by Jen Carter
“It’s in Gracie’s, too!” Sophia yelled to us from across the park. She held an opened script in the air, having decided to check it herself rather than waiting for us to check it.
Livy beckoned them back across the park toward us. She turned to me, wrinkling her nose. “That’s weird, right?”
I nodded.
“But just some sort of joke,” she said. “A weird joke. You think?”
I nodded again. “Totally just a weird joke. But we should check everyone’s scripts to see how far our little jokester is taking this Shakespearean curse thing.”
It was just a weird joke. Maybe.
SEVEN
No one else had notes in their scripts. Just Ashlyn, Gracie, and Sophia. Just the three girls who found Fleming. Livy ended up sending Victor and Eli to retrieve their scripts from the car. She and I were particularly interested to see if there was a note for Victor since he was with the girls when they found Fleming. But no, there wasn’t a note in his script.
With my slightly-inflated imagination, it was easy for me to connect the Romeo and Juliet curse to Fleming’s death. Whoever killed Fleming must have been angry that the girls found him and reported it, so now that person was cursing the girls. That connection also coincided with my “The Cask of Amontillado” theory. Whoever killed Fleming was a literary type and was keeping up the literary pattern by cursing the girls with Shakespeare.
Then again, if I was being honest, I knew my imagination was more than just slightly-inflated. It was the size of a hot air balloon. I blew things out of proportion all the time.
So maybe if I deflated that imagination just a tad I could see that the script notes were a completely-unrelated, bizarre prank. If nothing else, to get through the rest of play practice, Livy and I needed to act like they were a non-issue.
To be on the safe side, though, Livy and I called Fitts after play practice. We sat on a bench after everyone left, and I put the phone on speaker so we could both hear the detective.
Fitts’ reaction wasn’t entirely helpful, nor was it altogether surprising.
“I don’t like this literature stuff at all,” he said. “I finished high school a long time ago and don’t want to go back. Brings up bad memories of your sister, D’Angelo. Bad memories.”
That was his response. My sister Stella and the detective went to high school together and shared an unfortunate Geometry class. Triangles and parallelograms had nothing to do with literature, but Fitts always managed to find a way to remind me that Stella got on his nerves. Perhaps he couldn’t tell that I was becoming immune to it.
After Livy and I ended the call with Fitts, we chatted for a couple minutes, convincing ourselves that those weird notes were nothing more than weird notes. Then I stopped by Aldo’s house, grabbed Uni, and headed home. Nico said he’d pick up a pizza and we’d see him in about half an hour. I used that time to take Uni for a walk and then write down my thoughts about the last twenty hours.
A couple months ago, OV lost two people who worked at a wonderful chocolate shop in another tragedy. As it turned out, those people had a lot of shady secrets. And while I hadn’t wanted to get involved in unraveling those shady secrets, I did.
The time before that, my ex-fiancé’s future mother-in-law (say that five times fast) drowned in a vat of fermenting wine at my family’s winery, so I didn’t have much choice about being involved. It was my family’s winery, after all. The ex-fiancé thing kind of pulled me into it as well.
This time, I wasn’t going to kid myself. I didn’t want to get involved, but it was too late for that. I saw the body. I called 911. I helped at play practice where scripts with strange notes popped up. I was involved.
I sat down at the kitchen table with a notebook and began making lists.
First up: people who found the body.
Ashlyn: brave enough to go back but definitely shaken
Sophia: super-attached to Livy, probably the one who decided to get Livy rather than call 911 or go to mom
Gracie: younger than the other two, maybe more of a follower
Victor: ran away, seemed totally fine at play practice (has Fitts talked to him yet?)
Then I wrote what I knew about Fleming and his drama program.
Not really liked by the kids
Wore shoes with tassels (was that popular?)
Had an assistant who was too new to take over after he disappeared
Almost fired by Dr. Stevens (when and why?)
Below that, I wrote what I thought was weird so far.
Fleming’s death seemed to mirror “The Cask of Amontillado,” at least a little. The story is read in high school often, and he was a high school teacher.
Lucy Argyle was nice today—sympathetic about Fleming—but said I’d be seeing Dr. Stevens more.
Girls found a curse from Romeo and Juliet in their scripts.
Then I listed suspects.
????
Who could be a suspect? I had no idea. We knew that Fleming didn’t have a lot of friends and his family was out of state. Could it have been a student? A parent, another teacher, or someone else?
No idea.
Building a brick wall to trap someone took a lot of effort and probably a lot of planning. Whoever did it was crazy, no doubt, but it seemed like the kind of crazy that would come out of deeply-rooted anger or hatred. It didn’t seem like it could be a random crime.
I stared at the bottom of the page where I had a row of question marks, wondering if there was anyone that I could fill in there. After a long moment, I gave up. Nico was going to be home soon, and I’d have to put my amateur sleuthing aside while consuming excessive amounts of pepperoni pizza. I put my notebook in the kitchen junk drawer and texted Livy.
Forgot to ask after play practice—why did you want to get my impression of Victor? Btw, I don’t know what I think of him. He’s not charming. Is he part of the normal drama crowd?
