Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-seven

Dan turned up around six thirty. I hadn’t expected him that early, hadn’t been too sure he’d show up at all. I was staring at soup cans, trying to decide, in case he didn’t, if I wanted chicken with noodles, minestrone, or neither.

The back screen door slammed, and he announced, “We’re going for spaghetti. Or maybe pizza.” He took a good look at my paint-stained sweatpants, frayed-around-the-bottom sweatshirt, hair pulled back with a rubber band, and said, “You were expecting us to do home projects? Not tonight. Go change.”

We had spaghetti. Probably nothing like the kind Frank served at Tortelli’s, if indeed it was on the menu, but the plates were overflowing. Dan polished his off. I barely made a dent in mine.

We talked about all kinds of things, polite, casual friends kinds of things, but not about our future life. Dan’s plate was almost empty before I brought up murder.

Finally, I said, “Why didn’t you arrest Sabrina?”

“Did you want me to?” he asked, amusement in his eyes.

“Of course not, but you must have some serious doubts, or you wouldn’t have let her go. It’s blood, isn’t it?”

The last piece of bread that he had been buttering went back on his plate. “Blood?”

“I looked at her before everyone left. She had maybe a few stains on her top, but that’s all. Carlton must have been dead when she pulled that knife out of him, or she would have gotten spurted.”

He just stared at me for a minute then started to howl with laughter. “I’m not letting you watch any more of those CSI programs.”

“Well, isn’t that right? His heart had stopped pumping, so the only blood she got on her was from the wound and the knife.”

“He may have been dead when she pulled it out, but he was alive when she—” he held up his hand as I started to interrupt—“or whoever, stuck it into him. There was only one stab wound, and it found just the right mark. Most of the bleeding was internal. Poor old Carlton died by drowning in his own blood.”

I looked down at what was left on my plate and pushed it away. So much for my appetite. “There are a few other things I think you should know.” I told him about Larry’s claim to the house, about Frank’s mysterious phone calls, about Frank and Jolene sitting together in the Yum Yum, but I didn’t tell him about my conversation with the girl at Lighthouse Winery. I knew I should; I really wanted to, but I couldn’t. There seemed to be a few things I couldn’t say to Dan.

“Is that all?” He was looking at me intently, as if he knew I was holding something back, waiting for me to confide in him. I could feel my mouth open, feel words ready to come out, words about Sabrina and Mark, but also words about us. I love you, I was going to say, and I trust you to do the right thing about Sabrina and Mark, about Frank, and about us. But the specter of Brian stood at my shoulder, laughing. Whispering in my ear what a little idiot I was, first to think I could play detective, but mostly that I was fool enough to think I could keep a man like Dan Dunham. “Yes,” I heard myself say, “that’s all.”

Dan paid the check, and we left. Not much more was said about anything. He pulled up in front of my house and waited for me to open the door.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“Not tonight. Another time.”

Another time. Depression shrouded me like a Victorian widow’s veil. Why couldn’t I say what I so desperately wanted to? Because that specter kept hanging there, laughing at me, taunting me. Assuring me that the only way I’d be safe was to keep building up those barriers around me, building them so high I’d never be able to tear them down. Damn the man. Why was I letting him win? I was a different person than I was a year ago, when he’d literally kicked me out to move in his practically teen-age nurse. I didn’t need to let him win anymore. I’d built a life. I had a home of my own. Never mind that I rented it from my parents; it felt like mine. I had a great new career that was growing by the day, and I’d fallen in love with a wonderful man. I wasn’t going to let that die. But more than my insecurities stood in the way of my repairing Dan’s and my relationship. There was a little thing called murder. My niece still seemed to be the chief suspect. Dan had almost arrested her and probably would do so in the next couple of days, and that wasn’t going to help get our relationship back on track. I hadn’t told him about my conversation with the Lighthouse Winery this morning. Maybe he already knew, maybe not. But I knew this whole thing couldn’t be dragged out any longer. If Sabrina was guilty, there was nothing I could do about it. But, if she wasn’t, and I really couldn’t believe she was, then I needed to start collecting facts. Now
.
I walked into the house with renewed resolve, looked at the copy of
Mature Bride
on the coffee table, the one with the dress on the front cover I had planned on ordering, and burst into tears.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Wednesdays can be pretty quiet, but this one hadn’t started out that way.

“Finally,” I said to no one in particular. I hung up the phone and shoved the stack of files back in my desk drawer. I leaned back in my chair and thought about a fresh cup of coffee. It hadn’t been a very good night, and maybe the headache hovering around the back of my skull would give way to a little more caffeine.

“Is this chair taken? Because if it’s not, I’m sitting in it. My feet are killing me.”

