Dead on the Vine: (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries #1 (A Cozy Mystery)) (17 page)

“Divorce might’ve been the best thing for him,” Hunter said. “Think Ben’s still down at Shaky’s? I’d like to talk to him.”

“No, he was heading home.”

“Guess I could catch him there,” Hunter said, downing the last of his scotch in one gulp. He stood, and I was sorry he was leaving so quickly, but I could think of no way of drawing out the conversation.

“Thanks for the drink, Mrs. de Montagne.” He said and stuck out his hand. I stood and shook it. His hand was callused and hard from rough work and I could sense the power in his arm. Whatever he was doing since retiring hadn’t made him soft.

“Claire,” I said. “Anytime.”

“Be careful what you say,” Hunter said, holding my hand for an extra five-count. “I might take you up on it.”

I blushed again. God, I was way out of practice with this!

Hunter let my hand go with what might have been reluctance. But, maybe I was just flattering myself.

He was halfway through the door when he stopped and turned to face me. Back-lit by the moon, his features were in shadows.

“How well do you know Laurel Harlan?” He asked me.

I felt my face set and my body went rigid. A slew of hostile words hammered on the back of my lips, but all I said was, “I think she killed Kevin.”

“Bright lady.” Hunter winked. “Coincidences.”

“You don’t believe in them. Are you sure that’s all?” I pressed.

“Well,” he said, drawing the word out. “I can’t really add anything.”

“You mean you won’t,” I crossed my arms and gave him the ‘angry female’ glare. It works on men, sometimes. Not this time.

“Not ‘til I talk to Ben. All I got is a string of speculations. And an active dislike for the woman.”

I nodded, too tired to argue. “Talk to Ben,” I said. “And then one of you better talk to me. I’m sick of this ‘Don’t worry about it little missy, let us men handle it’ stuff.”

Hunter laughed. “I’ll get back with you. Gives me an excuse to come back,” he added and I blushed yet again. I needed to get out more!

“Be careful,” I yelled at his back. He disappeared around the corner of the house.

“You too,” he called back. I wondered where his car was? I hadn’t seen a vehicle parked on the road. He must have pulled off further up, but why?

“Who knows,” I said to the darkness. My weariness was becoming bone-deep fatigue. I couldn’t think anymore. The only thing I was certain of was Jessica’s innocence.

I got dressed for bed, grateful to slip into a ratty T-shirt and frayed pajama bottoms. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, then climbed into bed and closed my eyes. It was just after midnight and I had an early day tomorrow.

Twenty tosses and turns later, I looked at the clock. It was 2:15.

“Why me?” I groaned as I sat up. I felt wired. There was no way I was going to get to sleep. I got up and stuck my feet into my slippers. I was going to be tired and groggy tomorrow, so I might as well get a jumpstart on my day by going through the shipping manifests.

I passed the guest room door on my way to the stairs. Samson was snoring like a freight train with asthma. He had slept through Hunter’s visit. So had Victor. My faithful protectors. They were going to pay for their wine-drinking tomorrow.

I flipped on the kitchen lights and got the shipping forms from the table in the tasting room. I turned on a lamp in the living room and sat on the sofa, feet curled under me, manifests in my lap. The answering machine message light was blinking. I had erased the earlier messages before I met Ben, so this was new. I pushed PLAY.

The hissing silence of an open line played for ten seconds before a muffled voice spoke. It was a woman’s voice, I could tell that much, but I didn’t recognize it.

“Jessica’s fingerprints aren’t the only ones on the shovel. There are several unidentified fingerprints that aren’t Kevin’s or your daughter’s.” That was all, but it made me sit up straight. I pushed play again and listened all the way through, straining for an identity to go with the voice. It still sounded distorted, but there was a glimmer in the back of my mind.

“Midge,” I said out loud. “God bless you.” It had to be her. I pushed play a third time, listened and was certain. She had taken the risk of being fired to call me.

The phone call was enough to make me forget the manifests. If someone else’s prints were on the shovel, that person must be the killer! Or they could belong to a hired laborer who used the shovel a month ago. Still, it shed a little more doubt on Jessica’s guilt, and it made me even angrier with Priest. He hadn’t mentioned other prints. Was he deliberately keeping information hidden to make sure Jessica took the blame? I could believe it.

I turned over the top manifest and wrote down four names on the back of it; Priest, Kevin, Jessica, and Laurel, then sat staring at them. The next thing I knew, Victor was shaking me awake at 7:15 A.M. and I had a stiff neck.

“Jess is on the phone,” Victor said, holding the handset out to me. I hadn’t even heard it ringing. Too little sleep for too many nights.

