A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery (9 page)

She approached the group of writers like a queen entering her court. The group parted as she entered their circle as if they had been waiting for her. She knew she had to be careful about what she was going to say. She wasn't going to let them have the last word or leave them to their own devices. All of the side conversations hushed as they waited for her to speak. She stood silently in the middle of the group for a few moments, her face calm. She cleared her throat and made eye contact with each as she spoke.

“Thank you all for coming. My uncle owed a good deal of his success to many of you who took the time to notice his work. A good many of you acknowledged his artistry when it took courage to notice. I’m grateful for your condolences.” She gave a small gracious smile and nodded. A woman next to her stepped forward to hug her. A few other writers approached her, offering a warm hand or an embrace, whispering words of sympathy. When the throng of people dispersed she moved over to Joe Mitchell who sat in his chair, beckoning her.

“Sorry, I’m finding it difficult to get up out of this chair,” he chuckled sonorously, his flushed face wet with tears that landed in his beard. He took her hands in his. “I am so sorry, Sydney. I loved your uncle. He was such a remarkable man. A true artist and an honorable man. I was so shocked to hear of his accident.” He spoke thickly through choked tears and a sad kind of laugh. A young editor friend named Michelle stood at his shoulder and rested a gentle hand on his arm. Joe Donner hovered behind her. His back was to Syd but it was clear that his ears were straining to hear the conversation. She caught sight of the back of his receding red hair clipped close to his scalp and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. He had not bothered to turn and face her, or even join the others in offering sympathy. The few others who clustered around Joe Mitchell's chair patted his arm or nodded at his words.

Syd kneeled down at Joe Mitchell's knee. “Thank you, Joe. Uncle loved and respected you too. You were good to him.” She pulled his hands closer to her chest in a kind of embrace and smiled at him. She stood up to leave as the man gave way to new tears. But she stopped and turned to look at him over her shoulder.

“And Joe,” she said softly. “It was no accident. My uncle was murdered.”

She turned and walked through the long stretch of field, over to where Alejandro and Rosa were sitting at the periphery. Alejandro gave Syd a play-by-play of the activity going on behind her once she walked away from the media circle. Complete silence had grown into a buzz. She was anxious to know how the information was circulating. Alejandro pointed to the same group of businessmen he had seen in the field the week before. He had been watching them carefully. He told her to turn around when a man unknown to Syd walked quickly over to the bar. Within a minute, the entire line at the bar turned to look in her direction, heads drawn together in a strange intimacy. Jim Yesler was standing at the bar when news began to spread. He strode across the field toward Alejandro and Syd while a man in the group of suits hustled over to apprise his friends about her announcement. Tribes disbanded and began to mingle with one another. By the time Jim was standing next to her, almost everyone in the field was turning their heads to steal a glance at her.

“I suppose you did that on purpose,” Jim Yesler said, clearly exasperated.

“All the persons of interest are here, Jim.” She turned to look at him and stole a sidelong glance at the crowd.

“Persons of interest?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “We should have talked about this first, Sydney.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But you agree with me.”

He paused before answering her. “Yes, but I would have spared you this drama.”

She turned to observe the field of people, who were now stirred up like bees. “I think someone
here
killed my uncle, Jim. I’d like to know who.”

Jim Yesler stood for a full hour observing the memorial guests as Sydney made her way through the crowd, accepting handshakes and embraces. Alejandro told Jim about the meeting he witnessed the previous Sunday after Syd requested that he do so. He pointed out some of the same men in suits looking intensely at Syd from across the lawn. The winemakers and growers stood with heads hung low and hands tucked in their pockets. Alejandro and Jim watched an unkempt, portly middle-aged man cross over from the group of winemakers. Jim recognized him as Francois Bertrand and watched him meet up with Hans Feldman, a balding birdlike man in an expensive suit and lifts. Jack Bristol stood next to them. Francois looked nervous and agitated while the other two held their emotions in check. Hans Feldman stood with one hand in his pocket and the other cupping a glass tumbler with scotch. Even from a distance, Jim found his cool arrogance disturbing under the circumstances. His body language was almost glib; he appeared to enjoy the discomfort of the winemaker. Jim wondered what he was saying to match his triumphant posturing. At one point Hans patted Francois on his back and leaned in to say something into the anxious winemaker's ear. Francois then stormed off and left the memorial. Jim could hear the ringing of Hans Feldman's mocking laughter from across the lawn, and he witnessed Jack Bristol bristle with contempt and turn his back on him. It was clear that Hans was enjoying himself.

