by Cat Chandler
“I am strong and at peace.” She tried another deep inhale and then exhale. “I am strong and at peace.” Breathe in, breathe out. “I am strong and at peace.”
She continued for several minutes, without much luck in getting her nerves to settle down, before finally giving up.
“Time to try something else,” she muttered. Stepping around the island she headed straight for her pantry. In time of crisis there was nothing better than her last-resort, sure-fire cure for any ill. Thankfully she always kept it on hand, despite Alex’s frown whenever she caught sight of it in the pantry. For better organization, and certainly not to hide anything, Nicki had decided to move her stash to the very back shelf, carefully resting it behind a flour canister. Nicki’s hand latched onto the bag and dragged it out into the open. Turning, she marched out of the pantry, snatching up the container filled with potato chips she kept behind the small bucket of individually wrapped rice cakes.
She was perched on a stool at the center island when the front door slammed shut, followed by the sound of footsteps running down the hallway.
I guess the door didn’t latch after all, she thought without too much concern.
“Nicki? Where are you? Your door was wide open.”
“In the kitchen, Jenna.” Nicki licked the salt from a chip off her fingers just as Jenna burst through the doorway, her mass of curly black hair bouncing wildly around her face.
“Oh sugar!” Jenna’s eyes took in the container of chips before moving over to the pile of chocolate-covered peanuts mounded up in front of her friend. “It was as bad as all that?” She leaped across the room to bury Nicki in a hug.
“It was. But I’m feeling steadier now,” Nicki said, holding a chip up high and batting away the mass of dark hair swirling about her face. “Jenna, you need to step back before you smother me with that mane of yours.”
“I don’t care,” Jenna declared. “I can’t believe you’re going through this whole thing again.”
Nicki managed to use her free hand to get a grip on Jenna’s shoulder and push her away. “I’m fine. It wasn’t like finding Mom.” Nicki paused for a moment and took a deep breath, determined to keep calm. Feeling her friend tremble, Nicki tugged on Jenna’s arm until the tall woman collapsed onto the adjacent stool.
“Try the breathing exercises we learned in that meditation class,” Nicki said as she shoved half the pile of chocolate peanuts over toward Jenna. “If that doesn’t work, try these. I’ll get a bigger bowl for the chips.”
Hopping off her stool, Nicki walked over to the cupboard housing her dishes and came back with a large serving bowl. She unceremoniously dumped the entire container of chips into it. “The meditation didn’t work for me so I decided to go with Plan B.”
Jenna nodded her understanding and reached for a chocolate-covered peanut with one hand and a chip with the other. Neither woman said a word for several minutes as they popped chocolate and potato chips into their mouths.
The universal cure for all things, Nicki thought, taking one last chip before shoving the nearly empty bowl to the other side of the counter. Jenna followed suit with the few pieces of chocolate remaining in the much-depleted pile in front of her.
“Now that we’re both calm, I want you to tell me everything. Who was he? Maxie said it was probably a heart attack,” Jenna said.
“Ah. I should have known Maxie would hear all about it almost the instant it happened.” A ghost of a smile played around Nicki’s lips. Before she had a chance to explain the strange events at Holland Winery, the distinct sound of a door opening echoed down the hallway.
“I need to get an automatic lock,” Nicki muttered before raising her voice. “We’re in here, Maxie.”
She looked over at Jenna who rolled her eyes.
“Our landlady never feels the need to ring the doorbell at my place either,” Jenna groused.
“I told her she didn’t have to,” Nicki confessed.
“Well I certainly didn’t tell her any such thing,” Jenna said with a glance at the doorway. As the click-click of heels drew closer, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
Maxie walked into the kitchen, her platinum-blond hair perfectly styled and her make-up applied with an expert hand. The landlady’s dark blue eyes went straight to Nicki with lightning speed.
“There you are. And it looks like you’re none the worse for wear. I came as soon as I decided you’d had enough time to drive home from Jim’s winery.” She closed the gap and reached out to pat Nicki on the shoulder before turning and raising her eyebrows at Jenna. “Well, how is she? Oh, never mind. I’ll just check for myself.”
