Pasta, Pinot & Murder Page 6

  I thought this was a great idea. I almost shivered at the cleverness of it.

  “I have a murder to solve, Willa. And the Friday family is front and center of the investigation.” His face didn’t look so jovial now.

  “What do you mean, front and center?” My heart leapt in my chest and I started to protest.

  He held up his hands. “Stop right there. I’m not accusing you, just letting you know that I have to investigate thoroughly, or I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

  Knowing Hattie and John were “friends,” I had to ask. “Did you know that Hattie and Alice had an argument this morning?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you know what she and Alice fought about?”

  John nodded again.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Not my place to discuss. Besides, I want to know more about what happened today.”

  I sighed. “I already told you. And I told your deputy when he arrived.”

  “Humor me.”

  I told him why I’d gone to Alice’s house, and what I’d planned to do. I explained how no one answered the door, I’d noticed it was open, and went inside. First, I saw the liquid on the floor, then I saw Alice. I felt like I’d told the story a thousand times already.

  “And you didn’t hear anything? Like maybe someone was still in the house?”

  I shook my head. My heart raced. “Was someone still in the house?”

  “We don’t think so. If they were, they were gone by the time we went through it.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Not that it mattered now. I’d gotten out of that house unharmed. That wasn’t going to change even if there had been someone still in the house. I guess it was just a relief to know I wasn’t being watched.

  “The front door was ajar?”

  “Like I said.” Then I realized I hadn’t paid that much attention to the door. “Was it busted open?”

  “No, it doesn’t look as if it was.” John scribbled on his notepad.

  I tried to see what he was writing, but his handwriting was small and messy. No way I could read it upside down. In fact, I doubted he’d be able to read it, either, if he hadn’t written it himself. It was that bad.

  Peter’s writing looked like chicken scratch, too. His employees were always asking me to decipher it. John’s writing was a different kind of bad.

  “No forced entry? So that means it had to have been someone Alice knew.” I wondered, with the security gate, if Alice normally kept her doors locked. She did live in the middle of nowhere, and it wasn’t as if someone could get to the house without buzzing in at the gate first.

  “What about the security system? If someone didn’t have the code at the gate, they’d have to have called up to the house.”

  John shrugged. “There was a sign out front for AWC security, but we couldn’t find a contact name or number anywhere. It could have been on Alice’s phone or on a computer, but she did have an old-fashioned Rolodex on her desk, which was ransacked. Then, we tried the Yellow Pages and Google, and couldn’t find any security company by that name. And we still haven’t found Alice’s cell phone.”

  “Maybe it’s not a local company,” I said, and realized how stupid that sounded as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

  “It wouldn’t matter if they were from New York; they would probably show up on a Google search.”

  “That’s just kind of weird. I’ll have to ask Hattie if she’s ever heard of them.” I would expect that Hattie and Alice had a lot of the same contacts and used a lot of the same companies. Besides, Hattie knew a lot about a lot of things.

  “Just another loose end,” John sighed.

  “What about a murder weapon?” I asked.

  “I thought I was supposed to be the one asking the questions here?” John said.

  Pushing it, I asked, “Did you find a murder weapon?”

  John’s lips turned up in an involuntary grin. “At this point, we aren’t sure. I shouldn’t be sharing any of this with you, but there is a large dent in her head, so it could’ve been anything from a bowling ball to a crystal vase. We’re still waiting for the autopsy, but I can tell you this, whoever hit her was really strong.”

  I giggled. “I can guarantee you it wasn’t a bowling ball. You wouldn’t catch Alice dead in a bowling alley. And I doubt anyone just brought a bowling ball to the house.” Then I realized what I’d said was inappropriate and frowned.

  “Do you know if Alice had any enemies?”

  “Alice was a shrewd businesswoman and not always nice, so I’m sure she made her share of enemies. Nowadays, when you’re in business, you never know who is going to flip out if you fire them, quit using their business services, or just say something wrong.”

  John nodded absently.

  “Hattie has been friends with her for ages, so she’ll know more.”

  I thought to myself about Hattie’s comments. She and Alice had had a fight that morning. For a seventy-something-year-old woman, Hattie was strong. Could she have flipped out and smashed Alice’s head in?

  “I’m still trying to get a hold of her husband, Bruce. He’s not answering his phone, and it goes directly to voicemail.”

  John put up his finger and picked up his cell phone that had started vibrating across his desk. He listened for a few minutes, then disconnected. “That was the crime scene unit. They just finished going over the house.” He put his phone down. “As far as you know, did Bruce and Alice get along?”

  “Alice wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it,” he said, putting his arms on his desk, playing with the pen in his hand. “I’ve dealt with her on many occasions. Even though she was nice as can be to me, she wasn’t easy. I think she liked to harass me just because of Hattie.”

  The side of my mouth crooked up. I’d better not pursue that line, as it might incriminate me. I’d worked with her on many events over the years, too. I knew. But I also knew she wasn’t so bad that someone would want to kill her. Or not. Because someone did kill her.

