Apples For Vinegar

by R J Fournier

  Josh examined the wine bottles. “I think I’ll have beer. How about you?”

  Delyth looked at the bottles. “Yeah. I’ll stick with water.”

  Helen asked for whatever white wine was already open; she wasn’t as fussy as the other two. Looking around, she couldn’t see any throw rugs or traces of the bloodstain Suzanne had complained about.

  When they returned to the living room, a small clutch of people, including the couple they’d met earlier, were clustered in front of the Shiva statue. Helen could see eight people on the deck. Suzanne was nowhere to be seen. There may have been more guests outside. Not totaling many, but more than Helen had expected given what she’d heard of Ajnabee as an oddball loner.

  “Do you think there’s going to be something formal said?” she asked.

  “Suzanne mentioned people sharing stories,” Susanne reminded her.

  “Before they start,” Helen said, “I’d better visit the ladies room.”

  “Second door on the left down the hall,” Josh told her. At her questioning look, he added, “It was my crime scene. I’ve been over every inch.”

  “Hold this for me,” she said to Delyth, handing over her wine glass.

  Just as Helen was getting there, two women went into the bathroom together, giggling and nudging each other. Helen wasn’t so old that she didn’t recognize drugs were probably involved. She leaned against the wall preparing for a longer-than-usual wait.

  Two voices drifted through the open door of a room next to her. If she concentrated, she could make out what they were saying. Usually she would force herself not to pay attention, but the voices belonged to Bette and Suzanne.

  “They can’t just take my house,” Suzanne said in a tight voice. “Zad was never convicted of anything.”

  “Oh, yes they can.” Bette sounded amused, like an adult trying to explain a simple math problem to a child. “It happened to one of my clients. The property is held responsible for the crime like it was a person, except the burden of proof is much less than in a criminal trial. Is that why you tried to get rid of his plants?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No plants, no crime.”

  “But I didn’t do it. Someone else did the night before he was killed.”

  “That’s good if you can prove it. Otherwise, it could be used to show premeditation if you’re ever arrested for his mur—”

  “What are you talking about?” Helen was surprised Suzanne didn’t sound more outraged at the suggestion. Perhaps she was getting used to people insinuating she’d killed Zad. “I was asleep in my room when it happened.”

  “I saw you, girl.”

  “What do you mean? Where?”

  “Looking out the front door about midnight the night it happened.”

  “That wasn’t me. I told you. I was in bed.”

  “Oh my God,” Bette gasped. “Do you think it was the killer?”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “No. It was too dark. I just assumed…”

  “Assumed it was me.”

  “Whoever it was seemed tall and thin. But maybe I imagined that part because I thought it was you.”

  Helen heard laughter from the bathroom. Another woman joined the line behind her. “You waiting?” the woman asked.

  Helen nodded, not wanting to encourage conversation so she could continue listening to Suzanne and Bette. The woman didn’t take the hint.

  “How did you know Zad?” Bangles and bells on her wrists and ankles jangled as she spoke. She had on diaphanous harem pants appropriate for a belly dancer, although a heavy sweatshirt covered the rest of her outfit. Helen dreaded that all would be revealed later when the entertainment portion of the afternoon commenced.

  “I didn’t. Suzanne invited me.”

  “So sad for her. They seemed so perfect for each other.”

  Helen nodded.

  The toilet flushed. The two women—girls really—came out. “Sorry,” one said. The two of them tried to stifle snickers as they went back to the main room.

  “Why don’t you go ahead,” Helen offered.

  “Are you sure?” When Helen nodded again, the belly dancer said, “Thanks. I really have to go.”

  Helen was free to listen to a more interesting conversation.

  “I looked it up,” Suzanne was saying. “I’m an innocent claimant.” From her tone, she seemed to have gotten over Bette’s accusing her of murder—rather quickly to Helen’s mind.

  “If you’d read the whole article, you’d have seen you can’t have been involved in or even known about the illegal activity. You’ve lived here a year.”

