A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery (10 page)

The next day was as gray as the day before, threatening rain. Syd woke up with the familiar pain in her chest that she tried to ease with a few moments of meditation on the deck, but the oppressive gray only made her feel heavier. She knew the day ahead was going to be terrible. Charlie was in danger of losing her job if she didn't return to the city and had made plans to leave. Marcus had left late the night before after their worst fight, which happened when she shrugged off his attempts at intimacy again. He was hurt and petulant, demanding that she give him some sign that she needed him. She responded with a plea for independence and some time to figure out her uncle's murder without having to deal with his emotional demands. He wanted her to agree to leave the investigation to the police, but she refused. He begged her to return with him, and she told him that she might not be returning at all. It was news to her as well. She only realized what she was saying after she said the words out loud. She hadn’t really come up with a plan for the future, but she also hadn’t allowed herself time to think about what would happen next. The will and the insurance money certainly changed everything for her. She was financially set for life now and she wouldn’t need to keep her job in Seattle; a job she knew she may have already lost. She hadn't checked in with the restaurant in a week. But more than anything she had the winery to contend with.

She sat next to Charlie on a damp deck chair under her mother's quilt with a steaming mug of coffee. It was still early, and the clouds rolled over the river and settled like clustered cotton balls. The air was thick and cool. It smelled of rotting vegetation and wet earth.

“How are you going to work this out?” Charlie asked, shivering.

“Well, I think your dad will do most of it. I'm just going to let him know what happens at the reading of the will today, I think.”

“No, Syd. I meant how are you going to share the winery with this guy?”

Syd sighed. “I've got no idea. I haven't thought about it. Your dad didn't arrest him last night or even take him in for questioning. And he's gone now. The truck’s gone, so I assume he left to get grapes this morning as planned. So he must have convinced your dad he wasn’t a flight risk.”

“Or he took the truck to leave.”

Syd shook her head adamantly. “No, Olivier’s invested. He cares so much about this winery already. It’s so weird, Charlie, but this guy seems more in love with this place than I am. Like he belongs here.” She thought of the scribbles in Clarence's notebook.

“He does
not
belong here, Syd. I mean, who the hell is he?” Syd furrowed her eyebrows. “He's the guy who inherited my family winery. Half of it. With me. A guy who I’ve never met before and have never heard of. A guy who loved my uncle. A guy who had a quilt on his bed as a kid that my mother made. He's the guy who stands the most to gain by my uncle's death, according to your dad. He's the guy who’s held me twice while I sobbed. He kept the winery running this last week during all the chaos. He dry-cleaned my suit and slept in my old room, but promptly moved out to the trailer during all the commotion, probably just so I’d have a place to stay. I have no fucking clue who he is, Charlie. But I'm pretty certain he didn't kill my uncle.”

“But the police think otherwise, Syd. He’s their primary suspect right now.”

“Yeah, yeah. And I'm really pissed off that he inherits the airplane. Why on earth would Clarence do
that?
Olivier doesn't fly
.
Jesus, maybe he does.”

“See? You don't even know him,” Charlie mumbled into her mug.

Syd brooded in her own dark thoughts. She savagely pulled the skin off of her lower lip while Charlie chatted about her plans to return later in the week. She had a big gala event to attend in two days for the magazine launch of their mutual friend, Michelle. They had attended sommelier classes with Michelle and were often considered a trio in their debaucheries and schemes. But Michelle was a wonder-woman with ambitions to create a print magazine devoted to the world of wine and spirits in a time when print publications were going under by the week. She pursued her dream with dogged determination, and Syd and Charlie were looking forward to attending her launch party. The who's who of the industry would show up; a smorgasbord for Charlie's appetite for human folly. But Syd could see no way to return to Seattle any time soon. She was honored that Michelle attended the memorial, despite the fact that it was just a few days before her magazine launch. But Syd would have to miss the party, regardless of how much she was looking forward to it only a week before.

“You're thinking of staying here then?” Charlie asked.

“I don't know
what
I'm thinking,” Syd said, sounding as jaded as she felt.

“You probably already lost your job, you know? Jackson’s an asshole.” Charlie always hated Syd's boss. As usual, she was right about his personality flaws.

“Yeah, I may not even bother to call him. It's not like I need the cash anymore.”

“That's a lot of dough,
schweetheart
,” said Charlie, offering her best Bogart.

“Yeah, I'm surprised I'm not a suspect.” Syd smiled sardonically at Charlie.

Charlie looked down cagily in her mug.

“Really?
Really
?”

