Ripe for Murder Page 8

  “Not to mention murder can’t be very high in the plus column for potential investors,” Connor said.

  I spotted Big Dave through the back windows overlooking the garden. He sat under a rose arbor, looking pale even in the twilight. His shoulders shook and he buried his face in his hands.

  “Order me the roast chicken. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I walked to the glass doors and stepped out into the evening air. The warmth of the day hadn’t survived the setting sun, and I buttoned up the light sweater I wore. Stopping a few feet from Big Dave, I waited until he spotted me.

  He wiped his eyes without embarrassment and sighed. “They tell me I can’t leave. Not that I’d go without Tara. She doesn’t belong here anymore, and I won’t go without her.”

  “I guess she doesn’t have any family left?” I took a seat next to him.

  “None that matter. She’s got an aunt over in Sonoma, but she didn’t even invite her to our wedding.”

  “I wish I knew how to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

  “What I wish you could tell me is how to make sense of it.” He pushed his palms against his eyes and his voice cracked. “Tara didn’t mean no harm. She just wanted to enjoy life. She had a sharp tongue, I’ll give you that.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But she always reminded me of a stray, desperate for love but used to fighting for everything she had. She never felt completely safe. I think that insecurity caused her to act the way she did sometimes.”

  I turned up the collar of my sweater. “In what way?”

  Big Dave looked into the clear evening sky. “She craved attention, sometimes from the wrong people. And she was so afraid to be alone.”

  “She had you.”

  He sighed. “There was only so much I could do, and sometimes it just wasn’t enough. I knew who she was. I knew some of the things she did. She was a flirt, sure, but so much of it was just this insecure little girl still trying to get attention.”

  She got attention from someone, all right. I hugged my arms against me, remembering once again the twisted neck, the vacant eyes.

  Big Dave seemed to understand who Tara was, and it sounded like he’d sincerely loved her, faults and all. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure I’d ever met any man that forgiving. His pain seemed genuine, but I couldn’t leave him alone yet, not if I wanted to know who killed her.

  “So, help me understand. Tara needed attention. She needed to be admired and loved. But not many men would have been that accepting of her behavior. I’m not sure why you put up with it.”

  He shrugged. “I loved her. Like I told you before, she was fun. At some point in life you stop worrying. I mean really stop. Losing my second wife did it for me. Watching her suffer. I was tired, just plumb wore out, and nothing mattered anymore, until I met Tara. With her I remembered what it felt like to laugh. I wanted to live again. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to have fun again.”

  He covered his face with his hands and I dipped my head to hear. “I fell in love with Tara because she gave me back my life after I said good-bye to Sue. It isn’t right that I have to bury both of them. It isn’t right.”

  Ten

  THE next morning started early with a knock on the door.

  “Want to go for a run with me?” Connor stretched out his Achilles or ligaments or something else runners tend to use.

  “I wouldn’t want to slow you down.”

  “We can take it easy.”

  Connor’s easy run is a death march to most people. Certainly to me.

  “Go ahead. I’ve got coffee coming up and a nice spot on the veranda.”

  “Suit yourself.” He stretched, limber as a cat, and headed down the hall while I tried not to stare at his muscular thighs. The phone rang as I shut the door.

  “Care to walk into town?”

  “You too, Antonia? What is it with everyone?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you want to go into town and perhaps get some breakfast?”

  “Oh, well, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Now that food is on the line you’re amenable?”

  “Well, yeah. Give me five minutes.”

  “Of course, I’ll give you longer than that. You’ve never been on time in your life.”

  It was hard to argue with the truth, and when I arrived fifteen minutes later, she stood at the front door of the hotel pulling on gloves.

  “It isn’t cold out. It’s beautiful. I love crispy fall air.”

  “These aren’t for the cold.” She held up her hands to show me. “They’re lightweight but block the sun.” She took a closer look at my face. “You did inherit good skin.”

  “I’ve always been good with sunscreen.”

  “It’s a woman’s hands and neck that really give her away.”

  I pulled my collar up and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Can we go?”

  “Don’t get testy. We can pick up the walking path right next to the hotel.” A few moments later we joined walkers and bikers on the paved trail that ran nearly twenty miles through town and the surrounding vineyards.

  “You know this path cuts right across the valley floor, away from the streets and even the train tracks. This way it’s just a short walk past town to Berninni Winery.”

  I stopped. “You want to head back over and see Olympio again, don’t you? You sly thing.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I really hadn’t thought of it. We certainly could stand to apologize once again, given the debacle that occurred there last time. I still can’t believe you came to Chantal’s rescue against that terrible person. Although,” Antonia picked up her pace, “I do suppose now that she’s deceased, I should refrain from voicing that opinion about her.”

  “Especially around the police. Chief Harding wouldn’t be heartbroken to hear the mother of his main suspect refer to the victim as a ‘terrible person.’”

  “Him!” Antonia quickened her pace once more. It’s times like this when it’s easy to forget Antonia’s age. “The pompous fool! What kind of boor goes around insisting people use his entire title?”

