A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery

by Horn, Rachael

  Suddenly, she heard a door slam downstairs and a man yell. She ran out onto the deck in a wave of cold air and stopped at the top of the stairs, straining to see what was going on. She could only hear it; a man yelling and the prowler sprinting with surprising speed up the gravel road to the winery. The chase seemed to continue up into the vineyard, from what Syd could tell. She heard crunching strides fade to silence. She made her way off the deck in the pitch black night, gingerly finding the road in her bare feet without making a sound. She headed for the gravel drive. She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard steps approaching her. The sound of wheezing gave him away.

  “Alejandro?” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Chinga madre! What are you doing out here, Sydney?” He grabbed her under her arm and practically lifted her off the ground, dragging her upstairs.

  “Who was that?” Syd whispered again, standing on the cold deck in her bare feet. Her armpit hurt from Alejandro's grip.

  “How the fuck would I know?” he answered hotly, abandoning his usual decorum. “Motherfucker can sure run fast. Lucky for him too.” He held up something that Syd just noticed. She squinted and made out a baseball bat in the darkness. “Here.” He thrust it in her hand, still trying to catch his breath. “Stay here, too. Don’t follow me, Sydney McGrath.” He snarled and abruptly ran off into the darkness.

  Syd stood in her bare feet and black silk nightie on the cold deck, holding the bat by the handle. She searched blindly in the direction Alejandro had headed. She felt her stomach sink when she realized Alejandro had taken off in the direction of the trailer. She couldn’t remember it ever being so dark. She couldn't see five feet in front of her. A cold shiver ran up her spine, and the hair on her head stood on end as she waited the longest two minutes of her life.

  The violent shivering began to take over her body. She was about to go back to the house to get a better weapon and a coat when she saw a light turned on from inside the trailer. Syd could make out movement and watched the door open and close. A half a minute went by before the door opened and closed again. She heard running footsteps as two men sprinted across the vineyard and up onto the deck.

  “Sydney?” Olivier whispered loudly.

  “Here.”

  He slowed down and jogged toward her, stepping on her bare feet when he reached her.

  “Ouch!” she yelled, shoving him off of her toes.

  “So sorry. Where did he go? Which direction?” He squeezed her arm hard with his right hand. He held something long and hard in his left hand. Syd reached out and felt the cold shaft of a shotgun.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in her raspy voice. “You can't go after him with that.”

  Alejandro pulled up next to Olivier, breathing hard.

  “He was in his trailer,” he said, sounding relieved.

  “Of course he was, Allie,” she said. “And now he wants to go all cowboy on us and chase down that peeping tom.” She tried her best to sound flippant through her chattering teeth as she pieced together the last five minutes. Her head throbbed as she worked out the potential disaster these men could ignite if they ran off on a chase into the dark. She grabbed the cold muzzle of the shotgun and ripped it out of Olivier's hand. He was caught off guard and let go of it. She stepped back and glared at him.

  “Inside, now!” she said, feeling her way in the dark with her feet. She carried a bat in one hand and a shotgun in the other. They stumbled into the kitchen a moment later. Alejandro reached the light switch first and flipped it on. They looked around at each other, all round-eyed and alert, like animals ready to sprint. Syd stood in her loose black nightie, stiffly holding the shotgun and bat out like ski poles. She was the first to crack a smile and break into a hysterical laughter, stabbing pain in her lungs. The men joined in as they succumbed to the vaudevillian scene they all had played out.

  Olivier stood shirtless with pinstriped pajama bottoms and tall muck boots. His curly hair was piled to one side of his head in bedhead fashion. Alejandro was fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but he was still trying to catch his breath. They glanced at each other as their laughter subsided.

  “Well, if I'm going to get beat to death, that’s certainly the way to go,” Alejandro said, smirking at Syd. He stole a long look at her nightie. She was still freezing and covered in goosebumps. Her nipples were stinging and hard in her flimsy nightie, a fact not unnoticed by either men. Syd jabbed him in the belly with the bat.

  “And you’d be the one to go, slowpoke,” She jabbed at him again lightly. Alejandro grabbed the bat from her.