“It's police work, Syd. All persons-of-interest make the list. And you do stand to gain
the most
. Dad had to rule you out. Of course, he could never think it was real, but he had to eliminate you. He's under a lot of pressure. They lost several days in the investigation, thinking it was an accident. They might still reassign the case.”

“Great, what’d he do? Call my work?”

“Yup. Apparently, you were serving some posh Japanese guys a very expensive bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”

“All night, actually. The same bottle of band-aid wine too. I tried desperately to give them a remarkable Rhône blend from Washington but they didn't bite. Bastards.” Syd was letting Charlie off the hook. She didn't want to be angry when she said goodbye to Charlie. And, of course, she knew that Charlie was right. Jim was protecting her. Still, she pondered how he could ever imagine that she was capable of such a thing. How could she ever kill anyone, let alone drown her own uncle?

“No accounting for taste,” Charlie said, smiling in relief for her clemency.

Syd grimaced. She began to imagine how her uncle had died, and how the killer must have done it. The autopsy report was clear. CO2 Asphyxiation as a product of dry drowning. The bruising on the back of the head could hardly have come from a struggle in accidental drowning. She was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea. Bile filled her throat. Before she could think she leaned forward and vomited on the deck between her legs.

Charlie jumped up. “Woah! Geez! Are you alright?” She leaned down and rubbed Syd's back, trying to gather her hair and pull it away from her face.

Syd spit out the last of it and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Tears filled her eyes. She looked up into Charlie's face.

“Someone held him down, Charlie,” she said, sobbing tears of anger. They turned her eyes bloodshot red. “Someone held his head down in a tank of wine. He fought. He fought back. He had bruises on the back of his head. And a dislocated thumb.
He fought hard.
”

Charlie used her sleeve to wipe the tears from Syd's face. She cradled her head and rocked her, making cooing sounds. “I'll be back on Thursday, okay? As soon as possible. And I'll take time off. I've got some vacay saved up. Fuck the Bahamas!”

Jack's office looked more gray than purple without sunshine to light up the space. Sydney walked into the room just as Francois Bertrand was leaving. He brushed past her, avoiding eye contact and muttered, “Good morning.” He clutched an oversized frame that was messily rewrapped in brown paper. Rosa was already seated in the office alongside Alejandro, holding his hand and sobbing. There were two more empty chairs in front of Jack's desk. Syd sat down in the one next to Alejandro.

“Good morning,” she said to both of them. She leaned over and squeezed Rosa's hand. She realized that Rosa had been avoiding her. She had hardly spoken two words to Syd at the memorial and she had been like a ghost in the house ever since. Here in this office, she looked small and fragile. Syd felt a jolt of pain in her stomach for her. Rosa squeezed her hand in return and buried her head in a handkerchief that belonged to Alejandro.

Alejandro's eyes followed the winemaker out the door, looking more angry than sad.

“Framed article of his best scores,” said Alejandro, nodding toward the door. “That's what your uncle gave
him
.”

“Francois Bertrand?” Syd asked. “Really? A peace offering?”

“A haunting,” he whispered, leaning toward her and winking. “It had a photo taped on the back of it.”

“You saw it?”

“I took it,” he whispered, cryptically, and leaned back. Alejandro was full of surprises.

“When was that?”

“Last March. I saw Francois with Joe Donner in the Elk's Club parking lot. I was coming out of the Post Office, getting my mail, and I see him get into a Jeep. He gave Donner an envelope. Right there in broad daylight. I recorded it on my phone...”

“It’s five minutes after,” Jack interrupted as he entered his office. He sat ceremoniously behind his desk. “Should we wait another five for Mr. Ruiz?”

“Oh, he's not coming,” Syd half-whispered, realizing that the last seat was for him. “He had to pick up fruit. Some Petit Verdot needed to come off before the rain.”

“
Sí
. And I have to get back to set up the crush pad,” Alejandro said loudly, clearly anxious to get things rolling. Rosa's sobbing was wearing on him, and he had to force himself to distraction.

“Okay, then,” Jack said, looking disappointed.

He proceeded to read aloud what Syd had read four times the day before. Clarence had bequeathed a small financial fortune to both Rosa and Alejandro, which came as a complete surprise to them. Rosa stopped sobbing in her astonishment, and Alejandro could hardly contain his own tears. He got up shortly after the reading to step outside. He spent the remainder of the meeting pacing the sidewalk in the cold, trying to catch the unraveled emotion that escaped his best efforts in the hand that covered his mouth.

