Pasta, Pinot & Murder Read online

  Saylor talked to me about her latest real estate client to take my mind off the grisly scene inside the house. She told me how they’d given her a huge dollar amount as their buying limit, then when she started showing them houses, they’d only qualified for half the amount. Not that she cared; she just wondered why they’d wasted her time. She’d shown them half a dozen houses way out of their price range. By the time she finished describing the couple, she’d already pulled into the driveway.

  Unlike me, Saylor always looked put together. She even looked elegant in yoga pants. Being almost six feet tall with legs up to her neck, she looked good in torn jeans and a plain white T-shirt. I could look that good too, if I had any reason to. Ha, too funny. I had long red hair that refused to be tamed, and skin so pale I was almost translucent. I didn’t even have the gorgeous blue eyes to offset the red hair. I had plain, dull brown eyes. When I wore yoga pants, I just looked too lazy to get dressed.

  Saylor kept her cocoa brown hair cut short, just a bit longer than a pixie, and it always looked perfect. She was that girl everyone loved to hate, and yet she was the nicest person you’d ever want to know. If she liked you, that is. Unless it’s just the two of us, then we were the cattiest women you’ve ever seen.

  She stepped out of her BMW Z4 wearing a simple black shift dress with bare legs and black sandals. No accessories.

  I unlocked my car door and got out as she walked up. She hugged me and said, “You’re lucky I didn’t have any showings. I’d have been halfway across the county.”

  I hugged her back and inhaled the clean scent of French milled soap. “Thanks for coming. And thanks for making Peter stay at the restaurant.”

  She stepped back. “I promised him we’d go straight to Vendredi’s as soon as the police were finished with you.”

  “I’m exhausted just thinking about having to talk to the police. I don’t really know anything. I just walked in and she was there.”

  Saylor grabbed me by the arm. “Come on, I want to see.”

  I jerked away. “No, I don’t want to see her again.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

  I couldn’t believe she just left me there. But I was not going back into that house. The police would have to drag me in, and I didn’t think they’d do that.

  I paced back and forth in the space between Saylor’s car and mine, waiting to hear the sirens. I stopped and listened carefully. Nothing.

  Saylor came back out, not looking a shade paler than she had when she walked in. “Girl, there’s a cell phone lodged under her body. I wonder if it’s hers or the killer’s. She was bashed in the head, did you see that?”

  I nodded and fessed up. “That’s my cell phone.”

  Saylor stopped dead in her tracks. “What? How did that happen?”

  “I was a wreck, and when I pulled it from my pocket to call 911, it slipped as I was starting to dial. I couldn’t believe it landed under Alice’s leg.”

  She turned on her pretty pedicured foot and headed back into the house.

  “Where are you going?” I called after her.

  She stopped at the open door. “I’m getting that phone. If it’s not part of the murder scene, you need it. And if you wait for the cops, it will go into evidence and you’ll never get it back.”

  Before I could protest, she disappeared into the house. And before she came back out, a law enforcement vehicle came barreling up the driveway. No lights, no siren. Weird. Then again, what was the hurry? No one was going anywhere.

  Saylor came through the front door just as Deputy Alan Ballic stepped out of his car.

  Saylor waltzed across the driveway and wrapped her arms around the deputy. She held my cell phone in her hand, and winked at me as she hugged Alan. “Hey, good to see you.” She let him go, and turned around to look at the house. “Just wish it was under better circumstances.”

  Alan didn’t hug Saylor back. They’d had a thing a few years ago, and I think they still had a thing when one of them (Saylor) had too much to drink.

  “What were you doing in the house?” he asked.

  As if she’d just come from visiting her grandmother, she said, “I had to get a look, before you closed off the scene.” She leaned in close. “You can take me in and print me later, if you like.”

  Damn, that girl was a flirt.

  “I found Alice Parker, Alan.” Knowing the investigating deputy had its advantages, or so I’d hoped.

  “What did you find?”

  I described the scene again.

