Lethal Vintage (18 page)

“But you can have your port and your tart and espresso,” said Sunny, taking Bertrand’s place. The sommelier gave them a nod and glided off toward his NASCAR president, the bottle of Taylor’s clutched before him in offering.

“I can’t wait to tell Oliver that the only thing smoother than his Andre Morales is Andre’s Sunny McCoskey,” said Franco, looking up at her. “He’ll wonder why Morales kept such a secret from us. And I think I know. He doesn’t like the competition. But the secret is out now, and I will make sure it is known. We must find a place for you in the new arrangement, or something else at least as good.”

“The new arrangement?”

“The Vinifera expansion or the new restaurant or whatever they decide to do, assuming they actually come to an agreement.”

“They will,” said Keith. “Morales drives a hard bargain, but we’ve just about got him nailed down.”

Sunny smiled wanly and said nothing.

“My dear, this has been a most decadent afternoon,” said Franco. “I am completely sated and revived thanks to your remarkable abilities. But even the good things must end eventually, and I am beginning to feel guilty that we have left our friend Mr. Seth to return to an empty house after the day’s ordeal. We need to go and entertain him. Show him that all life is not ended, even if it seems that way at the moment.”

“I’d like you to be my guests today,” said Sunny.

“Nonsense.”

“I insist. It would be my pleasure.”

“In that case,” said Franco, “we have no choice but to accept your generosity.” He reached inside the jacket hanging from the back of his chair and pulled out a wallet and a slender golden pen. He extracted a business card and wrote his mobile number on the back of it before handing it to her.

“But I warn you,” said Franco. “I plan to make it up to you.”

“Andre said Oliver was a friend,” said Sunny, fuming in the back office. “He’s not a friend. He’s the VC he’s been primping for all these months.”

“I can’t believe he never told you,” said Rivka.

“I’m beginning to see a pattern,” said Sunny. “I think if I confronted him about this, he would just say he didn’t want to bother me about it or he was going to tell me but never got the chance or something like that. Just like his explanation of that morning I found him with Marissa, and not contacting me afterward. It’s not about doing the right thing, it’s about doing whatever he wants and wiggling out of it afterward.”

“He’s not true blue,” said Rivka.

“No matter how much I want him to be,” said Sunny.

“It’s a shame.”

“You’re telling me.” Sunny let out a sigh. “That much hotness is a terrible thing to waste.”

“I hear you.”

She sighed again. “Well, damn. I have to forget about it for now. I’ll deal with it later. We have bigger fish to fry. Did you find anything?”

“Who knows? BlackBerrys don’t cache much browser history. But there were a few interesting Web sites and FTP addresses on there. I wrote them down.”

Sunny examined the list. “None of these include Taurian or Oliver’s name, but I guess what we’re looking for might not. What are these numbers?”

“IP addresses. It’s a way to access a server without a domain name. All Web sites have an IP address. Not all of them have a domain name.”

Sunny put the list in her jeans pocket. “My laptop is gone and I don’t think we should do it at your place.”

“They have computers at the library.”

Sunny looked doubtful. “This could take a while.”

“My house, then.”

Sunny nodded. She went out to the kitchen. The dishwashers were hard at work, Bertrand was restocking supplies, and the last of the waitstaff was sitting at the bar finishing lunch. Between the portrait left on her truck, the smashed window, Anna’s service, and the visit from Franco and Keith, it had been a long, nerve-jangling day.

“Bert, could you lock up tonight? Rivka and I have a little errand to run that can’t wait.”

“Way,” said Bertrand, sounding half Parisian and half Valley Girl. “No problem. Bring me a macaroon.”

Sunny turned to Rivka. “Vamanos.”

“Why does Bertrand want me to bring him a macaroon?” asked Sunny, starting the truck and pulling out of Wildside’s parking lot.

“I told him I was going to Yountville tonight to the new bakery before it closes.”

“Why?” asked Sunny suspiciously.

