by A. J. Carton
“Here,” he said. “Take this. You admired it last time you were here. Take it as a token of trust. It belonged to my father, the…”
Before he could finish, Cheng Bo flinched. “What the…what’s that doing here?” he cried.
“Nothing,” Curt laughed, handing him the knife. “You admired it. Last time you were here. Take it.”
Cheng Bo grasped the knife. Then he let it fall back onto the desk. “What’s going on?” he said standing up abruptly as though to leave.
“Not so fast,” Piers said.
But Cheng Bo had picked up the knife again and was brandishing it at Emma’s son-in-law. “You can’t prove a thing,” Cheng Bo cried starting to back out of the room towards the door.
Old Curt Randall was fast. He was out of his chair and around the desk before Cheng Bo saw him coming. He knocked the knife out of Cheng Bo’s hand with a Karate chop. It flew across the floor.
Wow, Emma thought. We were wrong. Curt wasn’t too sick to have murdered Santiago Gomez after all!
Then two police officers rushed into the room, followed by Chief Tompkins.
“You’re under arrest,” one of the officers said to Cheng Bo. The other placed the man’s wrists in handcuffs.
Cheng Bo’s wrist must still have been smarting from Curt’s blow. Emma noticed him wince.
“You have no right,” he screamed. “Call my lawyer. It was self-defense. The old man tried to kill me.” He pointed to the elk horn knife lying on the floor. “With the same knife he used to kill Santiago Gomez.”
The Chief cocked his head at Cheng Bo. “Now how would you know that?” he said.
Then the Chief looked back at Piers and smiled. He nodded at Curt.
“Looks like we finally got our man.”
“I have a plane to catch. Let me go,” Cheng Bo yelled at the Chief. “I didn’t murder the Mexican, Randall did.”
“We’re not arresting you for murder, yet, Mr. Bo,” the Chief replied.
“Cheng,” the man muttered sullenly.
“You’re under arrest for malicious destruction of property. We have a sworn statement from a Louis Cardenas that you offered him money to poison Mr. Randall’s water. I’m also arresting you for threatening Mr. Larkin here with bodily harm.”
“Call my lawyer,” Mr. Cheng repeated through clenched teeth.
“Right away,” the Chief laughed. “You’re going to need one after we’ve matched your finger prints,” he pointed to the elk horn handled knife lying on the floor, “with the ones on the knife used to murder Santiago Gomez.”
With that the two officers led Mr. Cheng away.
A few minutes later, Piers dropped Emma at home. Julie was waiting for them. They all sat down in the kitchen for a cup of tea. Julie made it. Emma’s hands were still shaking.
“My son-in-law was a hero today,” Emma told Julie. Then she turned and shook her finger at Piers. “But really, my dear, didn’t you take it a step too far? When Cheng waved that knife at you, I thought he was going to kill you.”
“For a minute, I did too,” Piers laughed. “Till old Curt landed that Karate chop. So much for our murder defense. Good thing Curt never went on trial!”
Julie patted her stomach. “Baby and I are glad we missed all that,” she sighed.
Piers had stood up to put his arm around his wife. “The real hero today was your mother,” he said.
“He’s being silly,” Emma interrupted. “I didn’t do a thing.”
“You caught the killer,” Piers replied. “If you hadn’t uncovered that soap opera starring Maria Hidalgo – I should say Professor Hidalgo-Muller – and Cory Randall, Cheng Bo would be on his way to China right now. And Curt would still be facing a murder charge.”
“How so?” Julie asked, shaking her head.
“It was seeing that knife on Maria Hidalgo’s desk that revived Curt’s memory,” Piers explained. “That placed the murder weapon on his desk when Cheng Bo visited him two days before Gomez died. Without that, we wouldn’t have put the pieces together that linked the poisoned tanks to Gomez’s murderer.”