  Saylor added, “I looked a little closer than Willa did. There was a good struggle. Whoever did Alice in knocked the crap out of her. Literally. I could smell it.”

  “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” He walked into the house, then came right back out. “Yeah, it’s a mess in there. My backup should be here soon. Until then, I need to ask you a few questions.”

  I nodded, not knowing what else I could tell him.

  “When was the last time you saw Mrs. Parker?” he asked me.

  “Oh, please, she’d stand up, come out here and slap you if she heard you call her Mrs. Parker. It’s Alice.” Saylor had to have her say.

  “I haven’t seen her in at least a week. If I remember correctly, she was having lunch with my mother-in-law at her house,” I said.

  “Whose house?”

  “Hattie’s. How else would I see her? I certainly don’t drive all the way out here on a regular basis.” I didn’t mean for it to come out so snippy, but it did.

  Deputy Ballic took notes. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d been here. Maybe you were here earlier today and killed Alice. Now you’re back.”

  I laughed to keep from vomiting. “No way. You don’t think I killed Alice. That’s absurd.”

  He looked me in the eyes. “Is it? And then you called the cops to throw off suspicion?”

  Saylor said, “You’re joking, right?”

  Alan looked at her and winked. “Yeah, I’m just messing with you.” Then he looked serious again and said, “No! I’m not joking. I don’t know what kind of relationship you had with Mrs. Parker.”

  Saylor punched Alan hard on the arm. She had guns, so he flinched, even though he tried to act like it didn’t hurt.

  The deputy turned to look back at the driveway, where a convoy of LEOs were coming up the road, following one another closely. I counted two sheriff’s cars, two Dodge Chargers that were definitely plain cop cars, a CHP (California Highway Patrol) vehicle, and two City of Pear cop cars. Seven cops? And that’s only if there was only one cop per car.

  I wondered if this many cops showed up for an average person’s murder. Alice’s contributions to the community were legendary, so this had to be big news. No way was this killer getting away.

  Deputy Ballic introduced me to his boss, Sheriff John Waters. He had been in office for eight years, if I remember correctly. He’d been a deputy for almost twenty years before he’d been voted in as the county sheriff. I’d spoken to him at fundraisers over the last several years. When you have one of the most successful wineries in the valley, you’re a philanthropist, and Hattie Friday was just that. Which meant I was dragged into many of her functions. Sometimes I was even Hattie’s date. She never brought a man to these galas for fear of gossip.

  “Willa Friday, what are you doing here?” Sheriff Waters asked.

  “Sadly, I found Alice.” I couldn’t even meet his eyes.

  “That’ll ruin a day, won’t it?” He smiled his genuine smile, showing slightly crooked teeth.

  Sheriff Waters was a big man, and not in an overeating kind of way. I’d bet he had been an offensive lineman in college. He had to tip the scales at two-fifty, and had biceps that stretched the fabric of his black polo shirt.

  “Pretty much sums it up.”

  He looked to Ballic. “Grab the crime scene tape and mark off the house.” He called over to the city cops. “Officer Ruiz, drive back down to the gate and make sure no one else drives up here. I also want
you to make a note of make, model and license of anyone driving by the house.”

  “That could be a lot of cars,” Ruiz groused. “What if I don’t get them all?”

  Annoyed, Waters said, “Get out your damn cell phone and take pictures. Make sure you get the license plates.”

  Saylor asked, “Why is he taking photos of traffic?”

  “You never know when the killer may want to drive by to see if anyone has found the body yet.” He looked at me. “Or the killer may have called in the body.”

  I held my hands up. “No, not this again. I didn’t kill Alice. I actually liked her…a little.”

  “She had a lot of enemies?” Waters asked.

  “Aren’t you the sheriff?” Saylor asked. “Have you not met Alice Parker?”

  “I’ve met her on several occasions. She’s been nicer to me than her husband ever was.” He looked around. “Speaking of husbands, where is Mr. Parker?”

  I raised just one hand, like a kid in class. “I know,” I squeaked.

  He raised his brows at me. “Please tell me he’s not in the house, too.”