  Olivier's smile disappeared and he gingerly took the gun from her, eyes averted. She instinctively covered her breasts with her arms once her hands were free.

  “Should we call the police?” Olivier asked.

  “Jim would be here in a heartbeat,” Syd said, sadly. “I think he's gone, whoever it is.” They nodded at each other. “I think I've had enough of Jim today,” she added, glancing meaningfully at Olivier. He looked more than a little relieved. “Could you please stay in the house tonight?” she asked, locking eyes with him. She wasn’t helpless and he knew it. It was a request for forgiveness and partnership as much as it was a request for help. At least she’d make it clear she trusted him.

  He nodded back at her. “It is nearly morning,” he said.

  ~

  They got little rest for the remainder of the night. Adrenaline pumped through Alejandro, more as a reminder of his failed chase than out of fear or excitement. Olivier lay awake on a couch upstairs, methodically musing over the events of the evening and his growing entanglement with Clarence's legacy. He kept his ears alert and tried to clear his mind of all thoughts. He froze at the sound of every moan or creak in the old house. But he was pretty certain Syd was correct in assuming that the prowler was gone. He only wished he had been there. He was confident he would have caught up to the man in a foot race. The thought of clearing his name of all suspicion was enough to send a thrill of bitterness through him along with a vein of hope. At least Syd knew that he wasn't a danger to her. As much as he would have loved to catch the prowler, he was sure that the thick detective might not make the obvious connection to Clarence's murder or the lawyer's accident. It was another thought made him shudder. He did have to give credence to the Sheriff's notion that Syd was in danger. The prowler may not have been after something, but someone. And, of course, he stood to gain the most if something happened to Syd. His heart sunk deep in his chest and his eyes remained wide open until daylight.

  Syd returned to her warm bed after taking more Advil and drinking a hot toddy laced with whiskey. She lay awake for a full hour in a state of calm contemplation. The Advil worked its magic and Syd found herself drifting off to sleep and a liquid emotional landscape. She had intended to stay awake and listen for the men stirring, which she knew would come soon enough, but sleep caught her in a web of strange disjointed images. The night sky glowed with a light purple hue, reminding her of her drive along Highway 14 at sunrise a week earlier. Her dreams flashed with images of Clarence in his Austin Healey, smiling at her. The eastern skyline filled with orange and purple clouds churning like the boiling gases of Jupiter. And then it all disappeared and she was somewhere else. She found herself walking in the wet grasses of the vineyard in a luminous green light. She walked toward the trailer, which glowed with the same green light. She climbed onto the step and opened the door. She looked up into the bullet-shaped interior at an odd angle. Olivier sat at the table looking down at the manila envelope in his hand. He looked up at her with sad eyes. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She turned and saw that Olivier had come to stand next to her, wearing only his pajamas bottoms. He held his hands out in front of her, with palms up and fingers splayed. He showed her the backs of his hands. She stood mesmerized as he slowly moved his hands to her arms and softly ran his fingers up to her shoulders. She felt an immediate thrill and stepped closer. He kissed her neck softly and muttered words she couldn't m
ake out. His lips moved to her face and she kissed him back with her own lips and tongue. His taste was intoxicating. They floated to a soft couch, where she held him in a tight embrace, still kissing him with restrained urgency. He moved on top of her, and she smelled him with every taste. His body was light, and she sensed him more in the heaviness of his aroma than his physical being. She kissed him with more urgency as her arousal grew, and his scent overwhelmed her. The aroma moved heavily around her neck, like a gaseous rope creeping around her throat, choking her. She moved instinctively and pushed him away from her, gasping for air and arched her back to open up her chest and lungs. Olivier was suddenly gone and she looked down at her own naked, writhing body. She thrust her hands up reflexively, but found no resistance, in spite of the heaviness of the scent surrounding her. She thrust her legs into the cushions of the couch and managed to turn on her side enough to inhale a lungful of air. Her head awkwardly angled and pulled in oxygen as if from an invisible straw. She slowly relaxed and breathed in to gain control of her frantic mind. As her thoughts cleared, she felt her hands tingle and the hair on her arms stand up. She called out to Olivier, who had vanished in the dark. She found she could move her head and look around the room while her body was paralyzed. She called out for Olivier again and the room answered in a hazy green glow. She could make out a figure in the darkness, fading in and out. She called out again, her voice never leaving her throat.