“We knew someone had paid off Louis Cardenas,” Emma added. “When Cardenas told us that person was Cheng, and that Cheng knew Gomez threatened to tell Curt Randall about their plot to poison his water tank,” Emma shrugged, “well, that’s when we knew Cheng was the murderer. He had to stop Gomez from exposing them.”
“So he stole Curt’s knife to frame Curt for the murder,” Piers finished the story. “We couldn’t have connected the dots without help from Hidalgo-Muller.”
Julie gave her mother a big hug. “You must be exhausted, Mom.”
Emma had to agree. She was exhausted. She’d crisscrossed the state. She’d also learned a lot. Mostly about love. She’d learned there’s plenty to go around.
“Let’s have lunch tomorrow, sweetie,” she said to her daughter. “Let’s celebrate that new little baby!”
Emma had a few more things to do before she could relax. She’d mulled them over lying in bed the night before.
As soon as Julie and Piers left, she went to her computer.
“Dan,” she wrote. “Sorry I’ve been off the grid. Can you meet me Friday for lunch? In San Francisco? I’ll reserve a booth at Sam’s on Bush Street.”
It never even crossed Emma’s mind that Dan might not show up.
After she’d hit the send button, she picked up the phone.
“Hi. It’s me,” she said.
“Emma?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “And before you hang up – which I thoroughly deserve – I want to apologize for Saturday night. I broke the Cowboy Code. I didn’t keep my word. I lied. And I was…Oh forget it,” she laughed. “Jack, I owe you one fabulous dinner. Can I come over this Saturday night for a rematch. Same guests. New menu.”
Emma could almost hear Jack smile over the phone as he spoke. “Without Andy this time?”
“Cowgirl promise.”
Before he could say more, she hung up the phone.
Chapter 27: Wednesday – Back at the Ranch
Emma spent Wednesday trying to focus on Saturday night’s dinner. For appetizers she’d already picked carciofi alla giudia, crisp fried whole artichokes – the baby ones from Castroville stripped of all their tough outer leaves. That, along with ripe Humbolt Fog cheese and bagna caoda anchovy-flavored dip with cooked vegetables would keep everyone busy while Emma finished cooking the meal. The meal, itself, consisted of Trapanese pesto with homemade tagliatelle followed by sautéed spinach and pan roasted shoulder of veal. Of course, she’d make Jack’s favorite Bavarian cream for dessert.
Early that morning, Emma had called Cara, Julie and the Monroes to invite them to the party. Cara extended to Emma a grudging congratulations on cracking the Gomez murder. Apparently, she still hadn’t forgiven Emma for embarrassing her father Saturday night by bringing her ex-husband to dinner. Jack, however, had already alerted Cara to the new invitation.
“Dad says he’s sure your ex isn’t coming this time. I hope that’s right. It was awkward and, I’m afraid, embarrassing for my dad – regardless of whatever relationship you two may or may not have.” There was silence on the other end of the line while Cara waited for Emma to reply.
“I’m aware of that,” was all she finally said.
Julie’s response when Emma reached her daughter a few hours later was more promising.
“I know, Mom. I know. Mike called Piers. They’re playing tennis in Calistoga Saturday afternoon. Piers will drop Harry off at Cara and Mike’s with their au pair. We’ll drive back there after dinner, spend the night in the guesthouse, and stay over Sunday to hang by the pool.
The Monroes, on the other hand, were thrilled when Emma called.
“Emma,” Jane replied after receiving the invitation, “to think we get to hear first hand how you and Piers brought down that killer! I’m so excited I could wet my pants!”
Organizing her shopping list, however, was harder than Emma expected. N
ews of Cheng Bo’s arrest had hit the airwaves late the night before. Emma’s phone rang off the hook with friends calling to congratulate her on her latest crime bust, curiosity seekers at the door and journalists from all over the state calling for interviews.
Steve even stopped by in person to thank her, awkwardly, for finding the killer.