“Because that was my after-work plan before you started stealing BlackBerrys.”

“Because…”

“Because I wanted a cookie.”

Sunny looked at her. “We have a whole shelf of the best cookies in town at the restaurant.”

Rivka raised her eyebrows. “But not those cookies. I’m doing recon. If you set up shop and start selling fancy cookie treats in my town, it’s like calling me out. I have to respond.”

“Yountville isn’t your town.”

“It’s close enough. I just want to see what all the fuss is about. Besides, Jason likes their macaroons.”

“Ah, now I get it.”

They pulled up at Rivka’s place and went in. Sunny locked the door behind them and Rivka closed the blinds. While the computer booted up, Sunny put the teakettle on to boil.

“We hit the numbered addresses first, right?” said Rivka. “If any of this is of interest, I think that’s where it will be.” She typed in the first set of numbers with Sunny looking over her shoulder. A gray box popped up asking for a user name and password.

“Here we go again. User name Oliver Seth. And we go with the usual password, right?”

“Right.”

Rivka typed Europa01 and hit Enter.

“Denied. Any other ideas?”

“Too many. Let’s try the other address before we start a guessing game.”

Rivka typed the second set of numbers and another gray box popped up. She entered Oliver’s name and password and hit Enter again. An instant later a directory appeared. Sunny looked around the room reflexively. No one could see in. They were alone, the windows covered, the door locked.

“Now what?” asked Rivka.

“We look for the camera footage from Saturday night.”

Rivka rummaged through a sea of folders and files. Sunny made tea and waited.

“I think I’ve got something,” said Rivka at last. “It’s loading.”

The something turned out to be grainy black-and-white footage of the master bedroom, shown on a screen the size of a sticky note.

“Look at the time. That’s from the morning,” said Sunny.

“Hang on, I think I get it now. They’re in half-hour increments. What time do you want?”

“Just look at the very end of whatever got uploaded from that day. I went to bed around one or one-thirty. Oliver said it backs everything up at two each night. The police unplugged the system the next morning, so everything after that is lost for good.”

Rivka chose another file. This one showed the master bedroom in darkness. Rivka scrolled forward. Anna walked across the screen and turned on a lamp beside the bed. Oliver came in after her.

“This is so strange,” said Sunny. “This can’t be more than a few hours before she died.”

“They’re fighting,” said Rivka. “Look at her face. She’s screaming at him.”

“Isn’t there any sound?”

“No sound.”

Rivka scrolled forward again. They watched breathlessly as Oliver Seth walked over to Anna and pulled her to him, wrenching her arm as she struggled to pull away, her face defiant.

“I’ll bet that’s how she got the bruises on her wrists,” said Sunny.

On the tiny screen, Oliver let her go and turned away. Anna walked out of the frame toward the window and Oliver followed. Rivka scrolled ahead until they saw Oliver walk back across the frame toward the door.

“That’s it. That’s the end of what the camera recorded in that room.”

“Two o’clock.”

“Yeah,” said Rivka, looking at her with wide eyes. “That could be it. That could be the murder right here. Anna is still over by the window somewhere when Oliver leaves.”

“Except I heard her crying much later. Like around four in the morning.”

“How do you know it was her crying?”

“That is a very good point,” said Sunny. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I don’t actually know it was her. It definitely sounded like a woman, so I assumed it was Anna. But it might have been someone else.”

“Like someone who came in and found her dead,” said Rivka.

“Let’s watch it again.” Sunny reached over and clicked on Play. She hit Pause as Oliver walked out of the room.

“Look at his face,” said Sunny. “What is he feeling right there?”

Rivka looked more closely. “I can’t tell. He looks serious.”

“That’s what I mean. He looks stern but otherwise totally composed. He’s walking out after a disastrous blowup with the woman he loves and he looks like a guy with a toothpick leaving a business lunch.”

“Let’s keep going,” said Rivka. “There are a bunch of other cameras to go through.”

