The Name of the Rosé

by Christine E. Blum

“Okay, but I don’t think so. They told me I was free to go at any time, but they would appreciate it if I could answer some questions for them. What was I supposed to do? I’m from Chicago, so I knew to give short and very specific responses.”

  “What did they ask?” Sally had refreshed his beer.

  “They had me run through the sequence of events again, starting with earlier in the afternoon, when I got the job and was given the grand tour. I told them about my brief meeting with Jonas along the way, really just an exchange of hellos and a couple of words about who we were.”

  “Who gave you the tour?” I asked.

  “The curator of the museum, my boss. He’s also the one who showed me the hangar where they do the restorations. He was hoping to introduce me to that fellow Rusty, but he was nowhere to be found.”

  “Did you meet any other people during this walk through?” Peggy was on the same wavelength.

  “There were a couple of guys working on an engine, but we just waved to each other. I was never told their names. Same as I told the cops.”

  “Do you think it’s possible one of the guys who was there during the day could have hung back to meet Jonas that night?” I knew this was a long shot.

  “’Course it’s possible, just like I told the cops. But I was told they give out keys to most of the people who work there, especially the engineers and mechanics, so there could have been lots of coming and going.”

  “You think Rusty has a key?”

  “I know he does, Halsey.”

  Again, that proved nothing. “What else did the cops ask?”

  “I finished with everything that happened when we returned that evening, and the guys stepped out of the room to confer for a minute.”

  “Did you tell them that we’d gone back specifically to talk to Jonas?”

  Jimmy hung his head down.

  “I’m sorry, Halsey. I didn’t want to lie to the cops and have it come back to bite me.”

  “I completely understand, Jimmy. You did the right thing.”

  “Here, honey,” Aimee said. “I’ve fixed you a plate. These are rain forest crackers, and that one has Humboldt Fog goat cheese on it. This is a Camembert with cranberry jelly, and these are fresh apricots.”

  Jimmy looked at her like she was speaking in tongues. Aimee can overwhelm you with kindness.

  “When they returned,” Jimmy continued, “I decided to talk first, say my piece. I told them if I’d had something to do with Jonas’s death, why on earth would I return to the scene with witnesses to discover the body? It just made no sense.”

  “What did they say?” Britt jumped in.

  “They agreed with me, for now. It seems pretty much everything is pending the results of the autopsy. They thanked me and drove me home.”

  “Did they mention any other suspects?” Britt pursued.

  Britt’s got more questions than an inquisitive two-year-old on a long car ride.

  Jimmy shook his head. Britt had certainly taken an interest in this case, I thought. Maybe she was a mystery buff.

  “I’ll be very interested to hear those results. That poor guy died a brutal, savage death.” Sally could say this as a former nurse with a clinical frame of mind. The rest of us shivered at the thought.

  We all took a break to drink our wine.

  Mary Ann broke the silence. “I do have a bit of good news.”

  We looked at her, anxious to hear it.

  “Jeb’s had a full battery of tests and he’s a little anemic but otherwise fine. They are looking at his blood one more time—something about traces of a substance—but they’ve assured us that it’s nothing serious. Also, they don’t think his memory loss is any kind of precursor to dementia. It was more likely caused by dehydration and his low iron count. I’m feeding him steaks and chopped liver and he’s as happy as a clam.”

  “That is great news, just don’t let him around Charlie. He needs to lose a few pounds. I plan to take care of that when he’s discharged from the hospital tomorrow. He’ll stay with me until he feels strong enough to go home,” Peggy said.

  Sally looked at me, concerned. “You’re being awfully quiet, Halsey. Very uncharacteristic of you. Are you feeling off your pegs?”

  Off my what?

  “I’m fine. But I think we need to take control of this investigation and our fates.”

  “Hear, hear,” Jimmy concurred.

  “I’m afraid I have to be going,” Britt said. “My shift starts in an hour and I need to clean up and sober up before then.” She giggled.