  The figure stood over her, menacing. The room had gone dark, and the figure was silhouetted in pulsing green light. She squinted to make out his face but a light fog rose between them. She reached up to touch his face, but he effortlessly dodged her. She felt him smirking at her gesture. When she tried to get up and reach for him, she found herself pinned at her shoulders to a white-sheeted bed. She looked and saw that she was pinned at the shoulder with large black nails. Red stains of bright red blood oozed from her wounds through a white linen nightshirt she now wore. The pins held her tightly with a force greater than gravity, like a pithed insect. The room grew into a bright white luminescence as she looked back up at her assailant. She could almost make out his familiar features before she saw a large pillow looming over her face. She felt the slow smothering of cool cotton on her cheeks and lips, suffocating her silent screams. She couldn’t breathe...

  A moment later she sat up in bed, gasping. Her hands and arms were flailing in the air as she struggled out of her dream, pushing away a pillow that wasn’t there. She gulped for air and then calmed herself, slowing her breathing. She looked around the room and saw soft morning light filling it with a kind of shocking serenity. She moved her hands along the bumpy surface of her mother's quilt while her eyes searched frantically for traces of her nightmare. She was surprised at the tears that streamed down her face, uncertain if they were from terror or some kind of emotional release. She swallowed hard and felt the sharp familiar pain in her throat. She reached up to touch her throbbing forehead but couldn't tell if she was feverish. She pushed herself up shook and her head, forcing the sinking feeling from her mind.

  She was wiping the tears from her face with the quilt when Rosa crept in with a mug of tea. She smiled at Sydney, but then noticed the distraught look on her face.

  “Ah, mi hija,” she cooed. She bent down and kissed her forehead. She reached for Syd's head instinctively. “Still you have a fever?”

  “I'm not sure. I just had a delirious nightmare.”

  “Bad dream?” Rosa asked. “Fevers show us the future.” She got up and padded out of the room.

  “Great, thanks, Rosa!” She yelled sarcastically out the door. Leave it to Rosa to imbue a nightmare with ridiculous superstitions. Of course, it was only a dream. Yet she felt her shoulders instinctively. No holes, no blood. But the memory of the dream filled her with concern. She blushed as she recalled her vivid make-out session with Olivier. Rosa came back into the room with a thermometer. She thrust it hard under her tongue and Syd yelped like a wounded puppy. Olivier stuck his head in the doorway a moment later.

  “Alright in here?” he asked.

  Syd pulled the covers up to her chin and nodded, fervently with the thermometer in her mouth. She felt like an iconic Norman Rockwell painting or a cartoon of female foolishness. Rosa clucked her tongue.

  “She’s still feverish,” Rosa said. She yanked the thermometer out of Syd's mouth. “101. Not bad.” She turned and scuttled out of the room.

  “But not good for running around outside half-naked in the freezing night,” Olivier said under his breath with piercing black eyes.

  Syd shrugged and avoided his eyes. He was wearing the same pinstriped pajama bottoms from the night before and a bathrobe she recognized as belonging to Clarence. His scent wafted over to her in a sensuous invisible net. She shivered beneath the quilt. He sat down respectfully at the end of the bed.

  “I think we need to tell Detective Yesler today,” he said.

  “Yeah, I think I'll see him later this morning. Charlie’s coming back.” She fiddled with the quilt.

  “Okay.”

  “So maybe you could stay in the trailer for a bit longer?” she asked, looking vacantly out the window.

  “If that's what you want,” he spoke softly through tightened lips. He rose from the bed, sighed and lightly shook his head before he left the room. His gesture wasn't lost on Syd.

  Chapter 24

  Charlie showed up around noon to find Syd bundled up on the couch in the living room with her laptop balanced on her knees. She was perusing the hordes of condolences posted on social media.

