A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery (23 page)

Syd was released late that afternoon and Charlie drove her home in silence. Olivier had disappeared from her room when the nurse came in to check her IV and had not been seen since. Syd was ashamed of her outburst in the hospital room, but she still felt a surge of rebellion moving through her in waves of righteousness more native to a teenager than a grown woman. She could not discern her emotions from reason at the moment, drowning as she was in a tsunami of feelings. She was uncertain if the doubts she felt were the residual effects of having her world turned upside down or the logic of her deepest instincts. She knew that her frustration with the helplessness of her situation was real. She also knew that the people surrounding her were not doing their best to support her. She felt like she had been treated like a child. And she wasn't so certain the morphine hadn't elicited her paranoia and uncertainty. She stared out the window on the ride home.

The lights of the car reflected off of a passing car, and Syd caught a glimpse of a startled face in an oncoming Jeep. It was a face she vaguely recognized staring back at her. Something about it jarred her into contrition. She turned to Charlie when they were nearly home.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you, Charles,” she said flatly.

“Yeah? I can tell.”

“Well, fuck Charlie. I got shot today. My uncle was murdered last week and half my inheritance was given away. I got the flu and I started my period. I'd say you could cut me some slack.” Charlie pulled the car over.

“Everyone’s trying to help you, Syd. But you’re such an ungrateful bitch sometimes.” Charlie yelled at the steering wheel.

“I'm not ungrateful, Charlie. I know everyone’s trying to help me. I know they’re doing their best. But I hate being treated like a child. My uncle was murdered and I have a right to know what’s going on. I have a right to ask questions, to talk about it. And I'm not so sure your dad has the right man.” She paused to wipe the tears from her cheeks and take a deep breath, “I know I’ve been a wreck and I'm so embarrassed...”

“That's just plain stupid, Syd. Just stupid. Do you hear yourself? Your uncle died, you lost half of your inheritance, you got the flu and you got shot today! Geezus. Mother Theresa herself would be having a nervous breakdown. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about..”

“But I feel like I'm drowning...”

“Yeah, I know. You've got a lot of healing to do, Siddy. I know you like to think everything through for yourself, but you might want to let this one go...”

“But Feldman’s driven by greed, Charles.
Greed
.”

“Yeah, and he killed someone for it.”

“But he had more irons in the fire. Better paying irons. He had a lot to lose.”

“Isn't that the point, Syd? He had too much to lose. He needed that insurance payout to cover his part of the new scheme.”

“Do we know that? He had money for the initial scheme with my uncle, so he must already have some cash to invest. And why shoot me?”

Charlie threw up her hands. “Hell, I have no idea Syd. Maybe because you knew about the insurance fraud.”

“So why didn't he go after Paul the insurance guy? Jack met with Paul.”

“They’re all questions my dad has worked out, I'm sure.” She restarted the engine, “I think you need a long bath, a good meal, and a few hundred hours of sleep. Maybe some nice dreams about a dark Argentine man.” Charlie pulled the car back onto the road and. Syd stared out the window silently.

“Are you still mad at me?” Syd asked.

“Yeah, but I'll get over it. It's nearly Christmas and you just inherited a lot of dough. Guilt makes great gift-giving.” She smiled slyly and punched Syd's knee.

“
Ouch!
Fuck, Charles. I just got shot, you know.” Syd feigned a pout that felt much more like a grin. It was always better to have Charlie in her corner. She was looking forward to a night of popcorn and snuggles with her friend. Lying next to her felt as much like home as the quilt on the spare bed.

~

Charlie busied herself in the kitchen that night making Syd her famous mac and cheese. Charlie used four cheeses and the last of the home-cured bacon from Clarence's larder. Clarence cured excellent pork belly in a spare refrigerator that he used for cheese wheels, home-cured prosciutto, and his pickled vegetables. She clambered around in the kitchen looking for the right pot and utensils while Syd fell in and out of sleep on the couch. Her waking moments were filled with regret over her behavior that day. She began to feel the immediate need to wean herself from her meds, deciding that the drugs removed her ability to filter her thoughts and control her emotions.