  “You’ll be fine, honey. You’re a great server.” Aimee gave her a hug.

  “Thank you so much. Sally, I love wine club!”

  We watched her scamper off.

  “Come back anytime,” Sally shouted after her.

  “I thought she said she had two days off?” Peggy whispered to me.

  I looked at her. “Maybe starting tomorrow?”

  We both shrugged, and I tucked that little conundrum into the back of my head.

  “What’s the plan, Halsey?” Mary Ann had pulled a small notebook out of her purse, ever the reporter.

  “We have a number of nagging issues we need to get ahead of. Oddly, the least of my worries is you, Jimmy. Unless something really surprising comes from the autopsy, I’m guessing you’ll soon be exonerated.”

  “Praise the Lord,” he said.

  “We’ve got the issue of Charlie’s landing and what was on the runway that caused the crash. You believe him that he hit something, Peggy?”

  “Damn right I do.”

  “Okay, it would seem the answers might rest with the elusive Rusty. Jack is going to follow up with his friends and contacts at the airport, but we should also look in to Rusty’s personal life. Does he have a wife, girlfriend, any kids? Does he own a home? Have any debts? And what exactly makes Rusty such an angry guy? Sally, do you think you and Jimmy could do some digging into that? Do some online research, and Jimmy could subtly ask the people who work with him at the museum.”

  “You got it. I’m your girl.”

  “And I’m your guy!”

  “Awesome. Peggy, we need to start working this whole prescription-drug angle. That’s what concerns me the most. Maybe start with that airport Charlie flies out of in San Diego?”

  “Montgomery, yes. Being so close to the border, it seems logical the drugs are brought into there for dispersion.”

  “I swear I didn’t order those pills!”

  “We know that, Sally, and we’ll prove it. But there’s also the much more serious matter of the heroin found in the fish. That smuggling crime comes packaged in a long stretch of prison time. We need to separate Sally, Charlie and Jimmy from that part of the bust as quickly and decidedly as possible. And soon.”

  I was pleased to see the mood get serious.

  “I agree that is the big leagues, and so is the way Jonas was murdered,” Peggy said.

  “Do we know for sure it was murder?” Mary Ann asked.

  “You were spared looking at the body; that was murder even if there were no external signs.” My throat closed, remembering. “Peggy, I’m sure some of your old contacts from the job could help you with that.”

  “I know just who to call.”

  The other girls looked confused. Some were not around, and some may have forgotten, that when I first moved to Rose Avenue and ran into some trouble, it came out Peggy had done a brief stint with the CIA that involved a spy mission at the Santa Monica Airport in the early sixties. Yes, our sweet, dear Peggy. She called on some people from her past to help me prove my innocence, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.

  But the fewer who knew about Peggy’s ties the better, so I didn’t elaborate.

  “Aimee,” I continued, “I am wondering about those fish. Were they just a charade to hide the drugs? Charlie said he’s flown some before from time to time. It would be great to know if they’re part of an actual legit order from a nearby restaurant, or even for personal consumption.�
�

  “Are you thinking this is some kind of recurring thing and the drug dealers have latched on to it?”

  “I’m not sure, Aimee, but good question. We really need to find out what kind of fish these were. Augie will be of no help to me, but I’ve asked Marisol to work her magic.”

  “Her black magic, you mean. That woman is not of this planet.” Peggy laughed.

  “I did a story a few years back on the ease with which contraband can be transported within these small, municipal airports. There are no customs, no real checks and balances, unless a plane or entity is already under suspicion. I’ve got access to a wealth of data at the Times. I can start digging again.”

  “Mary Ann, that’s fantastic,” I said. “I feel so much better about everything than I did when we started Wine Club.”

  “We needed a plan and now we’ve got it,” Aimee declared, proud and teary. “The Rose Avenue Wine Club is on the case.”

  “Blow the expense, give the cat another goldfish!” Sally said, opening a bottle of Bedrock “Ode to Lulu” California Rosé.