He’d dropped onto one of her wooden kitchen stools to watch her chop almonds for the Trapanese. “Can you imagine the wreck I’d be if I’d sent the wrong man to jail? That along with Santiago’s murder could’ve ended my career.”
“Stop it!” Emma patted his shoulder. “Santiago should have gone to the police right away when he discovered what HoCo was doing. Instead, he tried to blackmail people. Stir up trouble. That’s why he was murdered. You had nothing to do with it. As for Curt, plenty of people blamed him for the murder. Including the police.”
“But I was wrong,” Steve answered. “I couldn’t stay objective. Keep an open mind. It was too easy to blame the murder on the oppressor.”
“Forget about it,” Emma dismissed him. “The question is, what’re you going to do now?”
Steve sighed. “Rethink my life,” he answered glumly. “Of course we’ll sue HoCo and Cheng Bo for Gomez’s wrongful death. That should be a slam-dunk. HoCo has assets in Southern California that we can tap for a judgment in favor of Yolanda and the kids. As for the class action?”
Emma held her breath.
Steve paused and thought for a moment before he continued. “With all the recent publicity painting Curt Randall as the innocent victim of a Chinese plot to frame him for a murder he didn’t commit, it will be hard to win a class action against him just now. But I’m not giving up.” He shook his head in disgust. Then his eyes followed Emma’s hands as she finished mixing together chopped almonds, basil, garlic, pecorino and tomatoes for the Trapanese. “By the way, can I try this?” he added. “It’s Trapanese pesto, right?”
Emma handed him a piece of sour dough that he dipped into the sauce.
“Delicious!” he exclaimed. Then he continued. “As I was saying, here we sit in California’s breadbasket, stuffing ourselves on some of the best food this country has to offer, and we still can’t pay a living wage to the people we count on to…”
“By the way, how did the wine tasting with your wife go?” Emma cut in, hoping to change the subject before Steve completely poisoned her Trapanese sauce with his guilt.
This time, Steve didn’t push the question away. “Very well,” he nodded biting on his lower lip.
“Which winery did you go to? Was the wine good?”
Steve smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Jordan. The wine was great. The postprandial nap even better. I think we’re back on track.”
Emma gave him a thumbs up. Then she shook her forefinger at her boss. “Remember, Steve, one nap doth not a happy marriage make.”
Steve ignored her warning. “The clincher, though, was the poem I wrote. A strategic breakthrough, if I do say so myself. Apparently Professor Gluestick – he’s the kindergarten art teacher – had made her a macaroni collage for her birthday. She liked my poem cum pearl earrings better.”
“Nice move,” Emma laughed.
“Whatever it takes,” Steve sighed. “Thanks for the advice.”
He got up to leave, but as he headed out of the kitchen towards Emma’s front door, he turned back as though remembering something.
“I’m not giving up, you know,” he said. “I’m glad we found Santiago’s killer, but I’m not giving up on justice for seasonal workers just because I was wrong about Curt. I’m telling Piers that at the meeting tomorrow. I just want you to know. In advance. I’m not backing down.”
“Meeting?” Emma asked. “What meeting?”
Steve glanced at her quizzically. “The meeting at the plum ranch tomorrow afternoon. I saw your name on the email, so I figured you’d know all about it. You’re invited, along with that Hidalgo woman and somebody named Paz. I’m sure Piers and Curt are just trying to butter me up to drop the class action.”
As Steve spoke, Emma grabbed her cell phone and checked her mail. She’d been answering calls all morning, but she hadn’t checked her email in a couple of hours. She clicked on a message from Piers and, sure enough, there it was. An invitation.
“Maria, Paz, Xavier, Steve, Emma” it began. “Curt has asked me to contact you to invite you to a meeting tomorrow, Thursday, at the Randall Ranch at 10:00 a.m.