  “You said earlier that Bruce was out of town.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “As far as I know. I stopped by his office to pick up a check for Hattie, and his assistant, Paula Osborne, said he was out of town. Have you talked to her?”

  “We haven’t. I have her name on file, but I haven’t called her yet. That’s going to be our next step, since Mr. Parker isn’t answering his phone.”

  Shocked, I said, “How did you get his number?”

  John picked up his cell phone.

  “You have him in your cell phone?”

  “We have an emergency contingency log. We keep the phone numbers of the owners and managers of every business in the county. You never know when you’ll need to call someone in the middle of the night because their property was broken into, damaged, or burning to the ground.”

  I nodded. “That’s brilliant.” I wondered if I was listed as an emergency contact for Peter or Hattie. I didn’t dare ask.

  “That, and remember when that drunk driver went through the Parker building about five years ago?”

  I did. Sometime in the middle of the night, one of the winery managers had been tasting a little too much of his boss’s product, and decided he could still drive home. He only made it three blocks before plowing head on into the Parker building. Bruce took it better than anyone expected. Alice, on the other hand…

  “Ah. You have his number from that. Makes sense. But he’s not answering your calls.”

  “Nope.” He leaned forward. “Paula didn’t say anything about where he’d gone, did she?”

  “She didn’t give me any details, just said he was out of town. Maybe he’s not getting cell service where he’s at.” It was a plausible explanation. There were dead spots everywhere in the valley.

  “I wonder when he left?”

  “She said he left yesterday.”

  “We need to talk to Paula, and we need to get insid
e his office. If he’s not home by morning, I’m going to get a warrant to look at his calendar, phone records, and whatever else it takes to find out what’s going on.” He sounded irritated.

  “It’s not like he knew his wife was going to be killed while he was gone,” I said.

  “Really, how do you know that?” he countered.

  That had me back on my heels. He was right, I didn’t know. Maybe he’d planned it. I guess a person didn’t have to be present to have a spouse, or anyone, killed.

  “See what I mean?” he asked. “And maybe he wasn’t really out of town after all.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’m not a cop. And if you don’t need me anymore, I’d like to go.” I didn’t even want to think about Alice or the murder anymore. “Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Thanks to you, we have a head start on the murder investigation. Who knows when Mr. Parker would have gotten home? Or who would have finally found Mrs. Parker,” John offered.

  He asked me a few more repeat questions, then offered me a cup of coffee.

  I deferred to water, and he walked me out of the room.

  I sat in the waiting area for almost an hour, nursing my bottled water, waiting for a glimpse of Saylor.

  Saylor came out of a room followed by Deputy Ballic.

  “Hey, sweetie.” She winked at me.

  I stood and gave her a hug. I whispered in her ear, “Did they grill you?”

  She whispered back, “Not too bad. But the deputy and I got some things worked out. I think that’s going to be on the recording, too.”

  I didn’t think John had recorded our conversation. We’d been in his office, and he didn’t say he was recording. Not that it mattered.

  Saylor waved with her fingers at Deputy Ballic.

  “You ready to go home?” I asked.

  “I’ll call a car for us,” I said.

  Saylor pointed and said, “No need.”

  I turned around to see Peter walking through the door, looking pale and exhausted. I looked at my watch. It was nearly ten. Poor guy.

  Peter hugged me. “Are you okay?”

  “It was all a formality. I don’t think they think I killed Alice.”

  Peter stepped back from me. “Why would you even say that? There’s no way they could consider you.”

  I didn’t feel like going into it just then. “Let’s go home. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

  A part of me wished I could forget about what had happened, and just curl up in his arms when we got home. I missed the feeling of a man’s arms around me. I’d always said I’d start dating again when Tommy left for college, but I couldn’t really do it while Peter and I still lived in the same house.

  People who knew us probably wondered why we’d divorced in the first place. We still loved each other. We just couldn’t be married. For so many reasons.

  Chapter Seven

  Once we were in the car and on the road, Peter said, “Saylor, I could just smack you across the head. What were you thinking, giving a seventy-year-old woman a lemon drop martini?”

  I couldn’t see Saylor sitting in the back seat, but I could hear her snicker. “She needed it. She was drinking some microbrew beer, for God’s sake.”

  Peter looked over his shoulder quickly and then back to the road. “The amount of alcohol in a microbrew was about what she needed, not the amount of alcohol in a martini. She was looped.”

  I looked at Peter. “She only had one martini.” Right? I couldn’t remember for sure.

  “One martini while you were there. She had a full martini sitting in front of her when I went into the bar.”

  I strained my neck to turn and look at Saylor. In the light of the moon, I could see the grimace on her face. “Did someone walk her home?”

  “I’m sorry, Peter. I thought she was just going to have the one drink and go back to the house.”

  “She did actually have a second martini in front of her when we left. And she may as well have been sucking it through a straw. It was part of the reason we decided she shouldn’t go to the cop shop with us.” Saylor was leaning forward in the seat to talk to Peter.

