Freddy snorted. “You don’t have to say things to get your point across. You’re always giving dirty looks and acting all stuck-up like you’re so much better than everybody else.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s totally true. Teddy even tries to be nice and include you in stuff with the other shooters, but you always roll your eyes and hurt his feelings.”
I started to repeat my denial, but stopped. Sometimes Teddy did invite me to things. Usually in the form of an idiotic monologue about all-you-can-eat crab legs or the monthly pie special at Marie Callender’s, but he did it. Had he been making an effort to include me? Had I really hurt his feelings?
“David may be a jerk-off,” Freddy yelled, “but at least he’s not mean.”
“This kind of yellin’ is not goin’ to help either of you.” Bud reached for the door and closed himself in with Freddy.
The room was quiet for the first time since I’d entered the apartment. I’d thought it would feel good to confront Freddy. Maybe I should have stayed in the car.
I looked at Rod sitting on the couch and smothered the urge to ask him if I was mean. “Sorry I was yelling at you.”
He smiled. Not a big, fake anchor smile. Not a grin. It was simple and warm. “Apology accepted. And for the record, you’re not mean.”
I felt my insides melt. An image of the dewy-faced writer who mooned at Rod popped into my head.
Rod ran a hand along the lime green sofa, then looked at his palm. “Why is the couch sticky?”
“I can think of a lot of reasons. And you don’t want to know any of them.”
Rod looked at me, then at his hand. He jerked himself off the couch. “I wish we’d gone to L.A.”
“Or at least that I’d stayed in the car?”
He laughed and wiped his palm on his pants. “Or at least that.”
“Sorry.”
Rod put his hand against the wall and leaned on it. “It’s okay. You’ve had a difficult day.” He straightened and looked at his palm. “Why is the wall sticky?”
“I think, once again, that falls into the category of things you don’t want to know.”
We both laughed as Rod once again wiped his hand on his pants. Suddenly his laughter stopped. He reached down and picked up something from the floor, then glanced at the bathroom door. “We have to get Freddy out of the bathroom, right away.”
“How right away?”
“By any means necessary. Whatever it takes.”
“I like the sound of that.” I took quick strides and threw open the bathroom door.
“Stay away from me,” Freddy cried.
Bud rose from where he’d been sitting on the side of the bathtub. “Hold on there, Little Sister.”
I grabbed both of Freddy’s legs and dragged him out into the center of the living room.
“Not so fast.” Bud put both arms around my waist and actually lifted me off the ground.
“It’s okay.” Rod rushed to shut the bathroom door, then stood in front of it. “Bud, put Lilly down. She’s not going to hurt him.”
Bud set me down and Freddy stood up.
“Freddy, you’re in danger.” Rod looked down at something in his hand and shook his head. “I promise that within the next minute you’ll feel real terror.”
Freddy started for the hallway. “Dude, I’m calling the cops.”
Rod held up the small bottle of hair bleach Freddy had dropped earlier. “Is this what’s in your hair?”
Freddy stopped. He reached up and touched one of the wet strands. “Dude?”
“Because it left a very ugly stain on your carpet.” Rod gestured to an orange scar on the floor. “It must have nasty side effects.” He looked at his watch. “How long have we been here? Five minutes? Ten minutes?”
Someone cried out.
Bud looked around the room. “Who the hell is that?”
“It’s Teddy.” I tried not to giggle. “He’s behind the couch.”
Bud stared at me the way my mother used to stare at him when he came shirtless to Sunday dinner. “Why didn’t you say there was another fella behind the couch?”
“I forgot.”
Rod smiled. “Hi, Teddy.”
“Hi, Rod.” Teddy rose from behind the sofa. He pulled off the shower cap and a mass of wet curls fell around his bare shoulders. “I’m totally sorry, Lilly. I swear I didn’t help Freddy do anything bad.” He looked at Rod. “I totally don’t want my hair to fall out.”
Rod nodded. “Do you know where the tape is?”
“Don’t tell them,” Freddy shouted. “It’s our only leverage.”