  “The kind that can charge your daughter with first-degree murder. Be careful of Police Chief Lawrence Harding. He’s determined to pin this thing on someone. Don’t make it easy for him to have it be Chantal.”

  I looked around. Rolling hills in browns and grays surrounded us. The grape canes, gnarly with age and trimmed back for their winter rest, weaved across the landscape.

  “Look around, Antonia. Take some deep breaths and let’s slow down a bit. We need to think carefully of our next steps, for Chantal’s sake.”

  She slackened her pace. “You’re right, of course. Sometimes the truth is right in plain sight.”

  She picked up one of the shoots that lay strewn between the rows of sleeping vines, twisting the cutting in her hands. “This is a perfect example.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “A lot of California wineries started with cuttings just like this, slipped in from other countries.”

  I nodded. “Suitcase smuggling. A lot of varieties came in that way. So did some of the pests.”

  Antonia waved the twig in the air. “I’m not advocating it. I’m simply trying to make a point.”

  “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “In one story, the vintner just walked onto the plane. When asked by customs what he was holding, the winemaker simply said, ‘This? Just a stick.’ That’s all it was, then. Just a stick. Just a cutting of Roussanne from a vineyard in Chateauneuf-du-Pape. That stick, and others like it, changed the course of California.”

  “How does this help with the mess Chantal’s in?”

  Antonia clenched the cutting, bending it in her hands until it snapped. “There’s something we aren’t seeing yet. Something we’ve dismissed as si
mply a stick that’s much more.”

  “I agree we’re missing something. That has to be it, otherwise Chantal would be . . .”

  “Exactly.” Antonia threw down the cutting. “And we both know my daughter isn’t capable of murder. She might inspire it in some people on occasion”—I kept my face averted—“but she isn’t guilty of this terrible crime.”

  “So we need to take another look at the facts and examine them one at a time. But first”—I pointed to the nearest building—“I need coffee, and that place looks as good as any.”

  We approached the entrance and Antonia grimaced. “I don’t know about this. I’m not sure I want to eat at any place called The Diner.”

  “What do you mean? Look.” I pointed to a plaque by the front door. “It’s been here for sixty years. How bad can it be?”

  The Diner was in an old stone building with red-and-white-checked curtains, mismatched wooden tables and chairs, and, in one corner, a jukebox full of forty-fives.

  Two short-order cooks slid plates of bacon and eggs, partnered with mountains of hash browns, through the serving window, dinging a bell every time an order was up.

  A waitress with dark permed hair, wearing a white uniform, moved between the customers with a coffeepot in one hand and a cream pitcher in the other. She knew when to add cream without consulting the customers, and they barely noticed her. Most of the diners wore flannel shirts, jeans and work boots, and there wasn’t much talking going on.

  “This looks perfect. It’s full of regulars, which is always a good sign.”

  “Sit anywhere you want,” the waitress said as she walked by.

  A few of the steady crowd looked up to see who didn’t know the routine before they went back to nursing their cups.

  I scanned the room for seats when a wave came from the back of the room.

  “Antonia, look, it’s the couple from Chicago.”

  “If we sit with them, we won’t be able to talk about Chantal’s predicament.”

  “I disagree. Maybe they know something or saw something.”

  “I don’t think they see much of anything but each other.”

  I was inclined to agree but weaved my way through the regulars. Kim flashed me that dazzling smile as I reached their table.

  “Have you ever been told you look just like Julia Roberts?”

  “Somebody tells her that at least once a day. Personally, I think she’s prettier.” Jim pulled out a chair for Antonia. “Come join us.”

  “Yes, please,” Kim said. “We’re trying to decide what to do with our extra time. We were supposed to be flying back home to Chicago today, but that inspector doesn’t want us leaving yet.” She shrugged. “I can’t imagine we were the only ones he ordered to stay put.”

  “You weren’t,” I said. “Police Chief Lawrence Harding made it clear to all of us nobody’s going anywhere until he’s ready to let us leave.”

  “From what I heard, it sounds like they have a suspect.” Jim scooted his chair in closer. “Sounded pretty cut-and-dried to me.”

  “Now, Jim.” Kim subtly moved her head back and forth. “We aren’t sure what the police are thinking at all.” She gave his arm a discreet squeeze. “I’m sure Antonia’s daughter has simply nothing to worry about.”

  Jim slapped his forehead. “Don’t mind me. I forgot Chantal was your daughter. The police will figure out for sure what happened. It was probably an accident, although . . .”

  “Although what?” I pulled my chair in closer.

  “Well, I’m not sure I want to be talking out of turn.”

  “Young man, my daughter might very well be accused of murder, one that she didn’t commit,” Antonia said. “If you know something, I’m asking you to please tell me what it is.”

  “Thing is . . .” Jim turned his coffee cup in circles on the table. “The problem is that what I have to say may not help your daughter.”