  CHAPTER 6

  To no surprise, when I returned home from Wine Club, Marisol was perched on my front stoop, her hawk eyes taking in all the Rose Avenue shenanigans.

  “I’m pretty sure I have a restraining order against you being on my premises,” I said as I plopped down next to her.

  Today she was sporting denim gaucho pants, a blouse patterned with pink flamingoes and yellow garden clogs. She was just one zinc sunscreened nose away from being Señora Snowbird.

  “I can leave if you don’t want what I got for you.”

  She might as well have opened a box of See’s Candies’ Nuts & Chews and waved it under my nose.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What have you purloined now?”

  “I’m going.”

  “No, no, wait.” I thought of English high tea and changed my tone. “I am certain I would be unconditionally grateful for any information you are able to impart.”

  “It’s not information, it’s a thing.”

  “What thing?” I looked her over, but she appeared to be empty-handed, unless those pants had cavernous pockets.

  “It’s in my freezer.”

  I knew it was the wrong time of year for Christmas tamales, so she had my undivided attention.

  “May I see it?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” Marisol stood and headed up her driveway to the back gate.

  I hate her.

  “I’m keeping it in the freezer in my garage. It was too big to fit in the one in my house. I got a big ham in there for Easter, and that’s also where I keep my nail polish.”

  As I followed her into the garage, I pictured ice trays nestling colored bottles arranged alphabetically from A to Z, starting with Absinthe Attitude and ending with Zinnia Zombie.

  She tugged the door open and took out a package about the size of a Thanksgiving serving platter. It was covered in heavy foil.

  “I was told to keep this frozen at all times,” Marisol said while beginning the Russian doll unwrapping process.

  Under the foil was a heavy freezer bag and then another layer of foil and so forth. She repeated this sequence five times before the item was revealed.

  “Is that a fish? Did you get that from Augie?” I was ready to kiss her.

  “Never mind how I got it and don’t touch it. You can take a picture, though, for your research.” She nodded with her chin to the cell phone I held in my hand.

  I moved in for a closer look.

  The fish was a silver color that turned to blues and turquoises when the scales caught the light. It wasn’t more than a foot and a half long and had sharp dorsal fins that were high in front and tapered down as they went toward the tail. Like a Mohawk haircut. It wasn’t the prettiest-looking fish I’d ever seen, but then again, if I’d been caught stuffed with heroin and then frozen, I might not have a good side either.

  I opened my camera app and started snapping away. When I reached to turn the fish upright to get a shot of the full face, Marisol was quick to stop me.

  “I said no touching!”

  “I need to get this angle. It will help someone identify it!” I told her in no uncertain terms.

  “I’ll do it; you just take the picture.”

  Marisol retrieved some BBQ tongs from her grill and used them to set the fish on its belly. It wouldn’t stay upright, so she had to keep her hold of it. Which meant that every shot I took also had her gold-tooth, smiling face in the background. I can’t wait to find out what species the experts think Marisol is.

  Note to self: Politely decline any invites from Marisol for a BBQ.

  When I was sure I had enough photographic evidence, she reverse-engineered the unwrapping. You would think she’d found the missing link by the delicate way she handled the evidence. I hopped up on an old dresser on the other side of the garage and started an album for these photos. This piece must have belonged to one of her girls because it was festooned with pink and purple My Little Pony graphics and stickers. Bubbles surrounded the figures depicted in them. Their scary large eyes and enlarged pupils would have kept me up at nights all through grade school. Tell me that no drugs had been involved in the conception of this franchise and I’ll sell you a case of inflatable ashtrays.

  “You fall down drunk again?” Marisol asked, eyeing my scraped knees and arms.

  I repeated the story about being buzzed by a plane while up on the garden hill. I left out the part about scaling a tree and my subsequent face-plant in the Santa Monica Mountains. Why worry her?

  “I can’t help thinking someone involved with the airport did that to me on purpose. Maybe to scare me off so I stop investigating the crash and the murder. And the first person who comes to mind is that guy Rusty. No one has a nice word to say about him.”

