Pasta, Pinot & Murder Read online

  This was the first thing he said that sounded completely plausible. I just stared at him.

  “See? I’m sincere. I want this job.”

  I touched him on the shoulder to reassure him. “I’m not going to fire you, but I’m not going to have you work today. I’m working on things that you can’t help with. But I’ll call you and let you know if I need you in the morning. If you don’t hear from me, text me. It just means that I forgot, not that I don’t want you to work.”

  The look of relief on Jacob’s face was as if his girlfriend had told him the pregnancy test came up negative.

  I didn’t mention that Bridget wasn’t wearing a wedding band, and there wasn’t a tan line. Weird for a woman whose husband was so jealous.

  I waved him off as he got back in his car and drove away. I unlocked the door and then locked it carefully behind me, even checking to make sure it was locked. I didn’t want anyone walking in on me and seeing what I was looking at, especially if it was the killer. I didn’t want to be the next victim.

  I hurried over to my computer, pulled the chair out and sat down before taking the SD card out of my purse. I hit the enter button on my keyboard and my computer came to life. As soon as it stopped making its scrolling noises, I pushed the SD card into the slot and waited. I had to click through to several files to get to the videos. Once I was in the file, I saw a list of videos. Cool, my SD card must have gotten everything.

  Since I didn’t have an exact timeline, I started at the top and looked at everything. There were several ten second videos that showed nothing. And then I saw Hattie. The video showed her going into the house, apparently being invited in. That’s when I realized I didn’t have the sound turned on. I turned the volume up just in time to hear the door close. The next video showed Hattie back on the porch, storming out of the door. A second later, the door slammed behind her. She was already off the porch by the time the door slammed, so someone in the house had to have closed it behind her. To me, this vindicated Hattie. Alice must have closed the door behind her after the fight. The next recording showed a timestamp about thirty minutes later. After Hattie had left, a hooded figure approached the house and entered with the key. From the angle of the camera and the dirty lens that made it grainy, I couldn’t tell the exact size of the person entering the house, or if they were male or female. I’d have to remind Bruce to clean the lenses on his cameras. Then I remembered there were two sets of recordings, and I scrolled forward to find the recordings for the front gate. There were a lot of short videos from the driveway camera that didn’t include someone at the gate. I did find the video of Hattie arriving and leaving. Oddly, when Hattie left, she didn’t have to wait for the gate to open because it was already open. I thought that was really strange. Then I remembered the gate was open when I arrived at Alice’s house. I didn’t think much of it, figuring Alice was expecting me and had opened the gate for me. Then again, Alice would never have left the gate open. And there wasn’t any video of another car coming up to the gate or the driveway. So where did the hooded person come from? I looked through the rest of the short videos until I saw myself come to the gate. I knew what happened from there.

  I pulled the SD card out of my computer and locked it in the small safe in my wall. I wanted to be sure that no one else could get to it. If something happened to Bruce’s copies, I’d still have mine. I looked around my studio to see that all of the windows were still covered. I hadn’t opened the shades. Normally, I’d open them all for the beautiful light that I could use for photographs. But that morning I wasn’t photographing anything, so I left the shades closed.

  I wondered if Hattie had made her way down to the bed-and-breakfast. I walked out of my studio, locked up behind me, and headed over.

  When I walked into the bustling bistro, I saw Hattie sitting with Ruth Blue. If ever there were Three Musketeers, it was Hattie, Ruth, and Alice.

  “Ruth, I haven’t seen you in forever.” I open my arms and hugged her tight. Ruth was my favorite friend of Hattie’s.

  “Hey sweetie, have a seat. I just returned from Italy and I’ve been telling Hattie all about it.” And then her face went solemn. “And Hattie’s been telling me about Alice. It’s a horrible loss.”

  For just a moment, I wondered if Ruth had returned today or yesterday? Did Ruth and Alice have any sort of falling out recently? I mean, these women could go at it. Then I shook the thought from my head. No, not Ruth.