  “Six months.”

  “Whatever. It’s going to be hard to convince a judge you didn’t know about Zad’s grow operation.”

  “Does that apply to the Mendocino land?”

  “If he was growing marijuana on it.”

  “I didn’t know what he was doing. I suspected but I didn’t know for sure. I never even saw the Mendocino property, and never went into the garage because of the bees.”

  “That may be, but how are you going to prove it. The state’s going to argue any reasonable person would have known. You yourself just said you suspected it.”

  “Shit!” Suzanne huffed. Helen half expected she’d stamped her foot like a petulant child. “Wait a minute. I’m beneficiary of his trust. I can sell it before the government has a chance to take it away.”

  “You got him to make out a will and trust?”

  “It was easy. We did it online.”

  “Was that before or after he was killed?”

  “You bitch.”

  Helen assumed that nail had been hit on its head; Suzanne sounded more furious than when Bette accused her of murder. Helen expected a hair-pulling fight and wondered if she should burst in to stop it or call for help, but before she could act the belly dancer, much quicker than the two girls before her, was holding open the bathroom door and chirping, “Next?” Helen smiled and went in. She stayed no more than thirty seconds, the urge that had led her there in the first place forgotten.

  When she emerged, no one was in the hallway and she heard no angry words or sounds of a scuffle. With a deep breath, she barged into the bedroom, ready to say she was looking for a second bathroom because the other was occupied. It wasn’t necessary. Both Suzanne and Bette had left. She rushed back to join Delyth and Josh, who were still clinging together like high school sweethearts.

  “That took a long time,” Delyth said, her face a little flushed.

  Helen took the wine Delyth had been holding. She looked around. No one was near; everyone apparently preferring to stay outside or at the other end of the room, whether to avoid Josh or mystically drawn by the giant Shiva, Helen couldn’t tell. Even so, she leaned in close to whisper what she’d overheard.

  “I can’t believe you eavesdropped,” Delyth said, almost sounding shocked.

  “You would have too.”

  “Yes, but that's me, not you.”

  “Well, they didn't try to hide what they were saying. With a party going on, anybody could be standing outside an open door.”

  “You did find out something,” Josh said. “Suzanne denied it was her Bette saw the night Zad was killed. If it wasn’t her—though that still needs to be proved—it was probably the killer.”

  “If it was, do you think the killer realizes he was seen?” Helen asked. “Is Bette in danger?”

  “Don’t know. Probably not or something would have happened already.”

  “Unless the killer didn’t know who was in the car,” Delyth said.

  “It’s enough for me to invite her to the station to discuss the potential danger.”

  Helen barely tasted her first sip of the tepid and cloying wine. “What do you make of Suzanne forging the will and trust? I mean, if she did forge them.”

  “You could say,” Delyth answered, “it diminishes her motive. Why kill Ajnabee before she had the real documents in hand?”

&nb
sp; “Maybe he refused to make her his heir,” Josh said. “Or threatened to leave everything to someone else. She had to strike while she still could.”

  “It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Helen said, making the point that had motivated her own question. “It was all for nothing if the government gets everything anyway?”

  “What about Suzanne’s point that she can sell it before the government acts?” Delyth asked. “Wouldn’t there have to be some kind of court ruling? All that takes time.”

  “Won’t work,” Josh said, then went on in his best expert-witness-before-the-court voice. “The relation-back doctrine says the property vests to the government at the time the crime is committed, not when it’s discovered. Technically the house is already forfeit.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem—” Helen began to say, but she was interrupted by Suzanne who came into the room striking a large Buddhist singing bowl sitting on her outstretched palm with a wooden mallet. What should have been a serene, lasting tone was cut short when she rapped the bowl again. And again.