It was Aunt Mary. “Where’ve you been?” I took a look at her outfit. Dark gray polyester skirt that needed to be shortened, a white polyester blouse that was too small, and a multicolored jacket that was too big. All in all, an improvement over the way she usually dressed.

“Christmas Bazaar planning breakfast, then bank, the sale at Michael’s for Christmas ornaments and Thanksgiving stuff, and then the grocery. I’m beat.”

“Sounds like quite a morning.” I laughed, but immediately sobered. “Have you seen Sabrina?”

“She’s back at the winery. I was against it at first, but she insisted, and maybe it’s best. No sense sitting around brooding. Want to see what I got?” She started pulling autumn colored dried leaves out of the huge shopping bag she had put down beside her. “These will look great on the table for Thanksgiving, and I got these things, also.” She pulled out a package of dried red and orange gourds. “I’m not sure what they are, but they’re pretty. And they were on sale.”

Of course they were. She stuffed everything back in the bag, leaned back in her chair, and studied me. “How are you?”

“Me?” I answered, surprised. “I’m fine. Why?”

“I heard you and Dan went out for dinner last night.”

She waited, but I didn’t say anything. “Okay. Anything else new?”

“Actually, yes.” I didn’t want to talk about Dan and me, but she was one person I was willing to tell about what I’d learned from Lighthouse Winery.

“Could Mark actually go to jail for assault and battery?” she asked when I finished.

“Sure,” I said with great confidence. I’d looked it up on the Internet. “It’s a felony. Not to mention what it would do to his career. And even if he’s found innocent of that, suspicion of wine theft could be enough to ruin him. Rumors are harder to kill than anything.”

“I hope you didn’t intend that as a pun,” she said, trying not to laugh. Then she sighed. “And ruining Mark is the one thing Sabrina wouldn’t be able to stand.” There were lines around her eyes and mouth I had never seen before. “Do you really think she would be stupid enough to murder those two men?”

“I don’t know about stupid,” I replied, “but maybe frantic enough. She’s fixated on Mark, and anything that threatens him…” I let this last thought trail off while we both sat and thought.

“Let’s suppose that Sabrina really didn’t do any of this,” Aunt Mary said finally. “Where does that leave us?”

“With Frank and Jolene. Speaking of whom…” I told her about seeing them in the Yum Yum. I watched her face go from anger to pain, all in the space of a few seconds.

“Not Frank,” she finally said.

“Why?” I asked, as calmly as I could. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” she said, much too quickly.

“Not true. I watched you. There’s a lot more than nothing. So, give.”

Her eyes took in everything. The computer on my desk with the picture of a Halloween haunted house for a screen saver, the phone with all of the extension buttons, the In and Out boxes, the pile of open files. Finally, she leaned back and looked directly at me. “I don’t know. I’ve gotten very fond of Frank in the last few days, but things have moved so quickly. He’s funny, great company, and a good man. He’s also a royal pain, egotistical, and sad.”

“Sad!” I exclaimed. “Sad?”

She nodded. “Underneath all that bombastic exterior, he’s very upset and sad about something.”

“His restaurant?” I guessed.

“I don’t know. It’s a subject he won’t talk about.”

I thought about what Larry had told me, how he had overheard Frank’s conversations about money. Could Frank have been talking to Jolene about—no. Why would he tell her about his problems? But I sure wanted to know why they had been talking so intently. I didn’t say anything more to Aunt Mary about that, I’d said enough, but I’d explore Jolene a little more, the one person we both agreed made a perfect suspect. I didn’t get a chance. The phone rang, and the number calling was the winery.

“Oh, Ellen.” Sabrina’s voice sounded one notch below hysterical. “Something’s happened, and you have to come over here right away.”

“What? What’s happened?”

“The missing bottle is back. The Boy Scouts found it. Dan’s men think I put it there. They’re going to arrest me right now. I need you.”

“Boy Scouts?”

“Yes. Come now.”

“Where?”

“Here. At the winery.” She hung up.

“What’s happened?” Aunt Mary asked. “What’s wrong?” Her worry lines were deeper.

“That was Sabrina.”

“I know that. What’s the matter, and where are we going?” She was already on her feet, picking up her shopping bag, looking around for her purse.

“The Boy Scouts found the missing wine bottle, and Sabrina’s going to be arrested.”

“The Boy Scouts? Found the bottle that killed Otto? What Boy Scouts?”

“I don’t know.” I was on my feet as well, fishing through my purse for my car keys, “But I think we’d better get over there right away and find out before Dan’s cops drag Sabrina off to jail. Again.”

.

Chapter Twenty-nine

An unmarked police car drove away from the front of the tasting room as Aunt Mary and I pulled up. Sabrina wasn’t in it. We rushed into the winery to find her sitting behind Mark’s desk, looking like someone whose sentence on death row had just been converted to life. A mixed blessing.