  The waitress came and sat a glass of water in front of me. “Will you be ordering also?”

  I shook my head and thanked her.

  “Isn’t that Alice’s granddaughter?” Ruth asked.

  “Yes, she’s been working here for about a month,” Hattie said.

  “That’s Abby Watson?” I asked. “Why isn’t she working at Alice’s place?”

  “You know Alice. No such thing as nepotism. And there’s bad blood there, so Alice wouldn’t hire her. Abby’s mom, Emma, moved back to town, and Abby needed a job.”

  I remembered what Bruce had said about Alice disinheriting the kids, and the rift over no one wanting to take over the vineyard and restaurant.

  “How furious was Alice that you hired Abby?” Ruth asked.

  “Not at all. She didn’t care if I hired her; she just wasn’t going to hire her.” Hattie’s eyes welled up. “Alice beat her drum to a different set of sheet music.”

  I frowned at Hattie’s reference to drums.

  Ruth put her hand on Hattie’s forearm. “Sweetie, I know this is hard on you. Let’s not talk about Alice. We’ll have plenty of time to mourn her at the funeral.”

  “When is the funeral? I hadn’t heard anything about arrangements.”

  Ruth still had her hand on Hattie’s forearm, and she put her other hand on mine. “There haven’t been any arrangements. But there will be a funeral.”

  “I talked to John this morning, and they’re keeping Alice’s body for a while, in case they need to do more tests,” Hattie replied.

  “So she won’t have a funeral, or be laid to rest, until they find her murderer?” I asked.

  Ruth shook her head. “No, I don’t think it works that way. But they probably are just being cautious for now.”

  “Hattie, Tommy comes home this weekend. I don’t want her embroiled in all of this,” I said.

  Hattie glared at me. “Tommy’s not a little girl anymore. She needs to know that things like murder happen.”

  I shook my head vehemently. “Not yet she doesn’t. I’m sure she’s aware, but she doesn’t need to know it happened to someone she knows. I sure hope the police have this resolved before she gets home.” I glared back at Hattie. “Don’t you dare call her.”

  Hattie waved me off with her hand. “Oh, please, I have better things to worry about than whether or not Tomorrow finds out about this murder. I have a business to run. Harvest is right around the corner. And I’ve never been happier to be busy, so I don’t think about my egregious loss.”

  The anger had turned Hattie’s face red, but tears didn’t well up in her eyes when she spoke about Alice this time. Back to my good old Hattie.

  “I was just talking to Bruce. Did you know that Bruce and Alice were getting a divorce?”

  The shock on Hattie and Ruth’s face was as if they’d seen a ghost.

  Ruth was the first to speak. “That’s just not possible. Bruce and Alice were the happiest couple I know. When my Robert died, I was so sad, and I know Bruce must feel the same way about Alice.”

  Hattie just shook her head.

  “I just came from talking to Bruce, so I got it from the horse’s mouth. They’ve been working through the details of the divorce, and hadn’t quite finalized it. He said it was amicable. There was nothing to contest, since he’d signed a prenup all those years ago. And he is devastated at the loss, even if they were divorcing.”

  Again, Hattie shook her head. “No, that’s not possible. Alice always told me everything. If she and Bruce were getting a divorce, I’d have kn
own.”

  “When was the last time you saw them together in public? And I’m not talking about seeing them at the same charity function, because that would be normal. When was the last time you saw them standing next to each other, hugging and holding each other’s hand?”

  Luckily, neither Ruth or Hattie had used Botox, so I could easily see the frowns on both of their faces.

  “Come to think of it…” Ruth said.

  Hattie looked at Ruth. “You know, you’re right.”

  It took every ounce of energy not to smile. I loved knowing more than they did.

  “On another note, but still on Alice: when you arrived at Alice’s house yesterday morning, Hattie, did you have to use the gate key code to get in?” I asked, because there was such a short hesitation on the video and it didn’t look like she’d entered a code.