  “Everyone!” she called. “Everyone! Gather around so we can share memories of dear Zad.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Delyth watched the guests gather into the living room. Besides the skinny-jeans trio, the tattoo-sleeve man and the harem-pants woman, there were a handful of older men with long, stringy hair and a few with dreadlocks, a quartet of men wearing cowboy hats and speaking Spanish to each other, several fresh-faced women in conventional clothes, and a few more with drawn visages and peasant skirts. A few sprawled on the pillow furniture but most clustered on the periphery. Suzanne and Bette stood in the center, Shawn a step behind as if acting as bodyguard.

  And just inside the door were the Duddas: Jerzy, Karen and Kyla, but no Ben. Delyth wouldn’t have expected them to come, considering the feud and the suspicion that Jerzy had murdered Zad. Perhaps Karen had argued it was their Christian duty. Perhaps they feared not being there would make Jerzy even more suspect. If that were the case, Delyth would have expected Robert McNabb to show up, but he wasn’t there. Not many people knew of his connection to Ajnabee—whatever that connection might have been—so it probably was best for him to keep it hidden.

  Suzanne began by thanking everyone for being there and saying this would be very informal. “We,” she nodded toward Bette, “thought everyone could share something about Zad, something that speaks to the person he was.”

  Most of the people stared at their feet, but one of the dreadlocked men stepped forward. Delyth suspected the frayed collar and cuffs of his denim jacket were from years of wear and not bought that way. His corduroy pants ballooned out in a style decades old. His face was a permanent mahogany and crevassed from too much sun endured for too many years.

  “Hi. I’m Vince. Me and Zad went way back. When he was still Darian. That man was crazy. Always was. He believed he’d been abducted by aliens.” He drew out the last word with theatrical aplomb. “I told him it was just a bad trip. Of course, I didn’t intend the pun.” A few people snickered. “Not just once, mind. He said he was in steady contact with them, their ambassador to planet earth. One time, I remember, a bunch of us been drinking and my friends started teasing him about it. He got in their faces and said, ‘You’d better beware my wrath.’ Just like that: ‘beware my wrath,’ like some comic book villain. ‘Beware my wrath or when the aliens take over the world and make me overseer, you’ll be punished in ways you can’t imagine.’ I asked him who these aliens were and where they came from, but he never told me. Crazy, like I said. But kind. Really, really kind. He helped me out when I was far down, so far down even my family wouldn’t talk to me. Darian was there for me. He let me stay with him.” His voice cracked. “I’ll miss him.” A buxom blonde pulled him toward her and hugged him, his face buried in her tightly coifed hair.

  The room stayed silent for several moments after that, perhaps out of respect, but Delyth suspected out of embarrassment. Bette Lee broke the spell.

  “I’ll go next,” she said. “I met Zad when I was working at the Haven while studying for my real estate license. Zad came in regularly and ordered decaf Earl Grey, and sat at one of the dainty tables staring into his cup. He liked shirts dyed in fruity colors—cherry reds, tangerine oranges, plum purples.” She gestured to the pillows and drapes. “He still did.” A smattering of light laughs. “He waited too long between haircuts and his clothes were always disheveled and frumpy.” She looked around. “Can you call a man frumpy? Anyway, he wasn’t my type.” She looked behind her and smiled at Shawn. “But Vince is right,” she went on. “Zad was kind hearted. The week after our first date, I had a fight with one of my roommates because of her one-night stands. I mean, I like sex as much as the next girl, but it’s dangerous bringing so many strangers into the house.”

  Delyth glanced at Karen Dudda, who had covered her daughter’s ears, resisting Kyla’s trying to pull her mother’s hands away.

  When Delyth looked back, Bette had gone on. “Zad let me stay at his place and the next thing I knew I’d been here a year. No questions asked. No expectations. That’s what I’ll remember most about him.”

  Delyth hadn’t anticipated Bette Lee coming across so heartfelt. Of course, she was a salesperson and part of making a sale, just like running a con, was to sound sincere.

  When Bette was done, everyone looked around as if expecting the next speaker to come forward. When no one did, they dropped their eyes and shifted in place.