I took the phone. Victor pointed toward the vineyard and whispered, “Get to work.” He was bleary-eyed, but he still had enough energy to joke around. I flicked him away. 

After a stretch and a groaning yawn that threatened to unhinge my jaw I put the phone to my ear.

“Hey, babe,” I said. “How are you?” I stifled another yawn, rubbing at my eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Mom,” Jessica whispered. “Can you come and get me? Right now?”

“What’s the matter? Why are you whispering?” I asked, immediately dropping into a whisper myself.

“Everybody’s asleep. I want to get out before they wake up,” Jessica said. “Can you come? Gram is driving me nuts, and Daddy’s just as bad. They act like I killed Kevin. Like I’m a nut-case. Can you come?”

“I’m in my PJ’s,” I said. “Let me get dress—”

“Please!” Jessica cut me off. “You have to hurry. I’ll meet you at the gate. Just come!”

My heart went out to her, in part because I had a good idea what kind of misery my mother-in-law was putting Jessica through. The woman was a nagger and a whiner, not a pretty combination. And to even suggest that Jessica might be a murderer! Her own granddaughter!

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Jess breathed with relief. “I’ll be out front.” She hung up and I got up.

I splashed water on my face and ran a toothbrush across my teeth. I didn’t look in the mirror. I wasn’t in the mood for a horror show this early. I dragged on jeans and T-shirt, grabbed my purse and my keys and headed out, barefoot and groggy. My right foot was still asleep and tingled and stung with every step.

Samson and his crew were at work in the cellar and the clatter of machinery was music to my ears. Stacked cases were sitting under a tarp by the back door ready for pickup. Victor was tilling the first row with a gas tiller, turning over the clover to expose bare earth. I waved at him and he grinned and shook his head.

“Looking good, baby!” He yelled over the roar of the tiller, confirming that I looked awful.  He waggled one hand at waist height. “Hot, hot, hot!”

“You’re fired!” I yelled back.

“No I’m not!” He eased the tiller forward and got back to work.

My foot was still numb when I climbed into Sally and started her up.

I was at Grandma-wolf’s house in just under fifteen minutes, breaking every speed limit. From the road I couldn’t see the gothic gray monstrosity Roger’s grandfather had built eighty years ago, just trees and shrubs and manicured lawns. The driveway disappeared behind a copse of pines. The gates reminded me of all of the monster movies I had seen on TV. And, if I could have seen the house it would have only reinforced that image. Roger de Montagne II had built for ostentation, not beauty.

True to her word, Jessica was standing in front of the massive wrought iron gates that blocked the asphalt drive. She looked like a hitchhiker who had slept by the side of the road last night. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday and her hair hung limp around her face. I pulled into the driveway opening, angling myself to make a U-turn, and reached across to pop the door lock for Jessica. She jumped in like we were robbing a bank.

“Drive!” She said, staring up the driveway.

“What’s the hurry, babe?” I asked, slipping the gearshift into drive and looking both ways for traffic.

“Grams just called on the intercom and told me to get back inside. We gotta get out of here before she comes down!” As if by magic a black Rolls Royce swept around the pines and sped toward the gates.

“Maybe we should stick around,” I said, watching the Rolls approach through narrowed eyes.

“She’ll make me stay!” Jessica’s eyes shifted from me to the approaching Rolls. “Just drive!”

“She won’t make you do anything,” I said. “But, okay.” I punched the gas, burned rubber in a neat circle and floored it. The tires squealed and Jessica yelled “Mom!” I ignored her. She had asked for speed…  We roared down the narrow road, accelerating fast enough to push Jessica back in her seat.

“Mom!” She screamed over the engine’s roar, dragging her seatbelt across her chest. “Slow down!”

I immediately let off the gas, grinning like a teenager. “God, I love this car!” I said to Jessica, who had heard that line a million times, usually right after I scared her to death.

“Great for you, but I’ve had enough drama to last me a lifetime.” Jessica had both hands on the dash. “Just take it easy.”

“Sorry, babe. Got a little carried away.” I grinned at her, watching the rearview. The Rolls Royce didn’t exit the gate. ‘Good for ‘Gram’s,’ I thought. She probably recognized my car and knew what she was in for. I had threatened to punch her lights out the last time I saw her, and I think she believed me. She better have!

“Just take me home. I need to get cleaned up and get to the center,” Jessica said, referring to the daycare center where she worked with preschoolers.

“You think that’s a good idea?” I asked. “With all the publicity, I mean.”