The older woman stepped up to give Nicki a long hug which the younger woman immediately returned with real affection. Nicki genuinely adored her unique landlady.
“I see you’ve found the best cure for a difficult day,” Maxie said with a glance at the candy and chips as she stepped back. “I keep a large stash of chocolate in my kitchen cupboard if you ever run out.”
Jenna laughed. “So do I.”
“As do most of the women I know,” Maxie put in with a wink. “Now, tell me what happened? Paul was a bit vague when he called.”
“Paul Turnlow? The police chief?” Jenna asked. “He called you from the crime scene?”
“Now, dear,” Maxie said with a gentle touch to Jenna’s shoulder. “He doesn’t believe it’s a crime scene. He seemed very sure the poor man passed peacefully from a heart attack.”
Nicki recalled the picture of George lying sprawled out, his forehead bleeding, probably from the force of his head hitting the concrete floor, and his eyes wide open, staring blindly at the shards of glass all around him. Whatever had happened, it certainly had not occurred peacefully.
“What did the chief tell you?” she asked, looking at Maxie.
“That George was preparing his new blend for the grand tasting and had a heart attack, and you and Geri found him.” Maxie paused for a moment and smiled. “He called and asked me to let him know that you made it home all right.”
“That was very thoughtful of him,” Nicki said even as her forehead wrinkled in thought.
After a long, drawn-out moment of silence, Jenna snapped her fingers in front of her friend’s face. “Earth to Nicki. What are you thinking so hard about?”
“Did Chief Turnlow say anything else? Like he was busy gathering evidence or questioning everyone who was there?” Nicki asked.
“No, he did not. Should he have been?” Maxie tilted her head to one side and studied her tenant and fellow writer. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? I thought you had plans to barricade yourself in your office and finish your novel. How did you end up at the Holland wine tasting?”
“Matt. He asked me to cover it for the magazine.”
Maxie gave Nicki’s hand a quick pat. “And I’m sure he’ll pay you very well for it. He’s such a nice, young man. Don’t you think so?”
“We all think so,” Jenna said with a touch of impatience. “Well, go on. What happened once you got there?”
For the next ten minutes Nicki obligingly recounted the whole story, starting with encountering Geri in the parking lot and ending with feeling no movement under the hand she placed on George Lancer’s back. When she finished, she gratefully accepted the glass of water Maxie set down in front of her. She took a big gulp, then smiled her thanks at her landlady.
“And he reeked of a weird smell.”
The other two women exchanged a look before turning back to Nicki.
“Weird? In what way?” Jenna asked.
Nicki closed her eyes and inhaled, deliberately bringing the scene and the smell into her mind. “It was a kind of cross between a bad fish odor and a cigarette, overlaid with cherry.”
“He was a very heavy smoker, dear,” Maxie pointed out. “And the smell was probably even more pronounced after he died.” She nodded at the inquiring look Nicki sent her. “Paul said he’d also thrown up, so it could be that’s what you were smelling bec
ause maybe he did eat some cherries and fish? Winemakers can be a little odd.”
Nicki pursed her lips. “Then he must have inhaled a carton of cigarettes and a whole bushel of cherries, it was that strong an odor. I almost gagged on it.”
Jenna leaned forward and stared at her friend from behind the large, round lenses of her eyeglasses. “What are you saying?”
Nicki took a deep breath and turned to face both women. “I hope the chief collected evidence because I don’t know what he died from, but it wasn’t a heart attack.”
The complete silence following her pronouncement wasn’t exactly what Nicki was looking for, but at least they hadn’t laughed at her. She took it as a sign that she didn’t sound completely crazy.
“Nicki, dear, you aren’t one of those doctors who examine dead people, whatever they’re called.” Maxie lowered her voice to a soothing tone. “I’m sure Chief Turnlow will send poor George to the larger department in Santa Rosa to look into all those medical things. That’s what my Mason always did.
