A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery

by Horn, Rachael

  “Here. We had a prowler here last night. A Peeping Tom, sometime around four.” Syd paced in front of the couch, picking at her lip.

  “Fuck, Sydney. Does Dad know?” Charlie was growing angry with Syd as she spoke. She wore a formidable scowl that held an uncanny resemblance to Jim’s.

  “No, we decided not to call him,” Syd spoke hesitantly. It seemed like such a rational decision last night, but she could see how Charlie might disagree. “He was gone and he wasn't coming back. Alejandro chased him off with a bat.”

  “Right, because a murderer twice over is going to be put off by a farmer with a bat.” Charlie hissed back at her in a flat voice.

  “Anyway, Olivier was here the entire time. And he was in his trailer when the prowler came, so that certainly was not him. And he was here in the house when Jack's office got broken in to, if it happened this morning.” Syd spoke rapidly, ignoring Charlie's angry glare. She took a deep breath and processed what Charlie said.

  “Twice over?” she asked.

  “Dad’s convinced that Jack's car was tampered with. Something to do with the ABS. There was a recall on the car for brake failure related to the ABS, but Jack had it fixed a few months back. And after this morning there’s no question.”

  Syd sat back down on the couch, picking at her lip. Jack had a meeting with Paul about insurance fraud the afternoon before his accident. She had seen him that morning. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was really only two days earlier. She couldn’t believe she had missed the connection herself. She had been preoccupied with her own grief over Clarence's illness, and then her own feverish virus had been a big distraction. Still, she felt like an idiot. She took a deep, raspy breath and fought off the feeling of losing the air in the room.

  “I have to talk to your dad. Did he talk to Paul? Did Jack talk to Paul? Jesus, Charlie. I think I could have prevented Jack's accident. I told your Dad, but I didn't realize what it meant.” She got up again and paced the room. Charlie sat still and watched Syd cover the same stretch of floor for a few minutes.

  Explain it to me, Syd,” Charlie said in a forced calm voice.

  Syd talked through the details of her conversation with Jack; about the will and the key man insurance policies. She explained Jack's suspicions that the medical examination required by the policy would easily have revealed the cancer in Clarence's body in the full body scan. The exam was only six months before Clarence's plane crash and the hospital stay that revealed a blood test replete with Stage IV pancreatic cancer diagnoses. The exam had been a forgery, or at the very least it had to have been tampered with.

  “But the cancer could have not shown up in the first exam, right? I mean, it didn't really show up on the autopsy report. But Dad says that's just because they determined cause of death from laryngeal spasm, or something like that.” Charlie's voice trailed off at Syd's expression.

  “Maybe. Seems unlikely. But that doesn't explain Hans’s behavior after the deal went sour. He continued to pay a hefty premium on a policy, even when he had no vested interest in Clarence as a business partner. It doesn't explain why he lined up a buyer so quickly for the winery. Or why he lined up a winemaker. Or how he planned to cut Clarence out of ownership for the corporate buyout. The point is that if Jack blew open the policy as fraudulent, Hans Feldman had a good deal to lose. Again.”

  “So why would he kill Clarence then? I mean, if he knew he had pancreatic cancer, he could have just waited it out, right? Pancreatic cancer moves fast.” Her voice faded again as she sensed her friend’s discomfort. Syd sighed despondently.

  “Maybe he grew impatient. It would have been an expensive premium. Clarence was 64, after all.”

  “But Jack had a policy too?” Charlie asked.

  “We can pretty much rule him out now, I think.” Syd frowned while her fingers worked over the skin on her lips. “But he had the medical report in his office, you know.” She explained that he had mentioned that he had found something in the report that might be incriminating. “And then...and then he gets in a near-fatal car accident and his office gets broken into.”

  They were interrupted by a polite “uh-hem”, the sound of Olivier clearing his throat. He stood stiffly near the kitchen table at the end of the room, holding a beaker of red wine. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Hey, Ollie!” Charlie said, she turned in her chair and greeted him with more warmth than Syd expected. At least she had convinced Charlie of Olivier's innocence for the moment. Syd could just kiss Charlie sometimes.

