wooden structures surrounded by a courtyard. They had dorms, a common hangout room and a kitchen where the residents took turns cooking in teams. When we first met the Tranquility community, they had about thirty people. The crowd today looked to be about half that. I guessed the fallout after the kombucha expansion was to be blamed for that.
“That’s sad about Rob leaving,” Vicki remarked as we approached the thinned crowd.
“I know,” I agreed with a nod, “I liked him. He was a little quirky, but he seemed to be a good guy.”
Perry met up with us and smiled and embraced us in hugs. I wasn’t much for physical contact, but these guys were all a bunch of touchy-feely people. So, I just smiled and gave him a quick side squeeze.
“Good to see you,” Perry said. “I’m glad you could come out.” Then he whistled. “We heard about the Jerry Steele case. That is messed up right there.”
“Messed up is a good way to put it,” Vicki told him, “and we could use the break.”
“Bet so,” he nodded and then gestured behind him. “Have some kombucha. We have a whole table of it over there. Kristen’s not feeling well, so the party’s been delayed a bit. She’s taking a rest. But I want to show you our new experiment.”
“I’d love to see that,” I agreed with a smile.
We stopped at the kombucha table, and Perry stood in front of it and grinned as if it was a big surprise. He held his hand out for us to stop, and then he reached behind him and pulled out a glass jar.
“Okay,” he smiled, “now, this is our new blend. I want you to taste it. But first I want you to close your eyes and really take in the flavor.”
Vicki and I looked at each other.
“Alright,” she agreed hesitantly.
I just smiled and nodded. God, I have always hated kombucha. My mom used to home brew it when I was a kid. She swore by it, something about prob
iotics and crap. I never really knew what that meant, but I always got this image of probiotics being these petri dish cultures growing inside my gut and giving off yeast like bacterial fungi things that fed on my bad enzymes. This was all supposed to be a good thing, I was told. I was never a fan of turning my intestines into a junior high school science project, though.
But Perry was over the moon.
“Alright, ladies first,” he told Vicki and handed her the jar. “Smell the blend.”
She sniffed deeply and contemplatively.
“Mmmm,” she said softly and nodded. “It’s got a very earthy smell.”
Perry liked this. “It does. We grew it all here, you know. So, now close your eyes and take a sip.”
She obeyed, and I saw her swill the beverage around in her mouth.
“It’s very fruity,” she remarked and opened her eyes.
“So, what do you think?” Perry asked with an excited grin.
“I think you’ve got a money maker there,” Vicki replied and took another small sip.
“Excellent!” he exclaimed, and then he turned and handed me the jar expectantly. “Now, your turn.”
I took it and swirled it around as if I were at a wine tasting. At a wine tasting, the taster is to examine the color, which would tell a lot about the grapes and age of the wine. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, so I just nodded in approval and thought about how much I hated kombucha.
Then I closed my eyes and took a sip.
“What do you think?” Perry asked eagerly. “It’s our peach-raspberry blend, and it’s got some wicked probiotics.”
“Mmm,” I hummed and nodded as I opened my eyes. “Yeah, you could kill cancer with this thing.”
He laughed. “I wish. What do you think of the flavor?”
“It’s definitely got a fresh brewed taste,” I admitted diplomatically.
He smiled. “I know. The stuff we make here has such a better taste than anything out there. I can’t drink most of the stuff on the market. It’s crap. What I love about this stuff, is it’s bringing something new and authentic to the market. Something the American marketplace just doesn’t have. And you know, our American culture is just beginning to scratch the surface of food awareness and what probiotics and natural remedies can do. I’m so honored we get to the part of an emerging national conversation.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled as I handed the jar back to him, “I’m glad you’re passionate about what you’re doing.”
“What I’m doing?” He smiled and shook his head. “What we’re doing. I couldn’t have done this without you and your investment. Come on, I want to show you what the money we’re making is going to.”
“What do you mean?” Vicki asked.
“We’ve got a really exciting new project,” he replied as he rubbed his hands together. “I want to show you.”
I smiled, followed him, and hoped I didn’t have to drink any more kombucha. We walked along through an expansive field and passed a building under construction.
“You can’t see much,” Perry began as he gestured to the bare bones structure, “but that’s the new factory we’re building. We want to keep it authentic and real, so we’ve flown in a couple of designers from San Francisco to keep the same vibe and energy we have as a community. Our thinking is the American culture is so caught up in fast, fast, fast, that we want to literally bottle up our energy, our vibe, and give it to the world. So, we needed a building that said as such and communicated it.”
“I read that in your proposal,” I remembered. “How do you intend to do that?”
“We’ve got some great guys in from San Fran who really get us,” he answered. “They really understand our vision. So, we’re using all natural products in the building materials. As you know, it did raise the price a bit.”
“Right.” I nodded.
Our benefactor left a multi-million dollar estate to a zebra, and as the executor of the zebra’s trust, I invested in the kombucha plant as long as Tranquility took care of the zebra. So, given that we’re flying in grass from Kenya for that thing to eat, I didn’t really care how much the kombucha plant cost.