Most of the cameras showed dark, empty rooms. In one bedroom, Jared Bollinger pulled on his clothes and helped Molly get dressed, buttoning up her shirt between passionate embraces.

“What time is that?”

“One-thirty.”

“Impressive. They were already in a lather an hour earlier.”

Later, the same camera showed Marissa Lin applying some kind of cream to Andre Morales’s face.

“Speaking of lather,” said Rivka.

“At least he was telling the truth,” said Sunny.

“He said a hot Guamanian princess gave him a facial in her underwear?”

“Well, not exactly.”

They watched Andre pull Marissa to him and kiss her.

“Looks platonic to me,” said Rivka. “I grab Monty like that all the time.”

“Let’s just get through this,” said Sunny. “I’m beyond exhausted.”

“There are only two cameras left.”

One of them was aimed at the kitchen. Cynthia Meyers stood at the stove, stirring a pot.

“Is she really cooking at, what, one-thirty in the morning?” said Sunny.

“Yup. One forty-seven, to be exact.”

“What could she be making at that hour?”

“A pie,” said Rivka.

“How do you know?”

“Look at the counter. That’s a pie dish.”

They watched Andre Morales come into the kitchen with a towel around his waist.

“What a show-off,” said Rivka. “He is so in love with himself. Put on a shirt!”

He spoke to Cynthia. She nodded and walked out of the frame. Andre stirred the pot on the stove, tasted the mixture, and added a few drops from a bottle on the counter.

“Vanilla?” asked Rivka.

“Looks like it. What’s he doing now?”

Andre walked over to the sink and opened the cabinet underneath. He took out a box, pulled two rubber gloves out of the top, and put it back.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Sunny.

“There is no way he killed her,” said Rivka.

“No, definitely not. But what is he doing with rubber gloves at that hour?”

The footage ended and Rivka turned around to face Sunny.

“Maybe he’s exfoliating her?”

The last camera showed the gate at the bottom of the hill. They watched a dark screen. Rivka scrolled to the end.

“Nothing.”

Sunny thought for a moment. “Wait, let’s go back and look earlier. Like starting around midnight.”

Rivka loaded the earlier footage and they scrolled through it.

“Nothing in that one, either,” said Rivka.

“Let’s keep going,” said Sunny. “I want to make sure we don’t miss anything. What time is this?”

Rivka kept scrolling. “Quarter after one.”

“Wait, something’s happening,” said Sunny.

A light appeared and Andre pulled up to the gate on his motorcycle. He buzzed the intercom, the gate opened, and he drove through. Rivka scrolled through the remaining footage.

“That’s it,” said Rivka. “Just Andre arriving at one seventeen. Is that what you were looking for?”

“No. Keith Lachlan left after I got out of the hot tub and went to bed. They said very soon after. That would be about one in the morning.”

“We covered everything from midnight to two.”

“Exactly. Why don’t we see his car leave?”

Sunny took out her phone and dialed Sergeant Harvey’s number. She got voice mail. “Steve, I need to talk to you right away. It’s important. Give me a call tonight if you can. It doesn’t matter what time.”

Rivka looked at Sunny. “I have a very bad feeling about all this.”

Rivka didn’t want to sleep alone. Sunny dropped her at Jason’s house, promised she would go straight to Wade’s, and drove to her place, anyway. She sat in the truck outside, brooding. Two thoughts bothered her. One was the idea of someone—could it have been anyone other than Keith Lachlan?—creeping silently into her house—how?—and her bedroom, where she lay oblivious and entirely vulnerable. The other was Anna snuggled up to Oliver in the hot tub with Keith across from her, sandwiched between Marissa and Jordan. Not long afterward, Keith purported to leave, but he didn’t drive down the hill and out the gate, at least not immediately. By morning, he was gone, so he must have left sometime after two. Why the delay?