Jack's voice settled in a monotone cadence when he read the details of Clarence's estate; the dividing up of the winery between Olivier Ruiz and Sydney McGrath. Clarence had not forgotten his lawyer friend either, and Jack visibly squirmed when he read his own name in the will. Clarence had given his airplane to Olivier, which Jack read with particular bitterness. He regained his composure as he read on, ending with the reference to the mysterious packages that Clarence had bequeathed to several people. There was the one for his “friend”, Francois Bertrand, whose mystery was revealed when Syd entered the room. Another was for Hans Feldman. It sat wrapped in brown paper on Jack's desk, a package roughly the size of a boot box. Jack read the last line of the will while he unlocked his safe and recovered two plain manila envelopes, sealed with red sealing wax. One was for Sydney and the other was for Joe Donner.

Jack opened an accompanying letter in a plain envelope clipped to the larger envelope addressed to Sydney, per instructions of the will. Syd could see it was handwritten in Clarence's left-handed script. Jack read it aloud.

“Dear Sydney, You may review the contents of this envelope or you may throw them away. Its mischief has given me some amusement, although you may find its malfeasance tedious. Either way, it’s yours to do with as you see fit. I have played with it long enough. Signed Uncle Clarence. Joe Donner gets the other copy,” Jack said, looking up to her. Syd could certainly guess what it might be.

“Was Uncle blackmailing poor Joe Donner?” Syd asked, both sardonic and inquisitive.

“No, no.” Jack shook his head emphatically, which only added to Syd's concern. “He asked nothing for these documents, I assure you,” he paused. “He was toying with him. Understand? Donner was an ass at every turn. But Clarence felt he owed Donner something at any rate. Donner was the one who revealed the corporate buyout, after all.” Jack added the last with a note of more bitterness. “There’s one more thing. Another sealed letter.” Jack turned and retrieved it from the safe. He read it aloud.

“I
hereby bequeath my
Isle of Lewis Chessmen
set and carved chessboard to Olivier Ruiz. Signed Clarence Blackwell. Dated August 30
th
”.

Syd heard a sharp gasp before she realized it came from her own mouth. Rosa stared at her while she tried to recover from her shock. Of course she had assumed the chessmen were hers as her part of the estate. The chessmen
were
hers, by every right. She grew angrier when she realized that Clarence had written the letter just days after her last lunch with him, the last time she saw him in Seattle.

Clarence sat waiting at the table for her. He had already ordered the wine and bruschetta to start. She was only a little late, but with Clarence a little late was as bad as not showing up at all. She was expecting a reprimand when she approached the table, but she was pleasantly surprised to hear his unexpected praises.

“You look wonderful, my girl,” he said, rising to embrace her. He squeezed her for longer than usual, in a way that showed his genuine affection for her. She immediately noticed that he felt thinner through his clothes. She took in his familiar smell like a hungry person, in spite of herself.

“Thanks,” she said, a little shaken by the generous compliment and display of affection. After all, he was a man who hardly said anything to her. He gestured for her to sit and informed her that he had already ordered for her. He poured her some of the rosé he held in his hand.

“This is Martha's rosé. An intentional rosé blend. Not that nasty saignée. I was pleased to see they had it on the menu.” He chatted on in uncharacteristic enthusiasm. He mentioned the carpaccio bruschetta and the menu options while Syd sat staring, nonplussed. Sydney felt more than a little ambushed by the new man in front of her and his incessant prattle. He was clearly twenty pounds thinner now and he looked older. But his smile made his face handsome and his skin was tan and healthy looking. His full head of white hair was trimmed neatly above his ears and his beard was close and neat.

“What are you staring at?” he asked after a few moments. He selfconsciously ran his hand over his white beard to groom away any stray breadcrumbs.

“Nothing. I'm just...uh. Who the hell are you and what have you done with my uncle?” Her face broke into a smile.

He sat back and folded his hands on his thin belly. “I've had a change of heart, Sydney.” He winked at her and stared, taking every bit of her in.

“Oh. Is it love?” she asked, teasing him. She was still a little uncomfortable with the candid nature of their conversation and his searching eyes.

“You could say that. And a brush with mortality. A cynic might find oodles of clichés here, really. The point is I’ve been wrong and I want to fix things. Ah, but our lunch has arrived.” He made himself busy arranging the table for the dishes as they were set down in front of them. But Syd could see the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

They ate a delicious meal of mussels and pomme frites, seared ahi over grilled fennel, and roasted beet salad with goat cheese, hazelnuts, and oranges. They chatted over her recent adventures in finding the best Washington wines in her quest for an excellent wine list at work. He listened and gave her advice about a few labels and their winemakers. But he mostly just listened to her. The conversation grew comfortable and easy, and Syd began to enjoy her uncle's company for the first time since she was a teenager. It only grew slightly tense when he inquired about Marcus, which made her defensive.

