5 Blue Period

by Melanie Jackson

  “Get down,” he hissed, and reaching up an urgent hand, jerked her down beside him. “He’ll see you!”

  “Who?”

  “Edward. He’s in the wine cellar.”

  “So what? Let him see me. Everyone knows I’m here. I don’t need to go around acting like a villain in an opera. Or someone who has a body in the trunk of his car.”

  Talbert glared at her, but she thought she detected a slightly amused cast to his face.

  “It didn’t take Esteban long to get up here. I thought you weren’t interested in this case.”

  “I wasn’t until you came around and started acting sneaky. So what did Carl Owens do to draw your attention? Was it something from his Silicon Valley days?”

  Talbert shook his head, but it wasn’t denial.

  “Do you know that I have an almost perfect closure rate for my cases? Twenty-six of twenty-seven field investigations were solved, and quickly too. There was only one assignment where I failed to bring home the goods. Just one.”

  Juliet tried to sympathize but failed. Talbert wasn’t the kind to inspire compassion or pity.

  “And that was one involving Carl Owens? Who was he selling tech to?” Juliet stood up and brushed off her skirt. “Come on. Let’s go sit at the table. My knees are too old for squatting in bushes and there are too many wasps and ants.”

  Talbert sighed but got up and followed her to the wrought-iron table that sat between the two end cottages. Juliet checked it for spiders. They liked the table too.

  “You didn’t do field work, but you know how it is, right? A low-level agent is doing some general security probe and runs into something unexpected, and it gets kicked up the line until someone realizes it might be important. If it’s a certain kind of case, then they send for someone like me.”

  She nodded. A case had to have certain earmarks before it ended up on Talbert’s To Do list.

  “It looked at first that it was Israel,” he said easily. “That caused unhappiness since the chips he was hawking could be used in missile guidance systems, but that was nothing like what happened after it looked like he was dealing with Iran and their uranium enrichment program.”

  Computer chips again? Was that why Talbert had been sent to Tahoe?

  Juliet nodded. That kind of sale would indeed cause unhappiness, even hysteria. For all the public reassurance that Iran was years away from having a bomb, everyone in the know had spasms when Iran was mentioned.

  “The CIA came to us with some convincing but circumstantial details and wanted us to look for confirmation that it was Owens who was the seller. The trail was faint, but it was there. And I almost had it. I know I did. Then, as if he knew what was happening, everything went quiet and got cleaned up. Foreign agents rolled up their tents in the night and disappeared and Owens decided he wanted to grow grapes on his wife’s farm. The whole thing stinks.”

  “You suspect that he was tipped off?” Juliet asked. She refrained from rubbing her head but a headache was forming. The whole situation made for an ungainly monster with far too many limbs to grapple with effectively. Some would have to be lopped off or left to other people to subdue.

  “Wouldn’t you? I mean, the man wasn’t psychic.”

  Psychic? No. But he had good business instincts and it was not uncommon for predators to know when they were being stalked by something bigger than they were.

  “And you think that somehow … what? That you will be able to prove he was your bad guy after all? But he’s dead now. Haven’t you heard the one about carrying rancor to the grave but no further?”

  “Yeah, I heard it. And I never agreed with it. Besides, I’m not convinced that everything was really shut down. I think it maybe just relocated. Owens retired. It doesn’t mean everyone else in his organization did.”

  “Do you have any proof?”

  “Only gut instinct. But that’s worth something, as you know.”

  Juliet chose not to go into the validity of gut feelings.

  “Do you think that Owens’ death is tied to his past? That maybe someone or something caught up with him and blew his face off for unwise business practices?”

  “The CIA doesn’t make unsanctioned hits,” Talbert said neutrally.

  Juliet didn’t bother to snort.