Keith leaves, or at least says he is leaving, thought Sunny. Soon after, Andre arrives. Marissa and Andre take a bedroom and play spa. Oliver and Anna go off and eventually quarrel. What about Jordan? She wasn’t with Marissa and Andre. The video showed that much. Sunny assumed she’d gone to bed alone or else with Franco, but what if she hadn’t? What if she continued on the path she’d started down in the hot tub? What if she was with Keith?

“That’s it!” said Sunny out loud, rapping her finger on the steering wheel. “That’s why she blushed when I said no one had illicit sex
at the supposed sex party. Because she had illicit sex that night—with her friend’s boyfriend. And that’s why Marissa and Keith broke up. Marissa must have found out and dumped him.”

She felt in her back pocket for the card Franco Bertinotti had given her at lunch and called the number written on the back. He was only too glad to give her Jordan’s number when she said she wanted to invite her and Marissa up to the restaurant for lunch. She punched it into her phone. Jordan picked up and Sunny explained why she was calling.

“I know it’s kind of odd to call out of the blue like this, but I have a question I need to ask you. An important and somewhat personal question. Can you talk?”

“I have a few minutes, yeah.”

“I mean are you alone.”

“Alone? Not exactly, but go ahead.”

“The night Anna was killed, everyone got out of the hot tub around one in the morning. I went to bed. Not long after, Andre arrived and he and Marissa went off together. What I want to know is, where did you go?”

“After the hot tub? I went to bed.”

“Alone?”

“Of course.”

“That’s what you told the police,” said Sunny. “And I can see why you would. But you weren’t alone. You were with Keith.”

“Don’t let your imagination run away with you,” said Jordan. “The truth is much less sensational. Keith went back to the city and I went to bed. The next thing I knew, it was morning and there were cops everywhere.”

“Honestly, I really don’t care who slept with whom,” said Sunny. “It’s none of my business. And I don’t care what the police know or don’t know. That’s up to them. For my own reasons, I need to
know when you and Keith got together and when he actually left the house. That’s it. I have no intention of sharing what you tell me with anyone else. I just need to know.”

Sunny waited for her to respond. Nothing.

“It’s going to come out soon, anyway,” said Sunny. “Marissa knows you were with him. I know. It’s just a matter of time until the police know, and then you could be in big trouble for lying about it. I just need to nail down the timing. If you help me, I might be able to figure out what happened to Anna once and for all, and that would help all of us. And the sooner the better because it looks like this whole mess is going to blow up in our faces any minute. Jordan? Are you there?”

“Hang on a second.” Heels clicked on a wood floor and a door closed. Jordan sighed irritably. “I’ve talked to the police. Twice, as a matter of fact. I don’t see why I should talk to you about any of this.”

“Because I know things the police don’t. They might never figure out who killed Anna, but with your help, I might. Doesn’t it bother you that you could be helping a killer stay free?”

“Keith did not kill Anna.”

“All the more reason to give him an alibi. Because right now he doesn’t have one. I happen to know he did not leave the house when he said he did. When the police learn that, he’s going to be their number one suspect. A guy pretends to leave but doesn’t. A girl gets killed. The guy doesn’t come clean. That doesn’t look good.”

“Trust me, he couldn’t have killed her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re right. He was with me the whole time.”

“From when to when?”

“From right after we got out of the hot tub until around three-thirty.”

“Is that when he left for real?”

“Yes.”

Sunny paused, thinking. “Okay, good. And do you happen to know how Marissa found out about you two?”

“Keith forgot to turn off his phone. It started ringing and she came to get it.”

“She saw you together.”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. She didn’t say anything. She just stood there for a minute and then turned around and left. Keith left right after that.”

“Who was calling him at three-thirty in the morning?”

“Oliver.”

“Did he pick up?”

“No. I assume he called him back from the car. What exactly are you getting at with all this? Keith didn’t kill her. He had no reason to kill her, and besides, he’s the furthest thing from a violent person.”

“He actually did have a reason. A very good reason. When I know what it all means, I’ll call you.”