Then I texted Detective Fitts.
Did you question Victor already?
Moments later the detective wrote back.
D’Angelo, let’s get something clear. It’s nice when you give me insights about your little community to help with my cases, but this is a one-way street. You share with me. I don’t share with you. You’re on a need-to-know basis.
Well.
That wasn’t entirely true. He rarely thought before he spoke and probably told me way more than he was supposed to. But there was no reason for me to point that out. In fact, I did the exact opposite.
Okay sorry, I typed.
What was the saying? We catch more flies with honey?
I tapped the send button on my text to Fitts right before Livy answered me.
Not charming at all, she wrote. He is part of the normal drama crowd, but I’ll explain that later. The store is super busy right now.
Ah, the joys of owning a business. My friends were always working.
Uni sprinted to the front door, which could only mean one thing. Nico was home. A second later, the door opened, and there he was with a pizza.
My knight in shining armor. Hazel eyes, genuine grin, pizza in hand. What more could a girl want?
“Hey, perfect timing,” I said.
“I aim to please,” he said, closing the door behind him and bending down to scratch Uni’s head. He walked through the entryway to the kitchen. “How was your day?”
“Not terrible, but better now that you’re here,” I said.
I grabbed two plates from a cabinet and carried them to the counter where Nico had set down the pizza. We each helped ourselves to two slices and walked to the kitchen table as I recounted the strange events of the day: the weird similarities between the Edgar Allan Poe story and Fleming’s death, the weird way Lucy Argyle was being nice, and the weird curse written in the girls’ scripts at play practice. Nico polished off his first slice of pizza as I finished my story. I stared at my barely-touched slice, feeling my mind drifting off. How did all these strange events come together? Did they come together?
/> Nico’s voice brought me back to Earth as he picked up his second pizza slice and eyed it. “So are you telling me there’s no chance that you’ll stay out of this investigation?” He chomped down a third of the slice in one bite.
“I’m not trying to be part of it,” I said. “But we were both roped into it last night when we went to the Old Everly Place with the girls. And then Amy mentioned that Fleming’s death sounded like ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ and I had to tell Fitts about that.” I bit into my pizza as Nico swallowed a mouthful and poised himself to respond.
“You could have let Amy talk to Fitts herself.”
The comment was completely matter-of-fact. No raised eyebrow, no judgy-judgy tone. Just statement of fact.
He was right.
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I’ll do that next time.”
“Just keep your options open. You don’t have to be the go-between all the time. Other people could go straight to the detective all on their own.”
I nodded. Dang, he was really right. I had already talked myself into believing that I was roped into the case, but that was all in my head. I could take myself out of it. If I really wanted to.
Time for a subject change.
“How was your day?” I asked.
Nico polished off his second slice and got up to grab a third. “I think I found a good candidate to replace me at Entonces, but I’m hesitant.”
“Why?”
Nico had been managing Eduardo Salizar’s tasting room for about six months but was about to open his own little shop where the chocolate shop had been. The construction to repair Chocolat after a disastrous fire was almost complete, which meant it was time for Nico to tie up loose ends at Entonces—including the monumental task of finding a new manager.
“Elita really liked him,” Nico said.
Ah. That could be a problem. Entonces had trouble holding onto managers in the past because Elita was so much to handle. She sort of floated between her parents’ businesses, helping wherever she could, but she spent more time getting in the way and complaining than helping. Recently she began going to school online so that she could get a degree and find work outside OV. Little had we known, she hated wine and couldn’t wait to get away. I thought having the outlet of school might improve her mood or help her mature. But no. She was still in the way all the time, only now she was also stressed about school on top of being dramatic.
“So if you hire him, she’ll flirt with him incessantly until he quits?” I asked.
Nico sat at the table with his pizza. “That’s my worry. I don’t want to hire someone who turns around and leaves Eduardo and Carmelina in a bad situation two months down the line. But so far, he’s the first person who seems like a good fit for OV. He understands wine, he understands the clientele here, and I can tell he’d be a quick learner. Elita must have sent me fifty texts today asking when I was going to hire him.”
“What’s this guy’s name?” I asked.
“Mike.”
“Maybe someone who understands wine and Elita doesn’t find attractive will come along tomorrow. For Mike’s sake.” A new thought struck me. “Oh, on a slightly-related note, how good are you with resumes? You’ve been screening a lot of them lately. Do you have some tips for me? I need to update mine.”
“You decided to apply for jobs up here?”
I nodded. Seeing Dr. Stevens today outside the coffee shop had reminded me that it was time to start applying. It had been a hard decision to make. I loved teaching in Carlsbad where I grew up. I loved the kids, and I loved the staff at my school. But I couldn’t get on board with Dr. Stevens’ philosophies. Yes, test scores were important, but school was so much more than that. What about teaching kids practical skills and showing them how to take ownership of their work? What about getting them invested in themselves and their education? I had always thought test scores would come if we just put kids’ needs first. Making the kids take constant practice assessments disrupted real learning and did not put kids’ needs first.