“I'm only asking. He's stuck it out for so long. He has to have some redeeming qualities.” He insisted when she bristled at his questions. She knew it was the closest thing to an olive branch that Clarence could offer when it came to Marcus.

He asked about Charlie, her apartment, and her daily schedule. He listened to her with a kind of attentiveness she rarely experienced with her uncle. It was clear that he relished every moment with her and she was deeply touched.

After a while, she pushed her plate back and rested her elbows on the table. She cradled her face in her hands. He was a darling man when he smiled and connected with others; when he was fully present and not sequestered away in some dark place in his mind.

“So, what is it that has you up here? What has changed your heart?” she asked softly. He looked at her with marvel in his eyes. She realized it was perhaps the first honest question she asked him in a decade.

He smiled sadly, and told her about his misadventures that summer. He explained some of the details of the buyout and how it went sour when he found out that the investor was planning to sell the winery to a big corporation out of California. Francois Bertrand was chosen as the winemaker after the buyout was completed and Clarence would be shunted aside. Francois was a crony of the investor. Worse yet, Joe Donner had revealed the inside scoop in a blog post on his weekly wine industry journal with the malevolent intention of outing Clarence as a washed out sellout. Of course, Clarence had been completely unaware of the investor's plans and he quickly pulled out of the deal. It was all information that Sydney already knew, but it was good to hear it from her uncle.

“And Jack and I have had a falling out over this,” he said. “Jack is not in a good place financially and I suspect he was expecting a windfall from the deal. He was also going to broker the corporate buyout, apparently.”

“Wait a minute. Your best friend Jack was going to help sell out the winery to a corporate investor behind your back? Why’s he so hard up?” Syd processed the information slowly, trying to follow the story with three glasses of wine under her belt.

“Cynthia has a gambling problem, Syd. She’s squandered away their savings, their retirement, everything. Jack’s completely lost. She’s gone for treatment, but Jack discovered the problem when it was too late. She handled all of their financials. Also,” he added with furrowed brows, “he thought it was in my best interest.”

“So why aren't you furious about this?”

Clarence exhaled deeply after sipping another glass of the port he had ordered. “Yes, Syd, he betrayed my trust. Yes, he stood to gain at my expense. But he is a friend, and he has done a recent good turn to make up for it all.” He patted her hand. Syd sat completely perplexed. Forgiveness was not one of Clarence's strong suits.

“This all happened before the accident?” Syd asked. She remembered that the last time she saw Jack was at the hospital when Clarence had a near-miss in his airplane in June. Jack and Cynthia were in the waiting room when Syd arrived. Jack had been pacing the room for hours.

“Yes. And I was not speaking to him at the time, you remember. But the accident changed everything for me, Syd. That’s all water under the bridge now. Although it’s still a bit awkward between us.” He leaned forward and held her hand. “Anyway, I have a new winemaker now. From Argentina. A friend, actually. I want you to meet him.”

“So you won’t be making the wine now?” She asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Of course, I’ll be making the wine. I just need help now. I'm not getting any younger.” Her mouth formed her next thought but he squeezed her hand. “Listen, I want you to come home this Crush. Can you do that? I want you to meet someone.” He swallowed hard and looked her in the eye. “I want you to help with the wine this year.”

“You want me to help with Crush,” she said flatly.

“Yes! I want your input.” He looked down sheepishly. It was another new gesture for Clarence.

“You want me to come help with Crush,” she said through clenched teeth. “You want my input? After years of telling me to stay away?”

He nodded into his hands and sighed with resignation.

She shook her head in disbelief. “I've got a life here, you know? I have a home here and a good job that I do quite well, thank you.” Her voice rose more than she intended, and the table next to them turned to look at her.

“Please, Sydney. Please come. This is so important to me.” His soft pleading was barely audible.

“A year ago you were planning to sell the winery to some random person, and you never even considered how I felt about it. You said you didn't care what happened to the winery. You refused to even entertain the idea of me taking it over. And now you want me to come down and help with Crush? Unbelievable!”

He threw his hands up. “I told you, I've had a change of heart.”

“Well, so have I.” She pushed back her chair and slammed her napkin onto the table. “Thanks for lunch.” She left him staring at her as she stormed out of the restaurant.