Sunny hung up the phone and got out of the truck. The whole night was getting more and more confused. She told herself that maybe when she had a chance to talk to Sergeant Harvey and they put their heads together over everything she’d learned and whatever he knew that she didn’t, it would all fit together and make sense. She checked her phone for messages. He hadn’t called. Sunny looked at the front gate with its overgrown rosebushes sheltering her little house. It certainly looked sweet and safe and inviting, just like always. Last night she forgot to lock the front door. That was the only explanation. With the doors and windows locked, there was simply no way to get into the house without making enough
noise to wake her, and the police could be here in two minutes if someone forced their way in. She would keep her cell phone with her in bed and it would be fine.

The sunset was over. The last of the twilight gold was gone and the sapphire blue at the horizon had faded to a grayish gloom just before dark. She closed the gate behind her and paused, lost for a moment in thought. A movement from the stoop attracted her attention and she froze when Andre said, “Hey.”

She looked back at the street. His motorcycle was parked under the tree ahead of her truck and she hadn’t even noticed. He was sitting in his biking leathers with his helmet next to him, as though nothing had changed.

“What are you doing here?” she said, her heart still racing.

“Waiting for you.”

“Why? You’re supposed to say something. You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry. You haven’t returned my calls, so I figured I’d stop by. What’s going on with that?”

“What’s going on with that?” She stood as though in a daze. “Um, can we talk about this later? I sort of have a lot on my mind at the moment.”

“I think I have a right to know what’s going on.”

“Oh, really?” Sunny’s eyes flashed. “That’s interesting. Let’s see, where do I start? How about this. How do you know Oliver Seth?”

“We met at Vinifera. He came in for dinner. He stayed late at the bar, we got to talking. The usual.”

She waited. “Is that all?”

“He comes into the restaurant when he’s in town. We’re friends.”

“Not business partners?”

“Maybe someday. Who knows? The guy certainly has enough cash to bankroll whatever I dream up.”

“And you don’t think it’s odd you never mentioned that to me?”

“There’s nothing to mention yet. I told you we were friends.”

“Okay, fine,” said Sunny. “I can see I’m not going to get anywhere with that. Next question. Why did you take rubber gloves from under the kitchen sink in Oliver’s house the night Anna died?”

He looked surprised. “How do you know about that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Why did you need gloves?”

He spread out his hands in front of her. For a cook, they were surprisingly smooth and soft-looking. Andre took the time and trouble to be well groomed head to toe. It was one of the things Sunny liked about him, and maybe one of the things she didn’t like, too.

“Can’t you guess?” he said. “I told you, we were having a spa night. I wanted to do a deep moisture treatment. You put lotion or Vaseline on your hands and then put on the gloves and get in a hot bath. It works great. You should do it. Let me see your hands.”

“Andre, stop. And what did you ask Cynthia for?”

“When?”

“In the kitchen. Right before you got the gloves. You came into the kitchen and spoke to her and she left. That’s when you took the gloves.”

“Now you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

“Just answer me honestly for once in your life.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Before the gloves?”

“A nail file. I asked her for a nail file. Why are you interrogating me?”

“What did you do with the gloves when you were done?”

“I put them in the garbage. It’s no big secret, if that’s what you’re worried about. I told the police about it. I’m not an idiot. I knew it would look suspicious to have rubber gloves in your room when somebody just got killed.”

“What was Cynthia cooking at that hour, anyway?”

“Lemon meringue.”

“That’s right!” said Sunny. “I remember Oliver asking her about a meringue pie earlier in the day. I can’t believe she decided to make him one so late at night.”

“She waits on that guy like he’s a prince. But you should talk. You’re the original midnight baker.”

“It is nice to bake at night when it’s quiet and you can concentrate.” She thought for a moment. “But we didn’t eat a meringue pie. If she went to all that trouble, why didn’t she serve it the next day? It wasn’t exactly a festive atmosphere, but we were hanging around all day and she did feed us lunch.”