  “I wasn’t too worried about her getting home. I put her in the golf cart and gave her a ride back up to the house. It’s tomorrow morning that I’m worried about. She’s going to be furious that she got drunk, and madder than a wet hen that she has a hangover.”

  Saylor laughed. “It would do Hattie good to let loose once in a while. She such a control freak and so uptight. That extra martini was probably the best thing for her. Bet she’s sleeping like a baby.”

  As Peter pulled into the driveway of Vendredi’s, he said, “She’s sleeping like a baby, all right. She passed out in the golf cart on the way to the house. I had to hold her in the seat with one arm while I steered with the other. Then I practically had to carry her to the house.”

  “Did you undress her and give her a shower, too?” I asked with a bit too much sarcasm.

  “That’s just gross. No one wants to see their mom naked. I laid her on the bed, fully clothed. She’s going to be so pissed off the morning.” He turned to Saylor. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

  Saylor stood outside in the parking lot and walked the white line indicating the parking spaces. She put one foot in front of the other, with both of her hands out. Then she stopped and put her index finger to her nose with both hands. “Stone cold sober, my man.” She said her ABCs, then said, “E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done this a few times,” Peter laughed.

  “Once or twice. Want to give me the follow the finger with the eyes test?”

  Peter shook his head.

  “We can give you a ride,” I said

  Saylor reached back into the car and gave me a hug. “I’m fine. I’ll text you when I get home.” She walked to her car and got inside.

  Peter sat in the parking lot for a few more moments, watching as Saylor drove away. “I’m glad she was there for you today. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

  “It was for the best. You have a business to run and she was available. You’ve seen me hysterical enough times in your life, and you didn’t need to see that. Besides, Alice is your godmother, and you really didn’t want to see her sprawled out on the floor dead.”

  Peter backed out of the parking space and headed toward our house.

  “I was distracted in the kitchen all night. Several of my assistants had to fix my mistakes. I kept going over in my head who would want to do this to Alice. I know she was difficult, and sometimes kind of nasty, but she wasn’t so mean that someone would want to kill her.”

  As Peter maneuvered up the gravel road to our bungalow, I looked out the window at the moon shining over the vineyards. I’d run over it in my head many times, too.

  “You know what strikes me as strange? That Bruce is out of town, and he’s not answering his phone. Don’t you think this makes him look a little guilty?”

  Peter parked in front of the garage and waited as the automatic door lifted. As he drove slowly into the garage, he said, “That is a little strange. I sure hope he has an alibi. But then again, I’m not sure Bruce has the backbone to do something like this.”

  We got out of the car and walked toward the house. “Some people can surprise you,” I said.

  “That’s true. My mom surprises me almost every day.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? Hattie was full of surprises.

  “Hattie had said something about them fighting this morning. That they had had words, and she stormed out of the house. You don’t think your mom could have smashed Alice’s head in a fit of rage, do you?”

  Peter turned to look at me, his feet slightly spread, and his hands on his hips. “What are you trying to say? My mother is a suspect?”

  I backed away from him. “No, I’m just saying she said they had a fight.”

  Peter walked into the kitchen and slammed the car keys on the counter. “My mother has a te
mper, but she has never completely lost it. She and Alice have been friends for years and believe me, they’ve had their share of fights.” Peter turned around and opened up the refrigerator, pulling out a to-go box from Vendredi’s.

  “You realize I’ve been in your life for twenty plus years, right? And we’ve lived here nearly the entire time. I know the kind of fights that Hattie and Alice have had in the past. But time goes on and people change. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Alice threw something at Hattie and then Hattie retaliated.”

  Peter practically tossed the leftover box into the microwave and set the timer. He turned to face me. “So let me ask you this. If Alice was dead and my mother had done it, why would she admit that they had been in a fight earlier that day? Doesn’t that just point the finger at her?”

  “Maybe she didn’t know Alice was dead,” I said. This wasn’t the case, but I was just throwing it out there.

  “This is all just stupid speculation. My mother is the last person who would kill somebody. The way people are these days, it could be anybody. It could be the chef she fired two weeks ago or it could be her general manager, who was suspended for having an affair with one of the servers. It could be someone who works at the winery, or it could be her husband. But I can tell you this: my mother didn’t do it.”

  I considered pouring a glass of wine, but it was late. Instead, I filled the coffee pot with water and poured it into the machine. I measured out decaf coffee grounds into a filter and turn on the machine. “I never said Hattie did it. I just asked if it was possible. I don’t have time to think about this now, I have a blog post to finish.”

  “You kind of did implicate my mother. I’m not sure you meant to, but it sounded like it to me.”

  I reached into the cupboard and grabbed a coffee cup. Before I closed the cabinet I asked, “Do you want some coffee?”

  “Sure, I’ll have a cup.” The timer dinged on the microwave. “Do you want some shrimp scampi? It’s leftover from yesterday. I made it and brought it home, then forgot about it. I’m surprised you didn’t eat it already.”