  “Hello, Charles,” he replied, flashing a genuine smile. He had lovely ivory teeth in a wide mouth. Syd felt a jolt in her stomach. The room was quiet for a moment, and Syd looked down at her fidgeting hands. Olivier remained on the other side of the room, as far away as possible. Charlie glanced at each of them quizzically.

  “You might want to check this,” he offered the beaker to Syd, striding over to the sitting area with natural feline grace.

  Syd took it and sniffed. She swirled it and sniffed again. She tasted it and handed it to Charlie, who did the same thing. Charlie grunted.

  “Is it stuck then?” Syd asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. The temp has dropped to 17 degrees Celsius, and the Brix stopped moving at 8. It's been the same for two days.”

  “It's got some hydrogen sulfide on it. When was the last time it was feed?”

  “At 12 Brix. It was 26 degrees, so I didn't want to bump it too much. Clarence always wanted the ferments on the cool side.”

  “Yeah. Whole berry?”

  He nodded.

  “I'd expect it to stay the same at different levels of temperature and alcohol when the berries break down. But the skins should all be broken at 8 Brix. Hmm. And it has had a vigorous punchdown? Is this Tempranillo?”

  “Yes and yes.” He smiled at her, not unimpressed. It wasn’t easy discerning a varietal during fermentations.

  “So maybe we should bring in a coil and heat it up? I wouldn't worry too much about the hydrogen sulfide. Tempranillo can throw a lot of it, and this vineyard is prone to reduction anyway. We have another tank of this, right? Same yeast? So we can grab some juice from the other tank too.”

  “I agree,” he said, nodding at everything. He turned to leave, but just before he reached the door he turned back. “It's good to have you back, Charlie.” He smiled another heartbreaker grin at her and left through the kitchen door.

  Charlie feigned a gunshot wound to the heart, keeling over. “Fuck, if that ain't one of the most gorgeous villains I’ve ever known,” she said in her best Scarlett O’Hara accent.

  “Yeah,” Syd muttered, faking disinterest.

  “So what's up there?” Charlie prodded, wearing a shit-eating grin.

  “Nothing. What are you talking about?” Syd skirted her look as she got up and made her way to the kitchen. Charlie followed her in hot pursuit.

  “Oh, now I know there’s something there. Don’t tell me you slept with him. Fuck, Syd, did you sleep with him?” She squared Syd’s shoulders in the middle of the kitchen, looking down into her face.

  “No,” she said grumpily at her friend, and wrestled out of her grip. Charlie had only been back for ten minutes and she was already annoying her. She fumbled around in the cabinet for the Advil. Her head hurt.

  “Okay, okay. But you like him, Syd. There’s something there. I know it. You could cut the tension with a knife.”

  “There was tension because I asked him to stay in the house last night after the prowler, and then I asked him to leave this morning.” she snarled at Charlie in exasperation.

  “Why’d you do that? Seems kind of like it would be handy to have a guy around when there’s a murderer on the loose.” She meant to be funny, but it came out too close to the truth for comfort.

  “I wanted the room for you, actually. I was going to ask you to stay here with me. Think of it like a Bahamas vacay, but on a budget.” Syd tried to remain calm, but knew she looked scared.

  “Okay, consider me
moved in.” Charlie turned her friend around and gave her a long hug. “But really. There is something there, right?” She smiled slyly at Syd as she moved out of the hug.

  “Okay. I had a sex dream about him last night. Really, it was only a make-out dream. But it was the hottest thing that has happened to me in years.” She blushed through a shy smile.

  “Oh my, oh my. What would the honorable and smitten Mr. Marcus think about that?” She smiled maliciously.

  “Fuck, Charlie. Don't tease me. I've got to work with this guy. He's a stranger, and for all I know he could be my brother.” The thought came out before she could stop it. The shock hit Charlie like a slap in the face. They stared at each other for a moment.

  “Wow. But it’s not incest for me, right? Cause if you aren't going for that, then I am!”

  Syd punched her square in the shoulder, harder than she ought to have. Charlie yelped and swung back with a wild haymaker in slow motion, replete with sound effects. Syd's frustration gave way to a violent snort of laughter, while Charlie continued with her vaudevillian slapstick. Syd buckled over, gasping for breath as Rosa padded into the kitchen.