“We watched it, but nothing special happens.” Teddy paused to take a nervous breath. “Freddy hid it with his stash. That’s why he won’t tell you where it is.”
“Dude,” Freddy exclaimed.
“Can I rinse my hair out now,” Teddy begged, “please?”
“Of course.” Rod opened the door to the bathroom and stepped aside. Teddy ran in and Rod shut the door behind him.
Rod looked at Freddy. “Where is your stash?”
Freddy didn’t answer.
“Fine.” Rod leaned against the door. “We’ll all stand here and watch as your hair turns orange and falls out.”
Freddy jumped from one leg to the other. “Dude. This is, like, against the Geneva Convention or something.”
Rod glanced up. The tension in his face contradicted the casual stance of his body. “Where is your stash?”
Freddy made a squealing noise and pointed to the sofa. “Inside the first cushion.”
Rod opened the bathroom door. Freddy ran in and pushed Teddy out from under the bathtub faucet.
THIRTEEN
I leaned into Rod and tried to view the small screen. “Are you done yet?”
“No. Almost, I think.” He remained focused on my camera’s viewfinder where the video from the orchard played. “You’re interviewing the homicide detective.”
“That’s toward the end.” I retreated to my half of the backseat.
We were parked outside a bar near the Dewey Ridge Winery waiting for Bud. In the hour since we’d left Teddy and Freddy’s apartment I’d watched the tape twice, but wasn’t any closer to understanding its importance.
After another minute Rod pushed stop and removed the earpiece. “There’s nothing the least bit suspicious on this tape.”
“We’re missing something.” I took my camera back and pushed rewind. “The viewfinder is so small. If we watched on a big screen, maybe we’d see something new.”
“Maybe.” Rod sounded skeptical. “It does make it hard to go to the police if we don’t know what the tape proves.”
I put the earpiece in. “I’m glad we got it back, but I’m still going ahead with my plan to record Sinclair. I need proof I can count on.”
“If you can’t find him, you can’t record him.”
“Hopefully Bud will learn something useful in the bar.” I looked across the dark parking lot. “If he hasn’t gotten drunk and forgotten about us.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t do that.”
I laughed. “You don’t know Bud.”
“I know he loves you.”
“That’s very sweet and very sentimental, but completely beside the point. Bud is who he is and that’s not changing.”
Rod looked straight at me. “People change all the time.”
I laughed again. Not to be mean or to try to make a point, but because it’s my natural reaction to funny things.
“I know that sounds corny,” he continued, “but people aren’t just one thing. You never know what they’re going to do. Bud might—”
The music from inside the bar got louder, and we both turned to look at the front door. Six men, one of them Bud, poured into the dirt parking lot accompanied by rowdy laughter.
“Let me find my smokes and I’ll be ready to go.” Bud crossed the parking lot and opened the car door. “How you two doin’?” he asked quietly.
“We
can’t find anything suspicious or incriminating on the tape. It’s just a bunch of police officers and techs doing their jobs.” I paused while Bud lit a cigarette. “Have you been able to learn anything about Sinclair?”
He nodded. “Me and some of the fellas are goin’ to check out the winery. See if we can come up with a phone number or address or somethin’.”
Rod looked impressed. “How’d you pull that off?”
“I said he fired me from my maintenance job at the ballpark and I’m lookin’ for a way to get some of my own back.” Bud took a quick drag on his cigarette. “Some of the fellas work at the winery, and Sinclair’s about as popular as a lard bucket full o’armpits. They all hate him.”
That part of Bud’s story I believed, but it was just about the only part. “I don’t like you going off by yourself. And what does ‘checking out the winery’ mean, anyway?”
“Wait a minute or two until we’re gone and then drive back towards Arvin.” Bud crushed the remainder of his cigarette into the dirt. “There’s a coffee-shop-type joint called the Top Hat Café. They got a bar attached. You two wait in there and I’ll come find you. Try to blend in.” Before I could stop him, he slammed the door. “I’m good to go, boys.”