Soon after, Syd walked away from the group of nearly thirty winemakers and growers, leaving them to stare into the ground. She strayed over to Marcus, who had not left Charlie's side all afternoon. He was clearly inebriated, and his face was flush.

“Hi, baby,” he cooed, offering Syd a wet kiss. Syd side stepped to dodge him and grabbed his arm around her shoulder to hold him up.

“Whoa, big fellah,” she said, bracing to hold him steady. “Maybe it's time for you to call it a night?” she asked. She exchanged glances with Charlie, who looked less empathetic. She had been babysitting him all afternoon.

Olivier showed up at out of nowhere at Syd's elbow as she tried to pry the tumbler out of Marcus's hand. “I can help with this,” he said softly. He patted Marcus on the shoulder and put an arm around him, ready to bear his weight. She hadn't seen Olivier all afternoon and now he was coming to her rescue again. Syd watched them walk away. Marcus was taller and had a larger frame. She thought they looked like a panther and a St. Bernard. Olivier deftly managed to lead Marcus down the stone steps and onto the garden path. After thirty seconds, Marcus suddenly stopped, almost falling over.

“Hey Syd!” he called out, slurring and turning back at her. “Joe Donner said he wanted to talk to you today.”

She waved him off and Olivier took him into the house.

“I bet he does,” Charlie hissed. “Succubus.” She was obviously not sober herself. Syd hooked her arm and led her away.

They made their way to the bar for a glass of water for Charlie. She already pointed out the exchange of cash between the bartender and guests for bottles that had already been purchased for the
open
bar. “Corruption is everywhere,” she said, winking when they saw one of the business suits bribe the bartender for a bottle of scotch. Jack Bristol stood patiently in line to place an order for another gin and tonic, following the rules of the game. He looked sideways at Syd. He was talking softly to a red-headed critic who eyed Syd with unveiled loathing as she approached. Jack rocked back and forth, looking agitated.

“Nice speech,” Charlie slurred, sarcastically.

Jack looked at Syd and ignored her. “Will I see you at the reading of the will Monday morning, Syd?” he asked.

“Mmmm,” She nodded, trying to convey her reluctance to talk in front of Joe Donner.

“You have read the will, of course?” he asked tentatively.

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. His mouth opened in shock. Next to him Joe Donner feigned indifference, his blue eyes searched the sky in boredom, but Syd sensed him hanging onto to her every word.

“Uh, well you might want to read it before Monday,” Jack stammered. He turned to Joe Donner with distaste. “He has left something for you as well, it seems.”

Joe Donner raised his auburn eyebrows incredulously. “Really?” he asked in surprise. He looked back at Syd with wide eyes.

“Maybe a thank you for all of your kind words over the years,” Charlie snarled at him, reaching for a glass of water from the bartender. Syd saw him glance sharply at Charlie in a flash of loathing and then recover his expression, wearing the same fake smile he had before. Syd thought he only reserved his dislike for herself. She remembered her uncle's old fight with Joe Donner years back. He noticed her staring at him, and his eyes flashed again, this time with a triumphant amusement.

“What is it?” Joe asked, turning his back on Syd and Charlie.

“I'm not privy to the contents of the envelope, Mr. Donner,” Jack said, his voice dripping in disdain.

“It's an envelope,” Joe Donner said. He smiled charmingly at Jack. Jack bristled and frowned.

“Yes, but this is hardly the time or place to discuss this,” Jack said. He glanced at Syd near his right elbow.

Joe Donner shrugged dismissively. He glanced at Syd and nearly snarled then recovered rapidly while she observed with interest. He looked comical to Sydney, like a troll. He was smug and triumphant in one moment and furious in the next, followed by a practiced mask of pleasantness. His micro-expressions transfixed her and she studied his face with newfound interest.