  “Man, you’re playing up this damsel-in-distress thing,” Charlie sneered. She opened an IPA and took a long draw. She had sprawled herself out on a worn leather club chair, long limbs dangling over the arms.

  “Yup. Not easy either. You try giving yourself the flu.”

  “No need. I can do the same thing with alcohol. Hair of the dog.” She took another thirsty swig.

  “Sooo, how was it?” Syd asked. She slammed her laptop closed and sat up, anxious for Charlie's account of the magazine launch party.

  Charlie told her tale of the event with her usual flourish, sparing no ridiculous moment or person. The evening had proven to be excellent fodder for Charlie's voracious appetite for human folly. Her account had the women dressed in stupid clothes and even more ridiculous shoes, decked to the nines in the latest of Seattle's mock New York style. Their desire to stand out was only outdone by a stronger desire to conform. Thus, Charlie said, they all looked the same; “like emaciated stick insects in the same clothes and hairdo,” she said. Only a few women stood out as true individuals, and they were the type who drew Charlie like a moth to light: the inked-and-pierced, Fluevog-wearing, steam-punkish outliers. Charlie spared these types the sharp edge of her tongue, although she couldn’t refrain from gently mocking the cliché these outliers represented. Of course, their friend Michelle was spared her vitriol since she was tasteful, elegant, and gracious as a host.

  “There’s nothing new under the sun,” Charlie sighed despondently, the high from her salacious soliloquy waning. She drained the rest of her beer. “I just wish you were there.”

  “Sorry. I've got a murder to deal with,” Syd answered glibly, regretting her words immediately. “I would have loved to have been there.” At the moment the idea of spending the evening at a soiree like the launch would have been like heaven. It would be such a reprieve from her life here, a romantic return to an innocence she longed for.

  “It is so ironic, Charlie. You know we felt so superior? We were so cynical up there in Seattle. We were city girls who knew everything. We could watch it all with a sense of superiority and witty running commentary. And we could make fun of our country bumpkin life here. But really, our time up there was the innocent time. Here, in the vineyards and trees, it’s the sleepy winery that’s the real world tragedy.”

  “Dad told me about Jack,” Charlie said softly. Syd expected a glib comment from Charlie, if only to lighten the mood, but Charli
e seemed to agree with her.

  “I'm going to go see him today,” Syd replied.

  “Maybe you should wait until you feel better.”

  Syd remained silent and chewed on her lip for a few minutes in silence.

  “Marcus gives his love,” Charlie spoke with trepidation, changing the subject.

  Syd looked over at her and sighed. “Yeah, I haven't called him since he left. He's left some messages,” she smiled sheepishly.

  “Uh, some?” Charlie teased.

  “Okay. Lots. And about twenty emails. Facebook and texts. All of them asking when I'm coming back.”

  “And when is that, exactly?”

  “Not for a while. I have to see out Crush. I promised.”

  “Dad wants me to talk you into leaving.”

  “Yeah, he got really pissed off at me the other day. I went to question Jack after he kind of told me to leave it alone. He thinks I'm interfering, but he's wrong. Besides, I gave him information about the insurance fraud. He thinks its Olivier. But after last night he should think differently.”

  “You mean the breakin? Dad’s there now, and I don't think it helps Olivier in any way whatsoever.” Charlie said incredulously.

  “There was no breakin. Just a prowler. He was looking in but he never got in.”

  “What are you talking about, Syd? He got in and made a huge mess! The entire office is trashed.” Charlie frowned at her.

  “Where? What office?”

  “Jack's office. I was just there. I met up with Dad before I came here. The place is a mess. Whoever did that was obviously looking for something.”

  “When did that happen?” Syd asked, jumping up off the couch.

  “Not sure. I heard a White Salmon cop say it was early this morning. A cruiser went by the building at 5 am and everything was normal. But the window was broken, and it would be hard to miss. So it must have been after 5 am.” Charlie narrowed her eyes at Syd as she paced the floor. “What were you talking about, Sydney?”