Bud jumped into an old Dodge Ram with a camper shell, which immediately peeled out of the lot followed by an SUV.
“How long do you think we should wait?” Rod asked.
“This is good.” I set my camera on the floor and jumped into the front.
“What are you doing?”
I started the engine and put on my seat belt. “I’m following him.”
“What?” Rod threw a leg over and tried to join me. “But he said to wait at the restaurant.”
“I told you, Bud isn’t going to change.” I jerked my head to avoid getting hit by Rod’s expensive leather shoe as he pulled his other leg over. “He’s up to something and we’re following him.” I drove out of the dirt parking lot. On the dark road ahead two sets of red taillights sped away.
“Wait a minute,” Rod said. “We shouldn’t panic.”
“That’s the important thing.” I gave the Fury some gas and followed.
Rod nodded. “It is and I think we’re …are you laughing?”
“Of course not.” Good thing there wasn’t enough light for Rod to see my face. “I promise, at the first sign of trouble we’ll go find the restaurant and wait.”
“At the first sign of trouble it’ll be too late,” he said, but fastened his seat belt.
We followed the red dots. I guessed in the darkness surrounding the road were grape fields, but couldn’t see anything outside my headlights. Suddenly the red dots vanished. I sped up and stopped at a wide road cutting through thick trees. “They must have turned here.” I followed.
“What’s that?” Rod pointed to a lit section of road ahead. The SUV from the bar blocked a large metal gate. I slowed as we passed. Several security guards argued with the men in the SUV while a truck with the Dewey Ridge logo waited to exit.
“That’s the winery,” Rod said. “But why are they blocking the gate?”
I feared the SUV and the men inside were there to cause a diversion, but didn’t tell Rod. “I don’t know, but the pickup Bud took wasn’t with them.”
We followed the road as it curved, then I brought the car to an abrupt stop. A metal chain with a large, shiny PRIVATE PROPERTY sign lay on the ground at the entrance to a small dirt road.
“Looks like someone cut the chain,” I said. “Three guesses who would do something like that.”
I ignored Rod’s protests and followed the dirt road. The trees were thick, and unusual for this area. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to plant and maintain them. I remembered what Mrs. Boyle had said about Dewey Ridge not wanting anyone to know the wine was made in Kern County and guessed the trees were there for privacy.
The parked pickup truck appeared on the road ahead and I hit the brakes. I cut the engine, but left my headlights on. We got out. The dirt road ended nearby at a tall chain-link fence with vines blocking our view inside. The pickup was unlocked, but the interior held no clues as to where the occupants had gone.
Rod walked to the rear to investigate the camper shell. I was freezing in my thin T-shirt, so instead of joining him I started back to the Fury to get my jacket. That’s when I saw a break in the ivy. I crouched down and looked closer. Someone had cut an opening in the fence large enough for a man to pass.
“This is weird,” Rod said, looking in the truck’s flatbed.
“Is there a bolt cutter in there?”
“As a matter of fact there is, but it’s the wine that’s odd.”
“What?” I stood back up. “How much wine?”
“Two cases of Dewey Ridge chardonnay.”
I quickly walked to the rear of the truck. Along with some random tools and the bolt cutter, the cases were haphazardly laying in the flatbed. “I’m going to kill Bud.”
“Why? What’s—”
I shushed him and pointed to the hole in the fence. A case of Dewey Ridge wine slid through the opening. The hands pushing the box turned into arms and finally a man. He stumbled as he stood and wiped his hands on already filthy jeans. The stranger appeared old enough to be my father, but that could have been the result of a hard life or hard drinking. I guessed the latter since even now he looked buzzed. His eyes fell on us and he did a double take.
“Where’s Bud? I’m his niece.”
The stranger hooked his thumb backward toward the fence.
“Are you stealing wine?” I asked.
“Hey.” His outrage was magnified by whatever he’d been drinking. “It’s all sitting in that SOB’s office. Mr. Fancy Pants’ private stash waiting for him to come back and get it. Weeks since he left. And it’s just sitting there.”