“You can mail it to my office in Seattle then. I'm going back tonight,” he replied to Jack in a strained, high voice, his expression calm and pleasant. He turned to look at Syd.

“And please accept my sincere condolences. Clarence and I had our differences, but he’s always been a person of interest for me.” He bowed his head and turned on his heels.

“Marcus said you wanted to speak with me?” Syd asked, low and calm. The critic turned and looked back over his shoulder.

“It seems I’ve gotten what I wanted,” he replied, not bothering with the courtesy of looking her in the eye. Syd winced at his oily voice, filled with triumph. He walked away bouncing on his toes and Syd forced down involuntary bile in her throat.

“Icky, icky, yuck, yuck!” Charlie exhaled out while they watched him disappear into the group of writers, charming them with handshakes and bidding them farewell.

Jack cleared his throat. “He’s a silly man.”

“A snake,” Charlie interrupted with a contorted face.

Jack ignored her again. “But he’s not someone to worry about Syd. Your uncle thought he was ridiculous. Anyway, I'm quite concerned that you haven’t read the will yet. Had you read it you may not have made your. . .uh. . .announcement today.” He sighed wearily through a furrowed brow.

Syd looked at him and chose her words carefully. “So you believe that something in the will would shine light on my uncle’s death?” Her voice was treacherously low, anger and frustration bubbling into her mind as she endured his patronizing tones and implications. She swallowed hard.

“See, I'm not so certain that the will can reveal much about his death. I didn’t read it, true. But I did have a nice chat with Paul. About insurance policies and their recipients who benefit from my uncle's death.” She left him standing with his mouth open, Charlie stumbling at her heels.

Sunday morning proved to be a day of recovery for everyone. Syd awoke a little before nine, and the house was quiet. She knew Marcus would be sleeping it off, but she half-expected the buzz of the day before to fill the morning. Instead, the house was silent and the kitchen clean, thanks to Rosa, no doubt. She was left to make her own coffee. She had taken an Ambien the night before, more as an excuse to repel Marcus’s drunken, affectionate advances than for sleep. But she was glad she did. She woke up feeling more focused and alive than she had since she arrived.

She sat on the deck nursing her coffee, with a quilt from the spare room upstairs wrapped around her. On her lap she held the red folio she had been avoiding all week. The morning was eerily quiet, no bird song or distant engines. No neighbor's shotgun fire or worker chatter from nearby vineyards echoed in the morning air. A thick layer of clouds moved into the Gorge overnight and she could hardly see to the bottom of her neighbor's vineyard, let alone the river. The chill made her shiver, and she huddled herself closer under the quilt and drained her mug. She mulled over the surreal events of the day before.

Jim had agreed with her. He had the autopsy report and he was certain Clarence was murdered. He had come to the same conclusion without knowing anything that she knew. He hadn't known about the insurance policies, the mysterious meeting in the vineyard behind their winery, or the plane accident in June. She was meeting with Jim later that afternoon to discuss everything with him. The last thing he said to her before he left the night before was that she needed to wait for him before she did anything else. He was concerned for her safety. She shivered again under the quilt and jumped suddenly at the sound of the scraping of the chair next to her.

“Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you,” said Olivier. He reached for the empty mug she held. “I thought you heard me in the kitchen.” He poured steaming coffee into her mug from a large french press and followed it with a splash of cream from a porcelain creamer dish. He turned and set the french press and the creamer down on the ledge next to him. He turned back and sat with his elbows resting on his knees, holding his coffee silently. She felt an urgency to say something, like he was waiting for her to speak. They sat in silence for minutes before he cleared his throat.

“Your mother's quilt,” he said, nodding at the old quilt she had cocooned around herself.

“What?” She looked down incredulously at the blanket wrapped around her.

“Oh, um, I believe that your mother made that quilt. We have a few of them at home too. She was a talented woman.”

“My mother made this quilt?
My
mother?” Syd felt a wave of resentment and frustration wash over her.

Olivier realized he was on shaky ground but didn't know how to recover. “Yes. I had one like it on my bed as a kid. The Uco Valley can get chilly.”

“Unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. She was suddenly furious. How could she not know she was sitting huddled under a quilt made by her own mother? Did Clarence keep everything from her?