“I wondered that, too. But she couldn’t serve it. She froze it.”

“She froze it? How do you know that?”

“I saw it in the freezer when I was putting ice in a pitcher.”

“When?”

“On Sunday.”

“But you can’t freeze a homemade meringue pie.”

“No, I didn’t think so.”

“You can’t,” said Sunny. “The texture gets all weird, and when you defrost it the peaks fall. You know that. I know that. Anybody who has spent years in a professional kitchen knows that, and Cynthia has been a cook for years.”

“Maybe she knows something we don’t,” said Andre. “Or maybe she did it by accident. We were all upset that day. Maybe she was distracted and just wanted to get it out of the way. Like everybody else, she’d been up half the night. Who knows? Why do you care?”

“I just think it’s very strange that a person would stay up until two in the morning making a special dessert for someone and then ruin it.”

“Maybe she knew Oliver wouldn’t feel like eating it on a day like that.”

“Maybe. Still, it seems odd.” She sat down on the stoop next to Andre. “It’s odd to waste all that effort, you know? You stay up late making a pie, and then in the morning you decide to botch it. That seems odd, doesn’t it?”

“Sunny, why are you obsessing about a pie? I’m sure someone ate it even if it wasn’t perfect anymore.”

Sunny turned and looked into his eyes for the first time.

“Wasn’t it perfect? I mean, meringue is surprisingly hard to do just right. You know, with the good stiff peaks all golden brown at the tips, symmetrically arranged, with a nice, tidy edge. I can never get mine just right. Of course, I don’t bake it very often.”

“This one was pretty as a picture, at least when it started out. It got sort of crumpled in the freezer. Cynthia is an excellent baker.”

“Crumpled. That’s interesting,” said Sunny. “Like maybe somebody handled it or something?”

“Who knows? Maybe she dropped it. It was sort of messed up. But you could see it had been good to start with.”

“That’s very, very interesting,” said Sunny.

“I guess I don’t find it as interesting as you do,” said Andre. “I came over to talk about us, not Cynthia’s abilities as a pastry chef.”

She took her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

“I was late an hour ago.”

“Then why don’t we talk later on, when we don’t have to rush.”

“Sounds good. But, Sun?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to hold you to it.”

Sergeant Harvey didn’t pick up his phone. Sunny stretched out on the couch and listened to it ring. At the beep, she left another message.

“Steve, it’s me again. I mean Sunny. McCoskey. It seems like you’ve been pretty busy, but could you give me a call when you have a chance? It’s Thursday evening. If you could call tonight, that would be best. It doesn’t matter how late. I’ll keep the phone by the bed. I know we talked about how sensitive the Anna Wilson case is, and how important it is that I stay out of it as much as possible, and, believe me, I completely understand that issue. I mean, I have the broken window to deal with. But you also said I should call you if I came across anything really significant, and it turns out that something significant has come up. A new piece of evidence. It might sound a little crazy, but I think there may be something to it. Just a hunch, but still, it might be worth checking out. Cynthia, Oliver’s private chef, baked a lemon meringue pie late on the night Anna died. It might still be in the freezer in the kitchen at Oliver’s house. If it is, we need to defrost it. I know it sounds a little crazy, but I am absolutely serious about this. Give me a call and I’ll explain.”

She hung up and lay on the couch wondering if Sergeant Harvey would follow through on her tip or ignore it. He obviously thought she was some kind of crackpot since he didn’t even bother to return her last call. Still, she had to try. A breeze came in the open window and she savored it for a few seconds before she shut up the house like a prison. She closed and locked all the windows, drew the drapes where there were some to draw, double-checked the doors, and walked around a second time making sure every opening to the little cottage was as secure as possible. When she was done, she was satisfied no one could get in without crashing through a window or breaking in the door, and then at least she’d
know they were coming. She stood in the kitchen and ate a banana absentmindedly, leaving the peel on the counter.