“I called Sister Evelyn last night and told her I was going to take some time off, but I promised to bring my lesson plan and manuals in for my replacement. If they find one, that is,” Jessica said. I was touched that she was more concerned for her kids than herself. She hadn’t mentioned her arrest, cried or whined. “Could you run me down there later?” she asked as my heart swelled with pride. Jessica always does that to me. Right when I’m ready to wring her neck she’ll do something that makes me want to hug her.

“You got it,” I said.

Jessica stared dolefully out the window for the rest of the drive home. When we arrived home, we both got showered and dressed and headed into Napa.

Bishop Lynch Daycare was built as a convent in the twenties, but by the time I was a teenager it had been converted into a youth center. I had many fond memories of dance socials and basketball games held within its faded stucco walls. The bathrooms were ancient, the gym floor creaked and sagged under your feet and the halls smelled of chalk dust. In the eighties the building had been renovated by the diocese and rededicated as Bishop Lynch Daycare. The center’s main clientele were the children of the working poor who paid a fee based on income. The renovation had been sensitive to the Spanish architecture and the whitewashed porticos and breezeways remained, along with the ancient oaks that shaded the balding grass of the playground.

I parked Sally in the lot behind the playground and Jessica and I crossed to the rear entrance. Swings squeaked and rattled in the warm breeze and dust hung in the air. Recess had ended only recently and I could almost hear the echo of yelling children and the gallop of sneakered feet. Jessica didn’t seem to notice her surroundings. Clutching a sheaf of paperwork and three books to her chest, she walked with steady purpose for the rear doors. Her somber mood wiped away my nostalgic musings and my heart welled with love for my daughter, and pain for all she was going though.

Jessica pushed through the metal fire-doors and I followed her down the main hall. The manila-colored walls were covered with garish finger-paintings and childish depictions of perfect families under incredibly bright suns. Behind closed doors, children laughed and chanted the alphabet. Somewhere a class of children was screaming and squeaking through a rendition of “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.” Jessica’s stopped and listened for a moment, then turned and grinned at me. “The little boy bellowing ‘Sunbeam’ over and over is Octavio. He’s five going on fifty.” She laughed. It was the best sound I had heard all day.

We stopped at a door midway down the hall. A giant smiley face was taped to the window. Jessica hesitated only a moment as the song died on one last chorus of ‘Sunbeam!’ from Octavio.

“I’ll only be a minute, mom.”

“I’ll be out here enjoying the art,” I said, waving at the brightly covered walls. “No hurry.” She thanked me with a smile and disappeared inside.

A chorus of children yelled “Miss Jessica!” and the sound of a tiny herd of stampeding cattle reached me before the door swung closed.

I wandered down the hall, getting a smile or two from the paintings along the way. Some were sloppy, others more methodical. A unicorn grazed beneath a picture of Smokey the Bear complete with jeans and yellow hardhat. Two-inch houses were shaded by two-foot tall trees while families of giants held hands beneath suns that looked close enough to touch. I reached the end of the hall and the door to the faculty break-room. An over-stuffed bulletin board was mounted on the wall beside the door. 

Announcements of field trips and teacher’s vacation days, a lunch menu and a reminder that the daycare’s board of supervisors was meeting Friday night, overlapped and partially blocked each other. Older flyers were buried beneath the current announcements as if no one ever cleared away the detritus. For lack of anything else to do I scanned the announcements, reading them with as much enthusiasm as I read the dental hygiene magazines at the dentist’s office.

I was flipping back a two-month old announcement for a teacher’s potluck supper when the break-room door opened beside me. A thin faced nun with bright gray eyes that matched her gray skirt and jacket looked startled to find me standing there, almost on top of her. Her expression turned to warm welcome faster than any normal human being’s should have. It has been my experience that nuns generally fall into two categories, dour and prim or Flying-Nun understudies. The lady before me was definitely an understudy. When she spoke, her voice held a smile as kind as the one that graced her lips, but the way she addressed me was disconcerting.

“Hello, Mrs. de Montagne,” she said, extending a boney but tanned and strong hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Jessica has told me so much about you. She’s very proud of you, you know.”

“You must be Sister Evelyn,” I replied, amazed that I was able to so quickly drag the name of the center’s director out of my sluggish memory bank. But Jessica had mentioned her many times in the past two years, and my daughter’s description fit the woman before me perfectly. Beautiful inside and out, is how Jessica had summed her up. “Jessica’s told me a lot about you, all of it good.”

Sister Evelyn acknowledged the compliment with a dip of her head and a small smile. “I had been hoping to see you,” she said, her hand automatically reaching for the rosary around her neck. She fondled the beads, her expression pained.  “Jessica phoned and said that the two of you would be down this afternoon to gather her things.” Sister Evelyn’s smile faltered. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I was hoping you might help me convince her to reconsider my offer.”  