Plus, he was just so critical and unnerving. I didn’t like looking over my shoulder at work everyday. My department chair kept saying that I just needed to wait it out. It seemed like his principalship there was just a stepping stone to something bigger in his career, and he’d be gone in three or four years. But in the grand scheme of things, waiting it out didn’t seem to make sense. Without my parents living in Carlsbad anymore, I had little anchoring me there. My whole family was in Temecula. Nico’s job was in Temecula. Why spend the next three or four years commuting to a job that kept me feeling unnerved, just on the hope that Dr. Stevens wouldn’t be around long?
I might not get a job teaching in Temecula for the next year, but it didn’t hurt to try. I could at least apply.
“Let’s finish up dinner and then take a look at your resume,” Nico said. “I definitely have some thoughts on what works well and what doesn’t.” He stood and walked to the counter. “And then,” he said slowly, picking up a brown paper bag hiding behind the pizza box. “I got you a treat.”
My eyes grew as he pulled a plastic container of tiramisu from the bag.
“My favorite!” I exclaimed.
I did not deserve him.
EIGHT
Fitts texted me at five-thirty the next morning. For a moment I thought it was my alarm going off, but no, it was a text. Through blurry eyes, I read the message.
I told you so.
He told me so? What did he tell me? My morning grogginess evaporated more quickly than normal as my mind ran through the possibilities.
He had told me that sharing information was a one-way street…
That he didn’t like being reminded of high school…
Or my sister Stella…
And then it hit me.
Lucy Argyle. She must have published a story that somehow made OV—or me—look bad. But how could she have done that? I didn’t say anything worth quoting. Nothing.
Still in bed, I opened the internet browser on my phone and searched for the Temecula Sunrise newspaper. Right there on the front page of the newspaper website was Lucy’s article.
Ugh.
Starved for Attention
By Lucy Argyle
Picture this: a beautiful enclave of restaurants, wine tasting rooms, specialty shops, and quaint inns nestled in the heart of Temecula’s wine country. People from all over San Diego County and Orange County strolling the half-mile long street, slightly red-faced after a bit too much wine tasting, chatting with shop owners after hearty meals. Shop owners holding workshops on their specialties—jewelry making, baking, wine making, painting—the list of activities is endless.
It sounds perfect. It sounds like a wonderful, ideal place to spend time.
And, actually, doesn’t it sound like Otto Viti?
No. No, it doesn’t.
Because Otto Viti isn’t content with its happy patrons and beautiful atmosphere. No, that’s not enough. If there’s not a tragedy unfolding on the streets of Otto Viti, it goes looking for one. Drama has become a defining characteristic of this little wine tasting enclave.
Case in point:
Marcus Fleming, a teacher at Temecula Hills High School, went missing three weeks ago. His body was found Sunday night by some of his students. And then Otto Viti made the case all about itself.
A man died. Tragic. A community claims credit for solving the missing person’s case. Pathetic.
Jill D’Angelo was one of the first adults present after the body was discovered. (Don’t ask how she got there before the police—this woman always shows up before the police. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?) When asked about the whole grisly situation, she said, “We’ll do our best to help each other through it.” Of course the “we” she meant was Otto Viti business owners and residents. But what about the victim or his family? Where’s the sadness about the life lost?
Since people from OV found the body, they are more concerned with getting over their own trauma than Mr. Fleming’s
death. Obviously being an idyllic winetasting community isn’t enough for them. It’s only been three months since a huge scandal broke at the enclave’s now-defunct Chocolatier. (Which, might I add, is already being replaced by another business. How quickly OV forgets what it purports to value. But I digress.) Yes, it’s been three months since that tragedy, so of course they are now starved for attention. The first chance they get to reenter the spotlight, they grab it—even if it is at the expense of a dead man.
Springtime is blooming. The biting cold of winter is melting into sunshine and flowers. Of course anyone with a zest for life would want to visit a winery, sit outside and enjoy the warmth along with a nice glass of wine. But if the urge strikes, don’t do it in Otto Viti. Visit any of Temecula’s other wineries. None of them are shameless enough to sacrifice their pride for publicity when a life has been lost.
I dropped my phone on my chest, face down, so that our bedroom went completely dark.
That woman. That woman.
What was wrong with her?
How did she manage to twist my words and make it seem like I thought Marcus Fleming’s death was all about OV? How did she do that?
Fitts was right. He did tell me she would do this. I just had no idea that she could act sympathetic so convincingly, trap me into making a seemingly-benign comment, and then use my words against me. Who did that?
Lucy Argyle, apparently.
Sheesh.
I was done with her. I was never going to speak to her again. It didn’t matter if she was in a burning building and I was the only one there to save her. Okay, yeah, I’d save her, but I wouldn’t say a word while doing it. I was one hundred percent over Lucy Argyle.
I lay in bed, staring into the darkness above me, wondering what to do. Waking up Nico was out. He deserved to get a little more sleep, and it didn’t matter if I told him about the article now or in a little bit. He couldn’t do anything about it. I could text my friend Jules who I knew was already working at her bakery, but she didn’t need the interruption. My sisters would not be happy if I woke them up. But I really just wanted to shoot off an indignant text to burn away some of my anger.