“Let it go, Nicki,” Jenna said quietly. “The odds are it’s just like the chief told you. This George person probably died of a heart attack or stroke, or something else perfectly explainable. And if he didn’t, it’s a matter for the police. You’ve had enough murder in your life.”
Chapter Six
Two days later Nicki sat at the glass-top desk she’d bought less than a month ago as a thirty-first birthday present for herself, and stared at the wide screen of her computer. The document in front of her proclaimed it to be chapter twenty-eight. If she could just get this one done, there would only be two chapters left to complete. Yep. That’s all she had to do. Get this one done. But no words came to her. For the last hour and a half all she’d written was “Chapter Twenty-Eight”.
Nicki sighed and shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. It was the first time her intrepid hero, Tyrone Blackstone, had completely eluded her. It was very unlike him. She glanced over at the timer next to her desk. She had a good thirty minutes left in her morning writing session. Right about now she’d hoped to be penning her way toward the words, “The End”, before throwing together a quick, but hopefully delicious, lunch to kick off Alex’s arrival for a girls-only weekend. But in the last few days all she’d managed to write was “Chapter Twenty-Eight”.
“Pathetic, Connors. Really pathetic,” she muttered to herself. Considering the blank screen for a long moment, Nicki finally closed her eyes and brought up a mental picture of the last scene she’d written. It was a tried and true trick she used whenever she was stuck. Seeing the scene in her mind usually led her to what happened next in the story. Behind her shuttered eyes she visualized it, right down to the glint of moonlight off the gun her hero was holding in his left hand.
There he was, Tyrone Blackstone, hunk and spy extraordinaire, pressed flat against the wall leading into the alley, his broad shoulders and hard-muscled chest tense over what might be around the corner. With the ease and grace of a panther on the hunt, he rounded the corner then slowly swept his gun across the narrow opening, his eagle-eyed gaze taking in the whole scene at once.
Nicki relaxed and let her imagination go as her super-spy peered into the dim alley. The narrow walls were made of stone, and barrels were scattered all over the interior. At the far end lay a sprawled-out body, surrounded by a sea of glass and…
Nicki’s eyes snapped open. It seemed her imagination had deserted her along with her favorite hero. There wasn’t anything fictional about that scene. All it needed was a tray with full wine bottles and empty glasses to make the picture complete. It was bad enough that same mental picture was causing her to lose sleep at night, now it was preventing her from getting any work done. And it didn’t take a session with a therapist to know why.
Nicki bit her lip as she considered the problem. Jenna was right. With the trauma of losing her mother, she’d had enough unsolved murders in her life. Hadn’t she moved three thousand miles to put it behind her? But she could hardly keep doing that. Another three thousand miles and she’d end up on a raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. So what could she do?
Solve the murder.
Nicki’s eyes opened wide at the thought that came out of nowhere.
How do you propose to do that, Connors? She asked herself, silently shaking her head. You know why Mom was killed. You may not know who, but you know why—for her money and the big, diamond ring she wore. You have no idea why George Lancer was killed, aside from the fact no one liked him.
Puzzling over it, Nicki started to push back from her desk when a noise from her computer told her there was an incoming call on Skype. She glanced at the screen and smiled. Up popped Matt’s picture next to the icon of a ringing headset. She quickly clicked on his image and within moments he was smiling back at her from the screen. With his thick wave of dark hair dipping over his forehead, slightly angular features and large, black-rimmed glasses, he really was kind of cute in a nerdy, where’s-Waldo sort of way.
“Hey, Matt.” Nicki smiled at her editor who was obviously sitting in his very disorderly office in Kansas City. She had no idea how he ever found anything in the piles-on-top-of-piles, which had his desk completely surrounded by mountains of paper. “How’s the weather?”
“About twenty degrees colder than it is where you are.” Matt grinned. “And before you ask again, I live here because it’s the center of the country and I can get anywhere in the USA in three and a half hours.”