  Antonia’s chin trembled a bit, and there was brightness in the corners of her eyes. “I want to know the truth, wherever it may lead.”

  Jim nodded. “Well, then, it wasn’t an accident. I know for sure.” He paused as the waitress poured him more coffee. He waved off the cream and continued, “I think Kim mentioned when we met that I work for the train and transportation division in Chicago?”

  I nodded.

  “One of the areas I’m in charge of is safety measures. Now, these trains are old, classic Pullmans, but by law they’re required to have the latest safety features, and they do.” Jim took a sip of coffee. “That safety latch was still intact. It closes automatically when the train is in motion and would need to be opened manually.”

  “So there’s no way,” I said, “even though Tara had had too much to drink, that she fell off.”

  Jim shook his head. “Not a chance. She would need to intentionally open the safety latch and then accidentally fall off.”

  “What if she jumped?” Antonia was grasping for anything and Jim gently shook his head.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but that doesn’t make any sense. She wouldn’t have been able to lock the safety gate again behind her. No, the only reason Tara ended up the way she did was because somebody opened the latch, pushed her off, and then latched it shut behind her.”

  * * *

  OUR conversation with Jim did nothing to dampen Antonia’s desire to revisit Berninni Winery. We finished breakfast and were standing back outside in the morning sun.

  “Of course I still want to go,” came the reply when I posed the question. “We could certainly apologize for our behavior once more—”

  “I’m not sure I have anything to apologize for.”

  Antonia ignored me. “There may also be some clue as to what happened later on the train. That waitress and that person she’s married to might know more than they’ve let on. I believe they do.”

  “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “Of course it is. We can cut through town. Let’s go.”

  “Hold it.” I took a good look at her. Those snappy green eyes were bright and without a trace of cloudiness the years sometimes bring. She stood ramrod straight in a black cashmere sweater, her silver hair piled high on her head, held in place with silver combs. Her makeup was subtle, but it was there.

  “You look pretty nice just to grab breakfast. Heading out to Berninni wasn’t brought up until I met you downstairs. When did it occur to you?”

  “What a ridiculous question.” Antonia turned onto Main Street. I followed. “Are you sure stopping by the winery didn’t come up this morning when I phoned you?” She kept her voice light, but I wasn’t fooled.

  “It didn’t come up and you know it, but I don’t mind the detour. You’re right. It’s a good chance to talk with people who were there when Tara and Chantal had their argument. Even getting confirmation Tara started the fight would help.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll want us interfering,” Antonia said.

  “Who?”

  “Him.” Antonia nudged me in the ribs.

  Chief Harding stood on the other side of the street.

  “Then we won’t tell him what we’re up to.” I grabbed Antonia by the arm. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  “What exactly do you think he’s going to share with us?”

  “Nothing, if we don’t ask.” I started waving at him from the center of the street, and he waited until we reached him.

  With thinning hair emphasized by a part just slightly above one ear, the chief had seen better days. A paunch belied a love of food, and his skin was slightly gray. He hooked his thumbs in his belt.

  “Thanks for waiting for us,” I said.

  “I only waited to tell you it’s illegal to jaywalk. I could write you a ticket for that.”

  I can pretty much find something to like in most everyone; this guy had me stumped.

  “Well, a
s you can imagine, we’ve been wondering if there’s been any progress on finding out who killed Tara.” I thought of Jim’s comments at breakfast. “I mean, the safety gates were all closed, so it was murder, right?”

  He rocked back on his heels. “You know, up here in Napa Valley, we have a tradition: The police ask the questions. We don’t answer them. You may find things a little different than from where you come from. Oh, by the way, I did speak to the chief of police down in Cypress Cove—”

  “So you did call Chief Lucas,” Antonia said. “I’m sure he vouched for all our characters, including my daughter’s.”

  “Sounds like you have a pretty informal arrangement with the law down along the central coast. We don’t play things quite so easy up here.”

  “Now really, I don’t think—”

  The chief held up his hand. “However, I will say that he did tell me he’s known you and your family his entire life, and it seemed unlikely to him that Chantal is capable of murder.”

  “There, you see?” Antonia beamed.

  He shook his head. “This will in no way interfere or influence my investigation, and I must tell you that, at the moment, I don’t see how anyone else could have been back in the caboose.” He looked at Antonia. “As of this moment, your daughter continues to be my main suspect.”

  “Young man . . .”

  Whatever she was about to say wasn’t going to help, and I interrupted. “Thank you for the update, Chief, I mean Chief Harding.”

  “Hold up there. I learned something else from that call with your local guy down in Cypress Cove.”

  “Yes?”

  “It seems this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten involved in a police matter. He said you seem to have a nasty knack for finding bodies.” He paused for effect. “Dead bodies.”

  Of course they were dead. What other kind of bodies are there? “I didn’t ask to be the one to find her.” I thought of Tara and swallowed hard. “It wasn’t something I was looking for.”

  Harding put his hands on his hips. “I don’t want to hear of you meddling or nosing around in my investigation.”