  “Not even close. He’s away for some personal time off. I happened to stop by his office earlier today, and his assistant told me he left town yesterday.”

  Ballic shrugged. “That’s convenient now, isn’t it?”

  Would Bruce have any reason to kill Alice? I’m sure she wasn’t the easiest woman to live with, but he’d been with her a very long time. First marriage for both of them. According to Hattie, all of the money came from Alice’s side of the family, and Bruce had signed a prenup. So maybe he would benefit from her death, but if she’d been that bad, he’d have killed her years ago.

  Come to think of it, I’d never seen Alice and Bruce cross with each other. I’d seen them in their own home, Hattie’s house, out to dinner, and at social events, and they always looked happy.

  Saylor held her ground for Bruce. “Hey, every man deserves a few days away from his wife.”

  “Is that how it works?” Ballic asked.

  Saylor ignored him.

  “Stay here until I get a look at the body and catalogue the scene. Then we’ll head down to the jail and I’ll get your statement.” Waters didn’t even look back to make sure I complied as he walked into the house.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Saylor asked.

  I shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to go back in the house.”

  “Should you call Bruce’s office and have them get in touch with him?” Saylor asked.

  “Not my circus, not my monkeys. I’m not getting any more involved than I have to.” It felt selfish to say it, but I couldn’t be involved.

  A commotion came from the bottom of the hill. I heard a horn honk, then yelling that sounded distinctly like Hattie. I told myself it was my imagination. Then my phone rang.

  “Oh, no.” Saylor looked at my phone, which was still in her hand. “It’s Hattie.” She tossed the phone at me like it was contaminated.

  I really wanted to miss the catch, and let it land hard on the asphalt driveway. But with my luck, it wouldn’t break completely, and I’d just have a shattered screen that would cut my fingers. I reached out and caught the phone just as it stopped ringing. Whew. But it was short lived. It started ringing again immediately.

  I answered. “Hello, Hattie.”

  “Tell that stupid sheriff I’m at the end of the driveway, and I need to get up there. That is my best friend.” Hattie spat into the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Hattie, but this is a crime scene, and they aren’t letting anyone else on the property.” I felt the tension in every word, knowing the tirade coming next.

  Surprisingly, Hattie’s response was calm. “Please put Sheriff Waters on the phone.”

  “He’s not here. He’s in the house, and I’m not going back in that house. Not for you. Not for anybody.” I rarely spoke with authority to my family matriarch, knowing it would bite me in the butt in the long run. But there was no way I was going to call the sheriff out so she could berate him.

  Turned out, I didn’t have to. Apparently, Ruiz had radioed Waters. He came out of the house. “Is that your mother-in-law on the phone?” he asked me.

  I nodded.

  “Tell her to get her little body back in that car and go home. I don’t have time for her crap today.”

  I held the phone out, so Hattie could hear him. I wasn’t going to repeat what he’d said.

  “Tell him I’ll talk to him later tonight. This isn’t over.” Hattie disconnected.

  For just a second, I wondered just how well these two knew each other. But I let it pass. I couldn’t see Hattie with a man in uniform. And I couldn’t see anyone in authority in a relationship with Hattie. She was way too bossy.

  My phone rang again. When I answered, Hattie said, “Don’t tell John that. Just don’t tell him anything. I’m leaving.”

  John? She called him by his first name? A bit friendly, wasn’t it? My suspicion was right. Hattie and John? He had to be at least ten, no, fifteen years younger than her. Go Hattie. Poor John. I snickered. And it wasn’t that she used his first name. It was the inflection.

  “Hattie said she’ll talk to you about this later tonight. She didn’t sound happy.” I told him anyway. I needed to see the look on his face.

  He gave away nothing and pointed at my car. “Go home. We’re going to be here a while. I want to see you at the jail in two hours. You, too.” He glared at Saylor now.

  “What? I wasn’t causing a scene. I didn’t even say anything,” Saylor protested.

  “But you were here when I got here, so I’ll want to question you, too.” He pointed at the BMW, then at my car. “Go. Get out of my hair.”