  “You should have been Lucy,” she sneered as she passed through to the living room, parting with a hard slap on Charlie's butt.

  Charlie stood upright and yelped in pain, holding her ass as she stared at Rosa. “Ouch! What is it, beat on Charles day?” She bellowed at Rosa and stole a glance at her audience. Syd was still wiping tears from her eyes, bracing herself up with one hand on the counter. She wheezed with laughter.

  “Best medicine, babe,” Charlie said, looking rather proud of herself.

  “What? Kitchen shadowboxing?” Syd choked out between giggles. Charlie leaned against the counter with her lanky legs crossed at the ankles and her arms crossed around her chest. She watched Syd thoughtfully while she recovered in slow gasps.

  “So we need to talk to dad, Syd,” She said quietly.

  “Yeah.” Sydney nodded. “Is it logical to think that our prowler was the same person who broke into Jack's office? Am I just connecting the dots in a weird fever-induced conspiracy thing, or does this make sense to you?”

  “For once, Syd, I think your conspiracy theory’s right on. Have you ever talked to this guy Hans Feldman?”

  “No. I shook his hand at the memorial. He was smug. Actually, it was more like contempt.” She frowned.

  “What do you mean?”

  “More like he was being dismissive. You know the type. I'm a girl and I’m not worth his time or energy. And he’s annoyed that he has to perform the whole “I’m sorry-for-your-loss” thing. Like he was bored too.”

  “All that in a handshake?”

  “Yeah.” She answered defensively. “He certainly wasn't sorry for my loss.”

  They looked up at once up at the sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway. Charlie stepped over to the window and peered out.

  “Speak of the devil,” she muttered.

  “Hans Feldman?” Syd asked, alarmed.

  “Dad, dummy,” Charlie said. “We better make him some lunch before we tell him about your prowler. He's much nicer with a full belly. He'll be barking mad at you, Syd.”

  Chapter 25

  Jim Yesler was less mad than he was concerned. His face revealed a paternal panic that instantly melted Syd's defensiveness as she told him about the night before. She began to feel that she may have been foolish to think that she could handle it by herself. Still, she hated the feeling of helplessness that came with admitting that she shouldn’t be making judgment calls on her own safety. It railed against her very being to think she should acquiesce to the notion that she was frail or helpless, or in need of male authority. She felt that inviting Alejandro and Olivier into the house to provide protection was tolerant enough. She was frustrated by Jim's patronizing tone, in spite of his obvious concern. It was a characteristic of men like Jim to seem charming and well-intentioned while still emitting a gentle brand of sexism. The Grand Protector. Charlie had issues with her father's paternal coddling all of her adult life, and it was often a topic of conversation between them. Her father was her only parent for a while, and he cherished his daughter above anything else in the world. Instead of showing his love by assuming she could do anything, be anything, or even take care of herself, he preferred the role of knight in shining armor. The magnanimous hero. And wherever there was a male hero there had to be a damsel in distress. Charlie put up with it well enough. Syd secretly felt that Charlie liked it in a way, although she complained about it. But Syd grew up with a different kind of male parent. Clarence always felt that Syd was the champion. Syd was the strong one; the hero of her own story. Clarence had no such delusions about male strength and female fragility. Syd was an equal to her uncle in times of tranquility and in times of duress. She was suddenly quite grateful for her uncle's firm grasp of reality, in spite of the prevailing sexism that surrounded them now.

  Syd pondered her own capabilities while she listened quietly to Jim's admonitions. She instantly forgave him for his poor assessment of her judgment. But she also knew that she was right. She would have to figure out a way to help Jim feel the way she needed him to feel while continuing to piece together the events of the past week. Jim was the investigating Sheriff on the case of her uncle's murder. He had the legal authority to investigate her uncle's death and follow all of the leads in the case as he saw fit. But she also knew that she had the moral authority to find out who killed her uncle, and that Jim's declaration that she had no business in the case was just plain wrong. And she couldn't help but feel it was sexist as well.