  “No, Alice opened it from the house,” Hattie said. “Why? I gave you the key code. Didn’t it work?”

  “It worked all right. But I was wondering if the gate was still open when you left, or did you have to wait for it to reopen so that you could leave?” The angle of the camera didn’t show the gate. It was pointed in the direction of the road.

  Hattie looked at me as if I was crazy, then I could see the wheels turning in her head as she contemplated. “Actually, the gate was already open, as if it hadn’t closed after I arrived.”

  “And what about when you came back to the house, after you heard about Alice’s murder? Was the gate open then?” This had to lead to something.

  Again, her wheels were turning. “I can’t be sure, because I was more fixated on that patrol car at the end of the driveway. But I’m pretty sure that the gate was open behind him.” She looked at Ruth and then back at me. “Was it open when you went to go see Alice?”

  I nodded.

  “I wonder if there’s a glitch in the gate?” Hattie said, incredulous. “Alice was so careful about security. I can’t remember the gate every being left open, even when she expected a delivery. And since her home was separate from her vineyard, that wasn’t often anyway.”

  My head was spinning with possibilities. Could whoever killed Alice have had a key to the house? No, there was enough hesitation of the hooded person on the porch that someone answered the door. But I didn’t notice a knock on the door. I wondered if Alice saw a person had arrived and just opened the door. So it was someone she knew. And once they were inside, the video stopped.

  “I need to stop worrying about this. It’s not my job to solve Alice’s murder. But there are just some things that I can’t get out of my head. And I know that Alice was very particular about that gate,” I said.

  Hattie took as sip of her water as the server came back to the table. “Ready to order?”

  I wondered if Hattie had said anything about the murder to Alice’s granddaughter. If she had, the girl didn’t seem too broken up about it.

  She had a genuine smile as she took our orders and returned to the kitchen.

  I thought about asking Hattie, but decided to wait until after lunch.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I needed to focus on work and not on solving Alice’s murder. Investigations of any kind other than the ingredients in a recipe weren’t my line of work. I’d been impulsive in quitting my full-time food stylist job, and I needed to make this blog profitable. So far, it was doing well for what it was. But I needed to find something to make one of my posts go viral. As of yet, I hadn’t figured that one out. I learned all about search engine optimization, great layout, and branding myself, but I was still building the page views. Under one-hundred thousand page views a month just wasn’t cutting it, and wouldn’t let me get away from food styling clients. Until the blog could be self-sufficient and support me, I’d still need to take on clients. My goal was to only style food for myself in the future. I needed at least three more blog posts to get ahead of my week, and not having an assistant for the day wasn’t going to help. The whole point of hiring an assistant was so things could go faster and I could concentrate on making the blog more profitable. But here I was, all by myself, working. Part of me wanted to call Tommy home from school early, before the weekend, but I actually didn’t even want her to come home for the weekend. I wanted Alice’s murder to be solved before Tommy got home. She was fragile enough being away from home; she didn’t need to worry about what was going on in Pear.

  As I looked through my refrigerator and cabinets to see what I could use to put together a recipe, I kept thinking about who could possibly have killed Alice. Bruce said that he would be better off if Alice was alive. Was this true? Or did he gain from a life insurance policy that he hadn’t declared yet. I was sure the police would find that out sooner or later.

  And what about Jacob? Why did he have his girlfriend call me? Why didn’t he just tell me himself? Did he think it would sound more legit if it was coming from her? I needed someone to bounce my ideas off of, so I sent Saylor a text.

  What are you doing after work?

  Saylor responded:

  I was going out for drinks with you.

  I laughed to myself and responded back:

  Where do you want to meet?

  She decided that we should go to the bar at Poached Pear.

  I told her I’d meet her there. It would be great to see what the atmosphere was like in the restaurant since Alice’s death. In the meantime, I had recipes to develop.