  Finally, Jerzy Dudda cleared his throat. “Zad and me had our differences, as many of you know. But of all my neighbors, he was the one I got on with the best. What you might not know is that someone”—he glowered at Bette Lee—“someone has been trying to buy up all the property along our road. Zad refused to sell. He said he wouldn’t sell at any price. He didn’t have the history on this land like my wife’s family.” He took Karen’s hand. “But he understood how important it is.” He look straight toward Suzanne, “Not everything should be bulldozed and turned into something newer and bigger. Some things need to stay what they are.” He looked around, took a breath as if about to say more, then eased his shoulders. Karen raised their joined hands to her heart.

  Another painful silence and sheepish looks. Delyth wondered how many of those present had actually known Ajnabee, and how many were there out of ghoulish curiosity.

  “My turn, I guess,” Susanne said. “Meherzad Ajnabee was my soul mate.”

  Josh pulled Delyth closer and whispered in her ear, “Don’t you dare groan or roll your eyes.”

  “I searched for years,” Suzanne was saying. “My mother was no role model when it came to picking men. My father escaped when I was three, so I don’t know much about him. My new daddy came along five years later, beer belly and all. I split when he started looking at me funny.”

  An uncomfortable alertness rippled through the room.

  “I don’t know if any of you knew that I was married. He caught AIDS. He insisted he didn’t have sex with men and never injected drugs. The immaculate contagion, I called it. Whatever, I didn’t stick around to argue about it. That’s how I ended up here. I just wanted to get away and this was as away as I could get.” She laughed. “Not exactly my kind of place, you know what I mean. I’m a big city girl. But I’ve been here ten years. I was giving up hope. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had men. More than I should.”

  Delyth caught a stunned look on Karen’s face. Jerzy put a hand on Kyla’s shoulder, apparently ready to steer his family out. Suzanne’s comments following Bette’s seemed too much for the Dudda clan.

  “Don’t worry,” Suzanne called to them. “I won’t go into details. I’m just saying it wasn’t from lack of trying. Then I found Zad. He invited me to live with him in this beautiful home. I never dared dream of something like this. Now the government is…” She choked back tears. “Now they…” Her voice caught again. “I’m sorry.” She held up her glass. “Here’s to Zad. May his ghost haunt whoever buys the damn place!”

 
Half of those grouped around her raised their glasses in a confused and desultory toast. The others returned to contemplating their feet.

  “Enjoy the rest of the party,” Suzanne urged. “It’s the last time we’ll be having one here.”

  Helen turned to face Delyth and Josh. “Well, that was uncomfortable.”

  Josh shrugged his shoulders. “What did you expect?”

  Glancing toward the door, Helen said, “I want to say hello to the Duddas before they leave.”

  “I don’t think they’d appreciate my joining you,” Josh said. “Maybe now’s a good time for us to have a word with Ms. Lee. Maybe she remembers more now about what she saw that night.”

  “Do you want me there?” Delyth asked. “I mean, it is official police business.”

  Her intended dig seemed to miss its mark. “Like I said, you’re my excuse for being here. And, I only want to suggest she might come see me to discuss what she saw that night.” He took Delyth arm and steered them across the room.

  Bette was standing near Shawn when Delyth and Josh approached. “Delyth, Josh, how good of you to come,” she said without a trace of sarcasm. Delyth was impressed that she’d remembered their names, but suspected that was yet another requisite for a successful realtor.

  “I appreciated the anecdote you shared about Zad,” Delyth said. “I never met him, of course, but it revealed a lot of what he must have been like.”

  “Yeah. Well, after Vince, someone had to say something half-way normal about him.”

  “Did he still believe in aliens?”

  “Who knows? I learned not to listen to a lot of what he said.”

  “I noticed Jerzy Dudda stared daggers at you when he talked about Ajnabee refusing to sell. Was it a client of yours who made the offer?” Delyth knew the answer, but waited to see how Bette would respond.

  “Yes.”

  “Is he still interested?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “What’s so special about their land? Is there oil under us?”

  Bette laughed. “Not that I know of.”

  “Then why?”