  “That’s the mechanic’s name? Rusty? I know his mom. She works at the post office on Grandview. She always sneaks me to the head of the line when I have to send packages during the holidays.”

  “And how is that fair to the other people who are waiting patiently?”

  Marisol just shrugged.

  “Do you have to have a package to send to talk to her?”

  “I suppose I could stop by and bring her a coffee. I probably owe her that.”

  “And then get the scoop on her son?”

  “I could . . .”

  I noticed she had her hand out, palm up.

  “What?”

  “Last I heard, coffee wasn’t free.”

  “Jeez-us! Here.” I gave her a five.

  Her hand didn’t budge.

  “That has to be enough.”

  “You want her drinking alone?”

  I took back the five and slapped down a twenty. It was all I had.

  “I expect change, missy!”

  “I’ll also have travel expenses.”

  Shoot me now.

  * * *

  I was exhausted when I got home, but my mind was still racing. So many mysteries to unravel, and the clock was ticking. I had to believe whoever was trying to scare me off wouldn’t just drop it. I was going to need to be much more clandestine with my investigation.

  A forage through the fridge told me that an Italian antipasto salad was in order. Bardot got her usual two-course meal of kibble, then Greek yogurt with broccoli florets and carrots.

  As I was slicing and dicing the salami, mozzarella, pepperoncini, and garbanzos, I thought about the inconsistencies in some of the things Britt had talked about today. Peggy had noticed them too. Something else struck me as odd as well.

  “You had supper yet?” I asked Peggy when my cell phone connected.

  Peggy added, “I was just staring into my freezer hoping to find delicacies that simply required four minutes in the microwave. But all I see are Stouffer’s French Bread Pizzas.”

  “Then come on over, I’m making dinner for the single ladies on Rose Avenue. Well, technically you’re not single. You’ve got Charlie, but he’s still in
the hospital, so you’re single tonight.”

  “Might I remind you that you’ve got Jack?”

  “Not tonight, I’m making a big salad, Peggy, so come on by.”

  “On my way with a fresh, crusty bread and red vino.”

  * * *

  Bardot was beside herself with delight when she saw who was coming to dinner. I sometimes think she and Peggy have their own way of communicating, a language made up of head cocks, gentle playing and transspecies pheromones.

  “Bardot, have you been a model citizen today? Because if you have, I’ve got a carrot for you, freshly pulled from my garden.”

  Bardot looked at Peggy and lied through her teeth, adopting a submissive down state.

  “And I brought a little something for you,” Peggy added, handing me a bottle.

  It was the perfect choice for this repast, a Ciacci Piccolomini d’Aragona Ateo red blend from Tuscany. This full-bodied, fruit-forward wine will stand up well to spicy sausage and tangy dressing. We sat at the table and went to town on our delicious dinner.

  “What’s eating you, Halsey? You don’t seem your usual footloose and fancy-free self.”

  We’d finished our meal, chomped the last Italian-dressing-soaked crouton, and were finishing our Italian wine in the living room. Bardot was comfortably ensconced next to Peggy on the sofa, belly up, airing out her hoo-hah.

  “I guess I’m off my pegs.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “No idea. Sally said it to me.”

  “Ah, Sally-isms. I will never understand how someone with her intelligence comes up with such harebrained expressions.”

  “Hey, even the Mona Lisa has flaws. Look at her hands.”

  That got a laugh out of Peggy, and I relaxed a bit more.

  “There are just so many unexplained actions and issues in this case, it seems impossible to tie them together.”

  “Maybe they don’t all fit together,” Peggy mused.

  “Interesting. Let’s break that down. The people smuggling the drugs certainly wouldn’t have wanted Charlie’s plane to crash, so they can’t be the culprits who put something on the runway.”

  “Correct, unless it was put there accidentally. But we’ve still to determine if whatever it was had been put there by man or nature.”