Aunt Mary pushed Paris out of an armchair and sat down. “What on earth is going on? What is all this about the missing bottle and Boy Scouts?”

Sabrina looked from me to Aunt Mary and actually smiled. “The scouts found it because it was full.”

“What?” we said together.

“A full one weighs more,” Sabrina said.

Aunt Mary’s lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed. “Sabrina, you’d better start at the beginning, and this time don’t stop until you get to the end.” When Aunt Mary uses that tone of voice, people do as directed.

“We donate all of our empty bottles to the Boy Scouts. They come every couple of weeks and take them to a recycling place in town. It’s one way they raise money. They came this morning and started loading the cases of empties in their truck. One of the fathers noticed that one of the bottles was still corked. He pulled it out, and sure enough, it was full. He called me, thinking it was a mistake. Only I don’t think it was. We did an inventory of opened cases after the Harvest Festival Dinner. We counted empty bottles and put them all back in the open cartons, then we counted all of the unopened bottles. There was one bottle missing. I put the case it should have been in aside. I know, because I’d marked it. Today, there was a full bottle in a slot in one of the cartons with empties, and no bottle had been put back into the carton with the full bottles. So, that has to be the bottle that killed Otto.”

“Where did you put that case, the one with the missing bottle?”

“Downstairs, in the kitchen.”

“Not with the other cases?”

“No. It was all by itself, and I’d taped it shut again. The ones with the empty bottles are kept by the big roll-up doors.”

“Someone was trying to get rid of that bottle and slipped it into the first open case they saw?” Aunt Mary asked.

Sabrina nodded. “That’s what it looks like.”

“So,” I said slowly, feeling my way, “if that father hadn’t noticed that one of the bottles was corked, it would have gone to the recycle place.”

“That’s right.” Sabrina actually smiled. “The police have taken it away to do whatever they do. Forensic stuff, like looking for traces of Otto’s hair and blood, and of course, fingerprints. And, since I had no reason to touch that bottle, mine won’t be on it.”

“I assume you called the police?” I asked.

“Just as fast as I could get to the phone. And that bottle and that wonderful man are going to clear me. I didn’t kill Otto. I didn’t kill Carlton. I didn’t do any of it, and this will prove it. Mr. De Marco said so.”

“I hope he’s right,” I said. “Oh, how I hope he’s right. But how could someone, besides you, know you put the empties out by the back door for the Boy Scouts?”

I watched her face fall. “I never thought of that.”

“Has Frank been over here the last few days?” I asked.

Aunt Mary glared at me, but Sabrina didn’t seem to notice. She said, “Yes, he’s stopped by a couple of times. He and Mark were tasting different wines he might serve at some of his dinners.”

“Was he ever alone?” I went on, ignoring Aunt Mary’s pursed lips.

“I have no idea. Why? Do you think Frank…”

“Of course not,” Aunt Mary said, with vinegar in her voice. “How about Jolene? Was she here at all?”

“Yes, she came yesterday, and I think another time. She wanted to take pictures for her article.”

“Her mythical article. Was she alone?” Aunt Mary asked, shooting me a triumphant look.

“Most of the time,” Sabrina answered. “She came in the morning, right before I left for Carlton’s office. With all that happened afterwards, I forgot about her.”

Aunt Mary and I looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. It all fit, even the times. She had a great motive to kill Otto. Carlton must have seen her doing something and threatened to tell. I could see her, batting her eyes, leaning over him a little, maybe pleading with him while he preened, feeling his power. Until she stuck that knife in his throat. “The knife.”

“What?” asked Sabrina.

“The knife you pulled out of Carlton. What kind was it?”

“Oh, ugg. I don’t want to think about it.” Sabrina started to get white, and her hand flew up to her mouth.

“This is no time to get sick,” Aunt Mary said. She was following my train of thought, I could tell, and was determined we were going to get an answer whether Sabrina liked it or not. “Think about it. Was it a specific kind of knife?”

“A long French boning knife.”

“Where would you find a knife like that?”

Aunt Mary looked at me pityingly. “Every well-equipped kitchen has one,” she said, which told me what she thought of the state of mine, “and certainly every commercial kitchen.”

“We have one here,” Sabrina put in. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” Aunt Mary was already on her feet. “Where do you keep your knives?”

It wasn’t there, of course. The same person who had returned the wine bottle must have “borrowed” the boning knife and then deposited it in Carlton. Jolene again seemed the perfect candidate. She had been all over the winery yesterday. She could easily have returned the bottle, but when had she taken the knife? Sabrina said Jolene had been here earlier in the week as well. She could have taken it then. Jolene had time yesterday to stop by Carlton’s office for a little visit, leave him dead, arrive at the winery, find the bottle where she had left it, and plant it in the carton. None of this meant she did, but she sure could have.