“You have read this then,” he said, gesturing at the red folio.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you are clearly angry. At
me
, it seems.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “I have been expecting it.”

“Actually, I haven't.” He looked up at her, astonished.

They locked eyes, each trying to read the other. He stood up suddenly, exasperated.

“Well, when you have, please come and discuss it with me. I won't be there tomorrow for the reading. I have to get that Petit Verdot myself. No trucks are available. Everyone is rushing to get fruit off before the rain. We will have to process it in the afternoon. Alejandro will have the crush pad set up so you don't need to do anything.” He spoke stiffly and turned on his heels. She didn't watch him go, but she followed the clacking of his boots on the gravel road until they vanished.

She stared a good long time at the files in her lap before she found the courage to open them.

~

Jim came over later in the afternoon with the autopsy report and a list of suspects. He also explained that he may not be the lead detective on the case. The sheriff was concerned about his closeness to the family and he was unsure if he was going to be forced to hand over the case to the only other detective in the department, the man who happened to supervise Jim Yesler. As a deputy detective, he might not have a choice. But for the time being, he was going to help out as best he could while he still was in charge of it. He had mixed feelings about including Syd in the investigation. It wasn't exactly up to regulation, but his instincts told him she would be a valuable asset, and the case could be reassigned at any moment. At least he would have better access to information without having to cull through as many lies as he usually faced in an investigation. He was also aware that her eagerness to find the murderer was fueled by a suspended grief, and the sooner she could find resolve, the sooner she could move on.

Syd shared the information she gathered from Jack and Paul Renquest and compared it to Jim’s list, crossing people off who were not around or who had little motive and adding a few others who stood to gain from her uncle’s passing. She sensed that Jim was reluctant to include her in his investigation, but she found he was more eager to get information that only she could gather to get the case solved efficiently.

“Not Alejandro or Rosa,” she said, pointing at their names on his list. She picked at the skin on her lip and he raised his eyebrows. She reached over and slid the list across the kitchen table and crossed their names off.

“But
he's
at the top now, Syd.” He wrote Olivier's name at the top.

She scowled and shook her head.

“He has the most motive, Syd. He discovered the bod...he
found
him. He was here the entire time. The will makes it kind of obvious”.

“It’s impossible, Jim. I'm mad as hell about the will, but I've watched him and he loved my uncle. I’m certain of it.”

Jim drummed his fingers on the table. He was beginning to regret including her.

“I know it looks obvious but there's more at play here.” She made an effort to keep her voice steady. “What about the plane? That happened before he arrived this summer.”

“We don't know that yet and we don't know that the plane accident was sabotage. And we don't know anything about his connection with your uncle. What we do know is that someone held Clarence down in that tank of wine with the intention of making it look like an accident. A person with strong hands. A person who knows something about winemaking. I'm going to start questioning him first. And no, you can’t come with me.”

Syd scowled, but felt she had gained some kind of leeway by keeping Rosa and Alejandro out of the investigation for the time being. She watched Jim leave and head up to the winery. She knew he was going to question Olivier and that it wasn’t going to be pleasant. But she found herself giving in to the logic behind Jim’s argument. He who stood the most to gain was the obvious first suspect.

Syd spent the remainder of the day in a chair by the window, reading over Clarence's harvest prep lists and his notes of the summer blending trials. She found them scribbled in a notebook in his desk. She read Olivier's name more than a few times, with comments in the margins about his excellent nose or his talent for developing a perfect finish in a blend. Apparently, Olivier had been a part of almost all of the winery's operations since his arrival. It was also apparent to Syd that the will was not a last-minute whim, but the product of a well-thought-out plan that included grooming Olivier for the job as the primary winemaker.

She remained silent and withdrawn through the dinner that Charlie and Marcus had pulled together from the leftovers of the memorial. An hour earlier she watched Jim and Olivier leave the winery and head down toward the trailer. She kept an ear out for Jim through dinner but heard nothing. Their interview had lasted for hours, and she knew that it must end soon. She lay her head down on the table and listened to the banter between Charlie and Marcus. She fell asleep almost immediately.

Charlie must have taken her to bed, because she woke up a few hours later to Marcus attempting to crawl into bed with her.