  “Who said anything about unsanctioned? Though I have to say that this looks amateurish to me. This wasn’t a professional hit. Too messy. An ‘accident’ would have been tidier and more the CIA’s style. I’m thinking more of a disgruntled customer anyway. Someone he failed to deliver to who might have other pressures on them. Or just be a vengeful whacknut.”

  This was sound thinking, unless the killer wanted the hit to look amateurish.

  “Yeah. But I don’t think so now. There’s no hint of anyone like that being in the area. Besides, you’re not interested in this case.”

  “Talbert, if you’re right about Owens being involved with Iran, you better hope I stay interested. You can’t handle this alone.”

  “Who says I’m alone?” But his eyes fell. Juliet raised a brow and after a minute he went on. “Okay, I took some vacation time to do a little unofficial follow-up. But if I find anything, the cavalry will be here in a heartbeat.”

  And they would. Only the cavalry would be more like the four riders of the apocalypse. Blue Period might not survive that kind of trampling.

  “And you decided to seduce the wife because … good cover?”

  Talbert did snort.

  “Sure. It didn’t take much effort either.” But he sounded too glib.

  “Do you think she’s involved in his death?” Juliet asked.

  “She’s got the nerve for it,” he admitted, no longer insisting she had an alibi. “But no. She’s kind of stupid. I like the son better. On the surface it looks like they weren’t close, but the big bust-up happened about the time that Owens retired from high tech and decided to breathe some life into his dead wife’s old vineyard by modernizing.”

  “And?”

  “What if the kid isn’t pissed about the winery, but about Daddy shutting down the money-maker that was paying for the kid’s over-the-top lifestyle.”

  “Does he have an over-the-top lifestyle?” Juliet asked.

  Esteban hadn’t found out much about the son yet.

  “There are drugs around back in college and some gambling.” That sounded a little weak, but Juliet didn’t dismiss it.

  “Well, as it happens I am on my way to see Edward now. I’ll be watchful.”

  Talbert blinked.

  “I think that the woman from Trefoil may be with him. She’s kind of a mother bear. About as dumb as a bear too.”

  “Moira Mulligan? That’s good actually. I’d like to have a chat with her too.”

  “And you think you can walk right in and they’ll just talk to you?” Talbert demanded. Obviously he hadn’t had any luck in that direction.

  “Oh yes,” Juliet said confidently, rising to her feet. The sun was getting hot. “People generally like to talk to me. Little old ladies are harmless, you know.”

  “So, you have some definite thoughts about this situation? You think it’s something personal.”

  “Of course I have thoughts. But I don’t like discussing half-formed theories. It gives them credibility they may not deserve,” she answered. It was partially true. She didn’t mind discussing theories with Esteban and Raphael because they were not trying to channel her suspicions into any particular direction once she began seeing the outlines of the whys and wherefores. For the time being the shape wasn’t distinct enough for sharing. Especially not with the man who might still turn out to be the killer.

  After all, Talbert was capable and he would definitely want his record intact. Killing Owens might have seemed like a small price to pay to achieve that goal.

  Chapter 7

  Juliet had no problem tracking down Edward Owens, who was indeed watching the workmen load cases of wine into the back of the enormous truck. This was a man at loose ends, fru
strated and angry, though it wasn’t clear who or what was the target of his annoyance.

  Was this Faust after selling his soul with an act of murder to gain what he desired? If so, it was a scrawny, pale kind of Faust.

  Moira Mulligan was with him and she looked worried, her usually inexpressive face pinched and the hand on Edward’s arm grasped it too tightly. Juliet gave them a moment to notice her and speak, but when no one opened their mouth, she stepped inside.

  “Hello,” Juliet said softly. “I hope that this isn’t a bad time. Or an especially bad time.”

  Moira and Edward turned. They both looked blank. After a moment, Moira relaxed her grip on Edward’s arm and smoothed her face back into its usual peaceful expression which Juliet found a bit creepy.