  With what I could find on the fly, I decided to make it a sandwich day. I’d make my Open-Faced Chicken & Cranberry Salad sandwich, my favorite Cucumber Avocado Sandwich, and last, because it was so messy, my PB&J with Brie Cheese on grilled flatbread. I loved open faced sandwiches. This would be fun and quick. And I’d pair the recipes with a fun and bubbly Moscato or a light Pinot Grigio. My mouth watered. Hopefully, I’d have leftovers I could eat when I was done. Or maybe I’d make two of the Cucumber Avocado sandwiches so I could eat one while I was working.

  I plugged my phone into my studio speakers and set Pandora Radio to smooth jazz. I jogged over to the door to make sure it was locked, then back to my phone to crank the music. Jazz was perfect for working. For some reason, music with lyrics distracted me, and the last thing I needed was another distraction.

  I had yet to open the shades in the studio, so I went around opening every single one, and even a window to let some fresh air in. The lighting was perfect. Just overcast enough that the shadows wouldn’t be too harsh. I moved my photography table over to the window, then went back and grabbed my camera and tripod.

  I think every photographer has a different way of setting up their photos. I had my table, props, lighting set up, and my camera. The camera was on a tripod to prevent movement when taking the shot. I wasn’t steady enough to take the photographs with a handheld and get the quality I needed. I also had a new articulated arm that I used for overhead shots, and planned to use it when I began doing food videos. The older I got, the harder it was to see the image on the LCD screen of my DSLR camera, so I had spent some money for an external monitor. I had the monitor facing my food table, so I could stand right in front of the food and make adjustments, rather than fixing, going to the camera to check, then back to the table over and over. This saved a good amount of time when I didn’t have an assistant available.

  Once I made the recipe and plated the food, I changed the depth of field several different times for several different shots. I had to see the photo on my computer screen to decide which one I’d finally use. I’d pretty much worked like this for my entire photography and styling career. I was self-taught and I knew my early pictures were bad, but practice makes better. I’d say perfect, but I didn’t think artists ever thought something was perfect.

  I looked over to the articulated arm that I wasn’t using and yearned to start shooting videos. I hoped that I could do something just different enough that my videos would go viral. I’d been trying to think of “out of the box” ideas to stand out from the rest of the awesome food bloggers on the internet. But for
now, I didn’t have time to play around with videos.

  Eating a sandwich was my way of recipe testing, and it was yummy. I set to work on making my tasty morsels after I had the camera and lighting set up, and the accessories picked out. Knowing I was going to be going out with Saylor, I refrained from tasting the wine. Yes, I actually had real wine on hand, provided by wineries who wanted me to mention their labels in my posts. A nice perk, except I had access to all the wine I wanted at home. I did love drinking wines from a variety of wineries, not just Vendredi. Since I’d expected it to be a quick photo shoot without a lot of time under the lights, I poured a glass of Pinot Grigio for the photo shoot.

  The PB&J was as messy as I’d expected, but in my mind messy equaled delicious. I didn’t taste test this sandwich, because I’d made it before at home. I didn’t take into account how messy it would be, but I think I got some fabulous shots. Moscato with that sandwich for sure.

  By the time I’d finished the photo shoot and written the blog post, it was time to meet Saylor at the Poached Pear. I cleaned up my studio and put the dishes in the dishwasher, but I didn’t have time to change clothes. I checked my shirt for any signs of mayo, jam or peanut butter. I was all good. I tossed my apron in the hamper and disconnected my phone from the speakers. I locked up my studio and jogged out to my car, then drove into the main hub of Pear. I turned right on Main Street, and immediately on the other side of the roundabout was the Poached Pear.

  As I drove by, I saw Saylor walking on the sidewalk. I roll down my window and waved. “Be there in a minute.”

  Saylor waved back and disappeared behind the large front door.

  I didn’t go to the Poached Pear often and now, this had been my second time in one day. Once inside, I was informed that Saylor had already ordered for both of us. We’d been friends long enough that we each knew what the other liked.