  “What hair?” I heard Saylor say under her breath.

  I smiled and got in my car, glad to be leaving. I yelled to Saylor, “Meet at Vendredi? Peter is probably pacing the kitchen.”

  “And Hattie will want to talk to you.” Saylor opened her car door. “I got your back, girlie.”

  Chapter Five

  Peter hadn’t exaggerated the reservations. When Saylor and I walked in the front door, the hostess looked overwhelmed. A petite girl in her twenties and cute as a button, she kept running her fingers over the top of her slicked back blonde ponytail and biting her lip.

  Vendredi’s sleek interior with dark wood, polished concrete floors, and white tablecloths always got my heart rate up. So many years of working in the kitchen and hosting, I could probably do this job in my sleep, even after all these years.

  “She’s a wreck. Is she new?” Saylor asked.

  I shrugged. I had no idea, but I didn’t want my family’s restaurant to look incompetent. I stepped up to the hostess desk. “What’s your name?”

  “Excuse me?” She looked like she wanted to hit me.

  “I’m Willa Friday, as in Peter and Hattie Friday, the Friday family. I did this job for years, and I know what you’re going through. Let me help.” I grabbed the pen from her hand.

  She blew out an exasperated breath and stepped back half a step.

  It shouldn’t have been difficult, since the guests with reservations got seated first. The others would be fit in when we had room. We, as if this was still my restaurant, too. In a way, I guess it was. I got my alimony from the profits.

  I couldn’t seat the guests, since I looked like I should have been in the kitchen, and not as a cook, but as a dishwasher. I looked over the reservations and the seating board.

  “I’m Emily. I think someone gave me their name as a reservation, but they didn’t really have one. Now I’m all messed up, and I have four parties waiting for a table, when they should’ve been seated at least fifteen minutes ago.” Her little girl voice grated on my nerves, but I was here for Hattie and Peter, not her.

  I looked up and saw impatient eyes staring back at me. Before I could get another look at the reservations and the seating board, a guest came up.

  Dressed in a white, starched, button down shirt and navy
slacks, it looked like his collar was sharp enough to cut into his neck, and he had it buttoned to the top. We were a tourist destination, so we couldn’t exactly ask for a jacket and tie, but it would have kept the riff raff out. He didn’t look like riff raff, but he looked like a jerk with his slicked back hair and expensive oversized watch.

  “We’ve been waiting almost half an hour,” the short gentleman growled. “How much longer?”

  I reached out for his guest pager. He handed it to me. After checking the number, I wanted to call him a liar and tell him he’d just been given the block ten minutes ago. Jerk.

  “Your name?” I asked with as much sap in my voice as I could muster. Goodness, I didn’t miss that job.

  “Olivetti,” he snapped.

  “Olivetti? I don’t see your name here,” I said as I covered his name with my thumb. “Did you give her a different name when you made your reservation?” I knew he didn’t have a reservation, because reservations were written in red, and walk-ins were in blue.

  “I gave Olivetti,” the tension in his voice making it pitch an octave higher.

  “Oh, oh, I see, you didn’t have a reservation.” I pointed to his name on the board. “If you did, your name would be in red. And as you can see, we don’t have a red pen here.” We did, but it was under the desk. He didn’t need to know that.

  “Whatever. How much longer?”

  “Tell you what, Mr. Olivetti. I’ll move you to the front of the list, in front of the people who called in advance and made reservations. Will that make you happy?” I fully expected him to say that would be just fine.

  “No, that’s not right. I just wanted to know if it’ll be another half an hour or more.” Less tension in the little man’s voice now.

  “Please, have a seat in the lounge, and we’ll make sure we get you seated as soon as possible. Emily, will you find Mr. Olivetti and his party a table in the bar? Three people?”

  He nodded.

  I whispered in Emily’s ear. “Tell the bartender that Willa said to make his drink strong. That way he won’t realize he’s not getting seated.”

  Emily grinned and escorted the Olivetti party into the lounge.