“We’re also doing the most eco friendly packaging and bottling we could find,” Perry continued. “All the labels are from one hundred percent recyclable paper, and we have a return bottle program. Customers can return the bottle to Earth Market, and we’ll recycle them free of charge. Also, Kristen published this neat little book on DIY crafts to do with our bottles.”
“That’s fun,” Vicki said with a smile. “I do DIY projects from time to time.”
“Yeah,” Perry shrugged, “she charges thirteen bucks a pop, and the books are flying off the shelves. We use the same glass bottles as a lot of the drinks at Earth Market, so her craft ideas work with a lot of products. Being artsy-craftsy is really trendy right now, she says.”
“It is,” Vicki agreed. “It’s kind of a millennial mom thing.”
“Exactly,” he said. “That’s what her research suggested. So, she aimed the book at socially conscious ‘Pinterest moms,’ is what she called them.”
Vicki laughed. “Pinterest moms. It’s a staple of our generation.”
Perry walked a few paces ahead of us, and when he was out of earshot, I turned to Vicki.
“Pinterest moms? What are you talking about?” I blurted out. “Sometimes I think when I’m asleep, you astral project into this whole other life as a suburban mom.”
Vicki sighed and searched the sky for a reply.
“Being a successful woman in a small town is different,” she finally said. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just you have to know how to fit in. Women here are concerned about their marriages, their kids, their kids’ education, the new principal at the elementary school, to vaccinate or not to vaccinate … so, to be one of them, you have to be able to talk about these things. It’s not bad. It’s just a different way of life.”
I nodded as I had definitely noticed this as well. Most people our age either left town, got married, or gave up. At times, I felt a little odd that I was none of the above.
“They’ve got a new principal at the elementary school?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Vicki shook her head vehemently, “he’s bad. He’s the worst. He reorganized the carpool pick up line in such a way that parents have to wait close to an hour in line to be able to pick up their kids on time. It backs up traffic several blocks down the street.”
“No kidding?” I replied with raised eyebrows. “An hour? What about working parents?”
“That’s why everyone’s upset,” she sighed. “The stay-at-home moms find it inconvenient, but they are taking up the cause presumably for the working moms and leading a revolt against the principal. But there’s this rumor that the whole thing is all because of this one Queen Bee stay-at-home-mom who’s mad because she has to cut her gym workout short to get the first spot in line.”
I laughed. “Green Day was right. High school never ends.”
“It really doesn’t,” she chuckled, “but it’s amazing what you find out when you get your nails done with Andrea McClellan.”
Perry chortled as he walked back toward us. “That whole thing about the elementary school principal.”
“You know about it, too?” I asked in surprise. “All the way out here?”
He shook his head. “Because of the brew I have to have social media, even though I hate social media. I’ve heard about how they’re trying to overthrow the poor guy because of this pick up line nonsense. See, this is why we’re never putting Neptune in school.”
“You don’t believe in school?” I question with a frown.
“Not the kind you and I know of,” he replied. “Education was never meant to be mass produced. Learning is so personal. It’s supposed to be a natural customized experience.”
“Like home schooling?” I asked.
“In a sense.” He shrugged. “Our educational philosophy is best understood under the umbrella of homeschool
ing, but it’s its own animal. We believe in unschooling.”
“Unschooling?” Vicki asked.
I sighed since I knew exactly what it was. My mother had talked about it for Phoenix for years, although she never did it. She worshipped the movement, though.
“It’s like,” Perry searched for the right words, “education is taught through life. You learn fractions through cooking. Reading is done naturally during story time, you know, read to the kid, teach them to love reading. They want to learn the letters and the sounds, so they ask. You learn science through natural curiosity like it should be. For example, you see a lizard in the yard? Cool. You have the Internet. Look it up and find out about the lizard, and that’s science class.”
Harmony taught at a school with a similar philosophy, but I still never quite got beyond the basic premise. It made sense on the surface, but the concept was so full of holes, that unless it was administered by a stay at home parent with an M.Ed., it seemed to be just straight up not sending the kid to school.
But, then again, I went to law school, so I was clearly biased toward our formal education system.
Perry went on and on about the virtues of unschooling until we got to an open expanse grassy area. In the distance, I saw the zebra munching on grass.
“He looks happy,” I commented.
“He is,” Perry replied with a smile. “We roped off this whole area, about three acres, for him to run. Manuel, you remember the old zookeeper?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” Manuel had been the zookeeper at the client’s estate before we’d liquidated it.
“Manuel took care of him,” Perry said, “and he still checks in with us from time to time. He’s been really helpful.”
“He’s in Mexico, now?” I asked.
“No,” Perry shook his head, “he’s in New York. He wanted to make it as a Broadway actor.”
“No kidding,” I laughed. “Manuel, the zookeeper? I would have never thought. He’s so reserved.”
“I know,” Perry grinned, “you wouldn’t think he had it in him. It’s always the quiet ones who surprise you the most.”
“I guess,” I shrugged, “I wouldn’t know.”
Perry took Vicki and I back to another side of the property.