“Offer?” I said.

“She’s concerned about what the parents might think. And, as an administrator here,” Sister Eleven touched my arm, “I have to agree with her. As a compromise I asked her to work in the office with me until all of this silliness is cleared up.”

I couldn’t suppress a huge smile. “That’s very generous,” I said, “and an incredibly good idea for Jessica.”  The last thing Jessica or I needed was her hanging around the house. She needed to be occupied and I could think of no better place. “I’ll speak to her.”

“If you can’t talk her into it no one can.” Right! ‘Not too familiar with mother-daughter relationships, are you sister?’ I thought, but kept it to myself. Sister Evelyn looked at the watch on her wrist, a practical black plastic Timex.

“I’m sorry to hurry off, but I’m taking Mrs. Ingram’s Arts and Crafts class for her. She’s getting married next week and I’m afraid she’s not the most organized person. Some crisis with the caterers has arisen,” she laughed and shook her head in the best mother-hen fashion. I could see why Jessica liked her so much; the woman positively radiated patience and caring.

She shook my hand and was off in a swirl of gray skirts. “Tell Jessica I expect to see her tomorrow morning at 7:00.” She called over her shoulder and I yelled ‘okay’ back.

Jessica was still in the classroom. I turned back to the bulletin board and my eyes fell on a flyer with the picture of a young girl’s face. I could only see half of the girl’s picture, but what I could see was hauntingly familiar. Winter, I thought, and lifted the sheaf of menus and circulars to have my suspicion confirmed. MISSING CHILD was printed in block letter across the top of the page. My eyes drifted down to the picture, my heart freshly crushed by a wave of sadness. But, the girl in the photo, who was just as blonde, cute and adorable as Winter, was not the Harlan’s little girl. My eyes went back to the text.

The girl’s name was Jenna Valdez. She had been abducted just six days before Winter. A white male in a dark van had been seen in the area just minutes before Jenna disappeared. CALL 911 WITH INFORMATION was block printed below the picture. Across the bottom of the page another phone number was hand written in red ink. The parent’s number, I assumed, feeling a pity made deeper by the fact that a similar tragedy had touched my own life, though not in so cruel a way. I was so engrossed in the poster that I didn’t notice Jessica until she spoke.

“Jenna was such a doll,” she said and I dropped the corner of the overlapping flyers and jumped straight out of my loafers. I landed half in my shoes, my heels pressing the backs of my shoes flat.

Jessica looked at me as if I was crazy.

“You scared the hell out of me,” I told her as I tried to slide my right foot back into my shoe. The back wasn’t springing back up. Jessica watched, starting to grin. I gave up on the shoes, deciding to wear them like sandals. I wedged my toes down into them.

“I called your name. Twice. But, they do say that the hearing is the first thing to go,” Jessica shook her head. “Then it’s the hips.” She gave my hips a critical look. “They look okay, but…” she shrugged. “Who knows? Once they start spreading there’s no reigning them back in.”

“Speak for yourself. I can still dance you into the dirt. In fact, I bet I could chase you down and give your butt a swift kicking.”

“In
those
shoes?” she asked, and gusted with fresh laughter.

“This shoe will be lodged in your nether regions if you keep it up,” I warned, but I was smiling myself.

“Whatever,” she flicked her hair back over her shoulder and hoisted a bundle of books to a more comfortable position against her chest. Her eyes looked fresh and her cheeks were flushed. The visit with her kids had done her good.

I half-turned back to the bulletin board. “I was reading about this poor little girl. I don’t remember hearing about it on the news?”

Jessica’s expression went serious and sad and I was sorry I had mentioned it.

“The police said Jenna’s father, Ricky, had taken Jenna to Mexico. There was a custody battle. Marta was lost without Jenna. She’s from Russia, so she had no one to lean on. Marta volunteered here for a while after that, but she always seemed so sad. I haven’t seen her in months.”

At the name Marta my pulse skipped. Victor had told me that he had seen Kevin with Marta Valdez. Had they been drawn together by the loss of their daughters? I couldn’t ask Jessica. I didn’t want to bring Kevin up there at the center.

“How awful,” I said.

“Ricky called the sheriff’s office from some little town on the coast of Mexico. He said Jenna was fine but that was all. That’s what Ben told Marta.”

I was at least partially relieved to know the girl was with a parent. I felt awful for Marta, but at least Jenna was still alive.

“I got everything,” she said. “Want to stop for lunch at Sonic?”

I made a gagging motion, and told her I had to cook for the crew. As we walked to the car my shoes kept sliding around, threatening to pitch me onto my face.