Sabrina was starting to leak tears. I couldn’t blame her. The missing knife could put her back at the top of the suspect list, especially if Mark’s troubles came out of hiding. Aunt Mary had her arm around her and started to lead her back toward Mark’s office. She looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I mouthed that I was going to look around. She nodded and closed the door. I stood in the kitchen for a moment, examining it. The knives were in a shallow drawer in a stainless steel prep table equipped with a deep sink and a large cutting board. If you knew where they were, taking one would be easy.

Who would know? Frank would, Mark would, Sabrina would, but Jolene? Maybe. She’d been in here, arguing with Otto. She could easily have seen where they were kept. All right. Where would she have hidden the bottle?

In here? No. Too visible. And why not put the bottle back in a case with unopened ones? It would never have been noticed. So, Jolene, or whoever, hadn’t had time to get it back into the building and had to hide it quickly. That meant, bushes? I went out the front door and slowly walked along the path, examining the shrubbery as I went. It looked as though the gardener had been here. All of the leaves had been raked, all of the bushes freshly trimmed. If the bottle had been hidden out here, I was pretty sure the gardener would have found it. So, where else?

I was on the crush pad, looking up at the platform that held the wooden fermenting tank. A ladder ran up the side from the concrete floor, and a door, almost not visible, opened into it from the winery building. The deck was reachable from the platform by another short ladder that led up to the wide gate. I walked into the building, struck as always by the abrupt temperature change. High above me, the catwalk ended on one side of the roll-up doors directly into the small platform door. The walk on the other side ended at a long, steep flight of stairs that descended onto the cellar floor. I started down the aisle between the stainless steel tanks, looking at each one, trying to find a place where one could hide a wine bottle, when a voice shattered the silence.

“Hey, Ellen, are you looking for something?” It was Mark, high above me on the catwalk. “Hold on. I’m coming down.” He walked along it, disappearing momentarily behind each tank, and ran down the steep stairs with ease.

“Did you lose something?” His tone was guarded, and his body language clearly shouted “defensive.”

“No,” I said, trying to project helpfulness, support, friendliness, all the things that wouldn’t alienate an already stressed out Mark. “But, I am looking for something. A hiding place.”

“For the no-longer-missing wine bottle.” He didn’t look any less defensive. “The cops have been all over this place, looking for the same thing.”

“Mark, I don’t think Sabrina killed anybody, and I’m trying to help prove that, so back off a little, okay?” I was getting tired of tears, evasiveness, and other people’s stress. I had some of my own to deal with, and right now the only way I could see to solve my own problem was to help solve his and Sabrina’s, and a little cooperation would be nice.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “but all this murder stuff Sabrina’s going through is making me crazy.”

Among other things. “Did the police look down here, on the floor?”

“All over. Behind the tanks, in the middle of the stacks of barrels, through the hoses, everywhere. They did all that before the damn bottle turned back up. I guess now we’ll never know where it was hidden.”

“Maybe not.” I looked around at the shining tanks, the wooden barrels stacked in large rows, the filled boxes stacked on pallets waiting to be delivered to wine shops around the country, and wondered. “Mark, why couldn’t the killer have stashed the bottle in one of those cases?”

“They’re all sealed. The only open ones are in the tasting room.”

I thought about it. The killer coming back into the tasting room, filled with guests, calmly using the sink to wash Otto’s blood from the bottle, then slipping it back onto a shelf or back into a wine box. Hardly. So, the bottle had to have been hidden somewhere else. But where? I had no idea, and standing on the cellar floor, chilled to the bone, wasn’t helping me to figure it out.

“I think I’ll run up and see how Sabrina’s doing,” I told Mark.

“She’s doing fine, now that the police have that wine bottle. She’s convinced that they’ll find someone else’s fingerprints on it and that will be the end of all her troubles.”

I started, but didn’t have the heart, to tell him about the missing knife. Of course, it still didn’t mean Sabrina—oh, to hell with it. I tromped up the stairs into the tasting room, wondering what to do next. There were two couples at the tasting room bar, sipping, making notes, and comparing nose, fruitiness, and other winely things. I watched for a moment, then walked over to the big window and looked down. I had never really taken in the view before and was impressed. The whole floor was visible. Mark was doing something with what looked like an overgrown chemistry kit while Hector dragged a hose across the already wet floor. I watched for a moment, then looked up, trying to find the catwalk. It was almost invisible. I had to stoop a little and look up to see anything. Anyone seated at a table, having dinner, looking casually out, would never see anyone on the catwalk. But then, Otto had walked along the cellar floor. I turned and went to find Aunt Mary.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked when we were finally in the car.

“Have lunch,” I replied.