In my excitement I forgot that I disapproved of trespassing and robbery. “Is Bud in Tom Sinclair’s office?”
His head bobbed in an exaggerated nod. “The SOB’s gone, but his wine is just sitting—”
“I understand. Can you take me there?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Rod exclaimed. “Hold on.”
“Can you take me there?” I said again, and the man nodded. I ran to the Fury and put on my jacket.
“I said hold on.” Rod followed. “This is a bad idea.”
“Who knows what I’ll be able to find in Sinclair’s office.” I pressed eject on my camera and returned the tape to its protective case. “And Val Boyle worked there too.”
“You said Sinclair transferred to the Drillers weeks ago. There’s probably nothing left to find.” Rod watched as I slipped the tape in my pocket. “And taking our only evidence with you is an even worse idea.”
“No offense, but I’m not letting this tape out of my sight.”
Rod’s voice rose. “You promised that at the first sign of trouble we’d go wait for Bud at the restaurant.”
“There hasn’t been any trouble yet.”
Rod giggled, the high-pitched laugh I hated, but this time I heard it differently. What I’d always interpreted as mocking now sounded panicked. I stopped and looked at Rod, really looked at him. I didn’t see a shallow Ken doll. I saw the man who’d come to the corn maze to warn me, I saw the man who’d told me I wasn’t mean, and I saw a man who was now frightened.
“You’re charging in without thinking this through.” His face was pinched and worried. “Just like at Teddy and Freddy’s apartment.”
I had a moment of clarity and knew he was probably right. But knowing your instincts are dubious and being able to ignore your instincts are two totally different things. “I’m sorry. I have to go in there, but you don’t. It’s not fair to drag you down into my mess.” I’d said similar things in my attempts to get rid of Rod, but now I really meant it. “Walk back to the main road. You’ll find a pay phone eventually. Call your family or lawyer or whomever and have them come get you. You’ve helped me more than anybody else today. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.
”
“Please reconsider,” he begged. “Think of the consequences if you get caught.”
I started walking toward the opening in the fence where Bud’s friend waited. “Don’t worry. If I get caught, I’ll say a lot of BS and try to smile a lot. You know, talk my way out of it or something.”
Rod grabbed my arm. “Lilly, you couldn’t talk your way out of a paper bag.”
“Maybe I’ll rise to the occasion.” I tried to gently pull free. “What happened to people can change and you never know what they’re going to do?”
He held on to me. “But I don’t want that to change. That’s why I like you.”
Our eyes met. I couldn’t remember feeling that uncomfortable in a long time and had to look away. The minute I broke eye contact he let go of my arm.
I couldn’t get to the fence fast enough. “I mean it. I want you to leave and be safe, okay?” I didn’t give Rod a chance to answer. I pushed Bud’s new friend through the opening ahead of me and followed.
I’ve never been to Napa or the wineries on the coast, but I have seen pictures. They’re usually gold-tinted with lots of rustic oak barrels and sun-dappled grape leaves. Dewey Ridge looked more like a high-tech industrial compound. Powerful lights illuminated the main building’s cavernous interior. Through open hangar doors I saw giant metal tanks in rows connected by scaffolding. Closer to the ground, a maze of pipes and hoses connected everything.
Attached to the side of the main building, a long row of glass-walled offices topped with a series of dark gray triangle roofs stretched out like an arm. My guide led me around to the far end of this second building where a door was propped opened.
“Wait,” I said, and jumped back. “There’s a camera over the door.”
He didn’t look concerned. “They’re wiring up the whole place ’cause of those robberies.” He paused and swayed slightly before regaining his balance. “But don’t worry. None of it works yet.”
I followed him inside, but then stopped. “You had robberies here?”
He waved his hand. “Nah.”
Rod said there hadn’t been any thefts, but he or Callum might have made a mistake. “This is really important. Did someone steal a lot of wine from Dewey Ridge? Maybe even several truckloads?”
A Bad Day’s Work Page 15