Her arm began to throb around 7 pm while Charlie puttered in the kitchen. Syd shuffled her way into the kitchen to find some ibuprofen. After swallowing 800 mg with a swig of tap water she searched out the kitchen window for the winery truck or any sign of Olivier. She hadn't seen him since he left the hospital. The winery remained dark and unopened. She contemplated the need to do evening punchdowns, and what seemed like Olivier's uncharacteristic neglect of the winery duties.

“Not him too,” she said, her voice sounding hollow and distant.

“Who? What?” Charlie asked. She turned away from the mortar and pestle she was using to pulverize stale bread for the crust on the mac and cheese.

Syd collected herself. “I guess I mean Olivier,” she said.

“What’d he do? And who else did it?”

Syd stood and shook her head.

“Syd? What are you talking about?” Charlie walked quietly forward and hugged her gingerly, avoiding her bandaged arm in a sling.

“Well, Rosa’s gone, right?” she asked Charlie, still hugging her.

“Hmm. She’s had a few days off, Syd. That's all.” Charlie released her and stepped back to look her in the eye.

“But she didn't say anything to me. She normally would have said something.” Her voice trailed off.

“Maybe it was her day off and she forgot to tell you. Or maybe she said something to someone else and it didn't get passed on.” Charlie searched for a plausible answer.

“And now Olivier’s gone.”

“Uh, we just saw him at the hospital, Syd.” She felt Syd's head and realized she was hot. “Maybe you should lie down again.”

Charlie led Syd back into the living room and onto the couch. Syd lay down obediently. Her arm was throbbing and she wondered if maybe she should reconsider taking the pain meds, heavy narcotics haze and mood swing or not. Charlie retrieved the quilt and gently tucked it under her arm. She stood over her for a moment, looking worried. Syd closed her eyes and ignored Charlie's furrowed brow.

She dozed off for a while, feeling the hot throbbing of her arm subside enough to make sleep inviting. She heard clattering in the kitchen and the worried hum of whispering voices in between strange dreams. She awoke to whispering at the table in the same room, permeated with the delicious aromas of baked food. She struggled to push herself off the couch with her right arm and sat up.

Charlie and Jim were seated at the table, their heads drawn together in furrowed brows and furtive whispers. Charlie watched for Syd's movements and jumped up over to her when she sat up.

“How you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, supporting Syd's right arm and helping her stand up.

“It really hurts. I think I may have to take those pain meds after all,” Syd said, admitting defeat. Her arm was excruciating and the throbbing was getting worse. She had been warned that the wound could get an infection, and she was already on powerful antibiotics. Still, she wondered now if her insistence on going home was a bit premature. Nausea swept over her and she had to sit back down to avoid vomiting.

Charlie left her to find the pain meds and some water. When she returned, Syd had recovered a bit and took the pills obediently. She sat upright on the couch for a few minutes, waiting for the pulsing in her arm and the waves of nausea to subside. A few minutes later she braced herself and got up again. She shuffled over to the table and joined Jim and Charlie. A hot cup of tea was waiting for her.

“Hey, Sydney,” Jim said with evident trepidation and worry, his voice full of gravel.

“Hi, Jim. Hey, listen, I'm sorry that I gave you such a hard time at the hospital. You're right. You are a good detective and I was wrong to second-guess you.” She reached over awkwardly to squeeze his plate-sized hand with hers.

Jim and Charlie exchanged looks. Even under the fogginess of pain, Syd could see their expressions.

“What's up?” she asked in a small voice, feeling very young. The hair on the back of her neck rose and a chill swept through her.

“Our case isn’t water tight,” Jim said. “But we're working on it, Syd.”

“You still believe it was Feldman, right?” she heard herself plead. She wanted to believe it wholeheartedly. She needed to know it was over.

“Yes. He's just really clever. Listen, Siddy-biddy, I just need you to rest and heal that arm. Let me worry about the case.” He shoved back his chair and cleared the stack of plates. Syd sipped her tea while Jim rinsed off the dishes. Charlie sat and tried to avoid staring at Syd with a face wrought with worry.