  “I’m Juliet Henry, one of the artists staying up at the cottages,” she said for Edward’s benefit. “I would like to offer my condolences and assure you that if there is anything I can do to help at this time that you shouldn’t hesitate to tell me. And that includes asking Raphael and I to leave.” She hoped he wouldn’t do that and it was a calculated risk to suggest it, but it needed to be said to establish her bona fides as a sweet old lady.

  Edward’s pale face had also assumed polite lines. He stepped forward and offered his hand.

  “Miss Henry. Please don’t think of leaving,” he said with automatic courtesy. “I believe that you partnered with my father in the grape stomp yesterday. I’m sorry that we had to cancel the rest of the festival and deny you a chance at the title.”

  Edward Owens had lovely manners but lacked his father’s energy. His hair and manner were limp and exhausted, and his complexion unhealthy. Talbert might have been right about the drug use. Certainly Moira had looked concerned about him before she started channeling her higher power and looking like a plaster saint.

  Addicts were often skilled liars and betrayers. Addicts could be bribed. Rich ones could be blackmailed.

  “Please don’t give it a thought. I think I damaged myself, prancing around in the heat like that. What on earth was I thinking doing something so physical at my age?” She tried for dimples.

  Edward’s smile was slight but seemed genuine and it eased some of the tightness around his eyes.

  “I think I’ll be leaving you now,” Moira said suddenly. “We’re starting the harvest this evening and there is so much we need to get done, so.”

  Juliet realized that this was the first time she had heard her speak. Her accent was stronger than her brother’s and she wondered how long she had lived in the US.

  “Thank you for coming,” Edward answered and sounded sincere. “I’ll be over before seven.”

  Moira patted his arm in a motherly way and started for one of the older buildings. About three steps on she checked violently and then did a hard right which turned toward the visitor center. Perhaps she had remembered that she had brought her car with her and couldn’t just walk across the acres of vines. Probably there was some way through, unless Edward had gotten the idea that good fences made for good neighbors. He seemed the type who would build walls. That would be worth checking on later. Was the entire estate fenced in, or was the gate and guardhouse at the front just for show?

  “I’m not needed here,” Edward said abruptly as a motorized hand truck whizzed by. “I’m just in the way.”

  “It all looks very … efficient,” Juliet said carefully.

  “Yeah, it’s all of that. No need for me to stick around and get in their way.” This was said with marked bitterness.

  Juliet resisted the urge to say something bracing about how everyone was born in pain and usually died in suffering, but what happened in between there was their own doing. It might be true but it had never inspired or comforted anyone.

  “So, have you any thought about what you will do now?” Juliet asked bluntly, but with enough kindness to rob the words of nosiness. She hoped that because she was staying in one of the cottages that he would assume that she had been closer to his father than she actually was and therefore had a right to ask. The ploy had worked with Schneider who didn’t know they were there because of Owens’ courtship of Raphael.

  “I don’t know. Carissa will get some of the money, I think, and there may be other expenses, but the winery is so.…” He trailed off. He gestured at the new building and the tanker trucks beside them.

  Expensive. The winery was expensive. And big. It was an industrial complex.

  “It is a responsibility,” Juliet agreed and turned them toward the vineyard where the view was better and there was some shade. She thought Edward would talk more if he wasn’t upset by all the signs of massive business, though the shadeless, harrowed hills that trapped the breathless heat were not things of beauty at the moment. The vines were empty and mauled from the rough treatment of the mechanical pickers.

  If Juliet painted it, she wouldn’t be able to resist featuring it as a suburb of Hell. Or maybe she wouldn’t resist.

  “Yes. And I don’t want to live here anymore. I never liked the house even before Carissa redecorated,” Edward said randomly as they walked around the stucco building. The nearby vines looked naked without their fruit, tired just as their new owner was. “It’s just too big. After my mother died I could feel it all around me. All those doors. All those windows in all those rooms. I never felt safe. I need to live in something more modest.”