  Jim sighed. “And why are you smiling?”

  “Oh, just something Clarence used to say to me. “When a man is born in a soup he can't help but smell like the broth'. Something like that.” Her voice trailed off. Charlie raised her eyebrows at Syd. She had heard Syd say the same thing to her during their conversations about Jim's patronizing ways. Syd had encouraged her to forgive her father for his sexism since he was a product of his culture, in spite of his best intentions.

  “Well, I'm just saying that you two girls should come stay with me for a while,” Jim said, frowning at them. He looked a little hurt at the inside joke they shared.

  Charlie stepped forward and patted her father's hand. “Sorry, Pop. We've got a slumber party planned. Pillow fight and all.”

  “But we’ll call you if another Peeping Tom shows up,” Syd said.

  “Immediately. Call me immediately.” His voice rang with authority. Charlie rolled her eyes at Syd.

  “Was there any way to tell if something had been taken from Jack's office? Uncle's papers were in the safe, I think. I remember Jack getting the files from the safe.” Syd changed the subject, trying to appear only casually interested.

  “The safe was unopened, if that's what you mean. Too heavy to lift. Papers were everywhere. The file cabinet was dumped out on the floor. The place was a mess. Becky said it would take weeks to figure out if anything was missing. And she said she hardly knew what Jack had in his files anyway.” Both women followed his eyes to his large hands. Jim drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Jack's awake, by the way,” Jim said. “I'll see him later.”

  “How is he?” Syd asked.

  “Doctors say he's good. He's somewhat alert now. Still having trouble remembering things. The head injury was about all the damage. He has a broken rib or two from the airbag but nothing life threatening. He got lucky.” He paused. “Is Mr. Ruiz around?” Jim finally asked. Sydney grew instantly alarmed at the formal use of Olivier's last name.

  “Olivier? Yeah. He's in the winery fixing a stuck fermentation. Why? You know he was here last night. In the house. And he was here the entire day of Jack's accident. I should think it was obvious.”

  Jim held up his hand to stop her. “I've just got some questions about his airplane. And why he said he arrived a full month after he had. In June. Two days before Clarence's accident.”

  Syd's ja
w dropped reflexively, in spite of herself. Jim took out his notebook and read from it.

  “He flew in on June 23rd at 4 pm on a flight plan from Northern California. He flew out June 25th, plotted to British Columbia. His extended flight plan follows all the way from Argentina. He had been making his way up north for two weeks. But he stopped here and went for a joyride in Clarence's plane on the 24th.”

  Syd and Charlie were silent.

  “The point is that he lied. He said he arrived in July. Syd, he lied about when he came and he was in the plane the day before your uncle's accident.”

  “Uncle's will wasn’t changed until after the accident,” Syd said. “Olivier had nothing to gain at the time. This does nothing but explain to me why Uncle left him the plane.”

  “Or the accident was how he bullied Clarence into changing the will,” Jim offered.

  “Really? Have you actually spoken to this man? He’s utterly heartbroken.”

  “Sydney, he has a point,” Charlie interrupted. Syd glared at her.

  “Pretty risky way to get someone to change a will,” Syd said. “His plane was in a full stall for Christ’s sake. He only recovered it at the last second. You've got to be kidding?” She put her hands on her head in exasperation. Charlie caught her eye with a meaningful look, urging Syd's complicity. She was up to something. Syd frowned, a bit confused. Charlie raised her eyebrows at her and Syd relented. “Okay, fine. Olivier’s up in the winery. Go question him again.”

  “He's far more of a flight risk, literally, now that we know he has a plane here,” Jim said. He shoved his chair back, gathered the dishes from the sandwiches the girls had made for lunch, and walked over to the sink. He paused while he held open the kitchen door. “You girls stay out of trouble.” He glared at Charlie. He turned and walked outside, his boots scuffing against the deck.

  “That old fart’s too smart for his own good,” Charlie half-whispered.

  “What's going on, Charlie?” Syd asked.

  “Buying time,” Charlie said. “We both know that Olivier’s in the clear. Dad mostly knows it too. He's just eliminating him, I think. He doesn't like the idea of him, actually.”