“I'm gonna head out now, ladies,” Jim said. He shuffled into the great room. “You two take care and look after one another. A cruiser will be here all night, just outside. I'll be back in the morning, okay?” Syd heard his voice as if through a large pair of ear muffs.

“What time is it?” she asked, more as a statement to herself than a question.

“About 8:30,” Jim answered. He bent over to kiss her cheek. “Good night,” he said to Charlie, who bit her lip. “Lock the doors, babe.”

They sat silently together at the table. Charlie stared at her clasped hands while Syd pondered the possible whereabouts of Olivier. She was beginning to feel the incessant nagging of a task undone in the winery, and her mind worked out the risks of leaving them undone. A Tempranillo ferment was awry and unchecked today. Punchdowns had not been done since early in the morning. Two had been missed so far and there was no sign of Olivier.

“I need to get up to the winery, Charlie,” she said, her voice echoing strangely in her head.

“What?” Charlie turned to look at her in slow motion, her voice muffled and deep.

“Punchdowns haven't been done all day.”

“I think the wine can survive a day without punchdowns.” Charlie wasn't about to let Syd go up to the winery and attempt punchdowns one-handed. Or negotiate the stepladder on opiates.

“But the Tempranillo is...”

“I'll call Alejandro,” she said and jumped up out of her chair. She returned with her phone to her ear a moment later. There was no answer. She left a voicemail and texted him. She found another number and called it. Still no answer. She texted again.

“Who's that?”

“Olivier,” Charlie said. “I've been trying to call him all afternoon.”

“He's got a cell phone?” Syd asked, incredulously. Charlie smiled and nodded, still texting.

“So why doesn't Rosa have a god damn cell phone?” Syd asked. The pain meds were beginning to chisel away her filters. Charlie set her phone down and reached for Syd's shoulders. They sat in a half embrace for a long time. Syd began to feel unbearably sleepy, and shuffled off to bed with Charlie behind her, ready to help Syd into her pajamas. She lay down on the bed on her back, the beloved quilt tucked under her arm along with a pillow to prop it into the most comfortable position.

“Night, Syd. Rosa will be here in the morning, don't you worry.” Charlie kissed her on her forehead and tiptoed out of the room.

Syd lay in the dark for a while, making out strange shapes in the shadow of the dim light on the table across the room. The light was yellow but tinged with gray by the darkness. It reminded Syd of the bruises on Jack's face. Then she thought of Jack. She mused over his friendship with her uncle and the memories of his presence in her childhood. Jack was like a gift-bearing happy uncle to her, replete with trips for ice cream. He was always a guest at Thanksgiving dinner and had a special ticket at graduations. But even though he was beaten and bruised, and nearly killed, she still wondered what possessed him to take part in conversations with Feldman about his most recent scheme. Maybe he was just Feldman's lawyer? She tried to recall what Alejandro had told her about the meeting in the vineyard that Sunday less than two weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

She squirmed in bed, regretting it as soon as she moved. Her arm throbbed. The overwhelming fatigue she felt earlier vanished into fitfulness and she lay poring over random thoughts and worries. The pain in her arm brought her mind to sharp acuity in jolts. She listened for the sounds of a truck on gravel for a long time, but it never came.

Soon she drifted off into a disturbed dream. In it she heard laughter from Rosa and Olivier through the open door of the winery. The door was unusually heavy when she pushed on it, feeling it push back the more she shoved. She lifted her left arm, which felt heavy and stiff, and pushed higher up on the door. The bandage was gone but the gunshot wound was still there. Only now there were no stitches; only an open blackish hole. The door still wouldn't budge. Syd called out to the voices inside, but they couldn't hear her. Rosa's cackle rolled out beneath the crack of the door. She turned to see her uncle standing next to her, studying her troubles with a look of concentration. His glorious scent of cedar and exotic spices overtook her. His hair was tinged with purple and his skin was ashen, but his eyes were alive and smiling.