  He sounded almost childishly petulant, but Juliet sympathized. Her own tastes ran to the small and Spartan. But the safety of small spaces was an illusion. Jails were small but not at all safe, at least for certain people, drug addicts among them.

  “And I don’t know what to do about Blue Period. My father and I didn’t agree about the business at all. He was all about science and profit and mechanization for volume production. He cared nothing for the art and history of the way my mother’s family made wine. He thought mechanization was a sign of progress and cared nothing about bettering the wine itself. Quantity over quality and he put so much energy into it.”

  Juliet wondered how much of this sentiment had come from the Mulligans.

  “I still care but.…” He paused again. “I don’t see a way to go back to what it was. He spent so much money building this … business. Maybe it would be better just to sell it and start over somewhere else. If I can sell.”

  He would never start over. He hadn’t that kind of drive.

  The old building they faced was overshadowed by the newer, more prosperous ones, a rose between two thorns. Juliet did not usually anthropomorphize, but she felt sorry for the older edifice. It was a rose between two sterile thorns and would be left to decay until it was condemned and they knocked it down.

  “You know, an awful lot of life looks overwhelming when you take on the big picture and itemize everything that would need to be done to make it perfect. Breaking things into small steps and refusing to be rushed into decisions can help a lot.”

  The internal, nagging voice was asking Juliet what she was doing. She didn’t have an answer except that she pitied Edward Owens. And she understood what he was feeling about the family business that had its claws in his psyche.

  An obnoxious artist from France who styled himself as the modern da Vinci had once said to Raphael that his methods of recreating old pigments was too slow and old fashioned, that he could easily do the job in half the time. Raphael had been working on a delicate restoration project at an old church and had replied gently that the artist should paint the master in his own style, and leave Raphael to paint da Vinci as da Vinci had intended.

  If Edward was going to run the winery the way his mother’s family had, he would have to make changes and that would mean exerting himself to take charge in a way that she doubted he had ever attempted. Or else he would have to bow to progress and learn to love the large spaces and volume production his father had created. It all came down to whether he could stiffen his spine and find the energy to do what he wanted.

  “I like these older buildings. They feel very Spa
nish in style. Would it be possible to use them still if they were repaired? Perhaps you could start a small line of old-fashioned boutique wines. Is there any reason Blue Period couldn’t cater to more than one market?” Juliet made herself sound optimistic. After all, with money almost anything was possible and he wouldn’t have to start from scratch.

  Edward blinked and turned to stare at the incipient ruins of the old winery. The walls weren’t so bad but the tile roofs were in a sorry state. Still, new roofs were put on houses every day. They could probably even be done before winter.

  “Maybe…. They are Spanish hacienda in style, you know, built before there was air conditioning. The walls are two feet thick and they are cool even in the summer.” Edward became more animated as he forced open the door of the nearest building. It wasn’t locked. The interior was dark and dust floated on the air which billowed out into the sun. “It’s a shame my father let them be abandoned, but maybe, with some repairs….”

  “What is that one?” Juliet asked, indicating the squat building where Moira had been headed. Its roof seemed in better shape than the others.

  “That’s the old bottling facility. They used to cut the cork there as well.” The animation died back slightly. “Blue Period doesn’t use real cork anymore. My father didn’t want to risk bad cork ruining the wine.”

  “Does that happen often?” Juliet asked randomly as they started for the building.

  “Very rarely. But it can be a problem if the cork hasn’t been properly treated. It has to be boiled to kill the bacteria and fungus that can live in the bark.” Edward reached into his pocket and fumbled out a cigarette. His hands had the finest of tremors.

  “But surely it can be done again. The Mulligans would have contacts, wouldn’t they?”

  They reached the largest of the old buildings and Juliet opened the door and checked on the threshold. Everything smelled of wine, old wine, sour wine. And bird droppings. It overpowered even the tobacco that Edward was smoking in deeply drawn breaths that seemed to eat up the cigarette an inch at a time.