“Except Alaska and Hawaii,” they said in unison.
“Great minds think alike.” Matt winked, and Nicki laughed at the pleased look on his face.
“How are you?” she asked.
Matt’s grin turned down at the corners as he leaned closer until his face filled the entire monitor. “I think I’m supposed to be asking you that question. I just got back into the office and Jane gave me your message.”
Jane was Matt’s very scary and efficient admin assistant, whom Nicki had the unnerving experience of meeting in person exactly once. The stick-thin admin, with her crisply pleated blouse and deadly sharp stare, reminded Nicki of an old-time school teacher in a private school for wayward girls. All she lacked was a long yardstick for rapping some unsuspecting knuckles. Jane always had Nicki secretly thanking whomever it was that invented email so there was no need to actually talk to the woman.
“Why didn’t you shoot me your email instead of sending it to Jane?”
Matt’s sharp tone took Nicki aback. “I knew you were away on business. I just assumed Jane would be sorting through what you needed to see and what could wait.”
“I told her to send all your messages to me immediately,” Matt mumbled.
“I’m sorry?” Nicki wasn’t quite sure she’d heard that right. Send him all her messages immediately?
“Not important.” Matt shrugged and leaned back in his chair, propping his elbows on the armrests. “What happened? Your email said you couldn’t turn in the story about Lanciere because he was murdered?”
Nicki felt the instant rise of heat in her cheeks but did her best to sound nonchalant. “Oh? Did I use that word? I honestly don’t remember. And his name is Lancer. It turns out he wasn’t French at all.”
“Don’t change the subject, Nicki,” Matt said. “I put a call into the police department and the deputy said George Lanciere, Lancer or whatever his real name was, died of a heart attack at the tasting.
“You called the police department?” Nicki was astonished. “Why didn’t you just wait and ask me?”
“Why did you say he was murdered?” Matt shot back. “Was that deputy stonewalling the press, or do you know something he doesn’t know?”
“Food & Wine Online is hardly The New York Times, Matt,” Nicki observed with a roll of her eyes. She fought a smile when Matt’s frown grew and he ran a hand through his unruly, wavy dark hair until pieces of it stood straight up from his forehead.
Nicki thought he looked ridiculous. And adorable.
“We�
��re a print medium with a sizeable audience. That’s good enough. And stop trying to distract me. ‘Heart attack’ and ‘murder’ aren’t words you mix up by mistake. What’s going on, Nicki? You may as well tell me or I’ll just call Maxie, Jenna or Alex until one of them spills the beans.”
“There aren’t any beans to spill,” Nicki insisted. “So there’s no need to call all around town. Let’s just say the police have their conclusions and I have my suspicions.”
Matt leaned into the screen once more. “How about you keep talking and tell me exactly what happened?”
Because she really was dying to tell Matt everything, Nicki didn’t utter a peep of protest before launching into a detailed description of the entire day George Lancer died, from the time she pulled her not-so-reliable Toyota into the Holland parking lot, until Jenna’s pronouncement about too much murder in her life.
Matt didn’t make a sound for what seemed like an eternity. Absolutely positive he was going to tell her she was crazy, she let out a deep sigh and slumped back in her chair.
“All right, go ahead.”
Matt raised one eyebrow. “Go ahead and what?”
“Go ahead and tell me what you think.”
“I think Maxie had a good point about you not being a medical examiner,” Matt said.
“Okay. I can agree with that,” Nicki shrugged.
“And you won’t know what happened until the medical examiner declares the official cause of death, so you’ll just have to wait.”
“I hate it when you’re so calm and reasonable,” Nicki complained and slouched further into her chair. She wouldn’t find anything out for days, maybe weeks, and even then, only if myMason agreed to ask the current chief for the findings. There was also the small matter that somewhere in the middle of her retelling of the events to Matt, she’d made up her mind. George Lancer was murdered and she was going to find out who killed him.
A big, drawn-out sigh came loud and clear through the speakers on her computer.