“As I mentioned on the phone, it is vitally important that Maria, Xavier and Paz attend. Curt will send his driver for you at 7:00 a.m. to take you to the Ontario Airport where he will fly you here to Sonoma. Steve, it is equally important that you attend. Curt has business he wants to discuss that will be of interest to you. Please email me that each of you will be there. Sincerely, Piers.”
“What do you suppose this is about?” Emma asked as Steve turned to leave.
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. Piers wouldn’t say when I called him this morning. Just something about an announcement the old man wants to make. I figure he’ll try to twist my arm to drop the lawsuit. Same old sob story about all the trouble he’s seen. Trouble he’s brought on himself, I might add.” Steve glanced at Emma, “Whatever it is, I figured you would know.”
Emma shook her head. Then she clicked the “attend” button attached to the email.
Chapter 28: Thursday Morning – A Cooperative Effort
Thursday morning Emma made her way east off of Highway 101 to Curt Randall’s plum ranch. The 1870’s Victorian farmhouse where Curt now lived alone with his housekeeper was sited at the end of a long dirt drive a mile from the main road. Emma noted that the once impressive yellow wood frame house with its white gingerbread trim looked particularly forlorn that day. Like a once festive party dress yellowed with age and careless wear. The paint was peeling. The front porch sagged. A few gangly rosebushes along the front yard fence bore no buds. The hydrangeas were colorless and dry.
Further up the drive, next to a pick up truck parked in front of the old two-story detached garage, Emma recognized Piers’ Porsche side by side with Steve’s old Subaru. She noted this with dismay. That comparison alone would put Steve in a bad mood.
Emma parked her Prius next to the Subaru. Then slamming her car door, she saw a limo kicking up dust as it careened up the drive. Maria coming from the airport, she thought to herself. How on earth did Piers convince her to attend the mysterious meeting?
As Emma stood on the porch waiting for someone to answer the door, Maria Hidalgo-Muller climbed the front stairs accompanied by her daughter. She greeted Emma with the same chilly suspicion Emma had noted when they first met.
“Paz,” Maria introduced her daughter, “this is Ms. Corsi. The woman who stirred up all this….” The next word seemed to fail her.
Paz smiled back tentatively, apparently embarrassed by her mother’s tone. She was a blond, willowy, fair-faced woman who bore little resemblance to her mother.
“The woman who located you on the Internet,” Paz finished her mother’s thought with the nonchalance of a thirty-something for whom finding someone on the Internet was no big deal.
“And just in case you’re wondering why I came, Ms. Corsi,” Maria addressed Emma now, answering the question Emma had not asked, “Your son…” She squinted her eyes, “I’m right, aren’t I, the lawyer is your son?”
“Son-in-law,” Emma corrected her, feeling as though Professor Hidalgo-Muller had somehow accused her of giving birth to a weasel.
“Your son-in-law the lawyer,” Maria continued, “told me the meeting was about Cory. I felt I had to come. Paz kindly agreed to accompany me.” She glanced at her daughter who nodded. “To close that chapter, so to speak. Certainly not to start a new one,” she added. “Paz agrees it is important that I do that. My son refused. Though why Curt Randall wants to involve us in whatever this is, I do not know. We want nothing more to do with him.”
Professor Hidalgo-Muller added the last statement with
a kind of angry resignation. Emma didn’t need to respond, however. At that moment Piers opened the door.
“Ah, you’re all together,” he greeted them. “Curt and Steve are in the study. Come right in.” Turning to Maria he added, “We can get started immediately and not take up more of your time, Professor.”
Piers escorted them down a wide hall that ran the full length of the house. It functioned almost as a room, the front furnished with hooks and an umbrella stand, the back with a desk and some chairs. A tattered blue Hamadan runner occupied most of the floor.
Rooms opened along each side of the hall. Peeking through the open doors, Emma noted a dining room with a huge oak table, and a formal Victorian living room complete with tufted red velvet upholstered sofa and chairs. A kitchen with a huge Wedgewood stove could be seen through an open door at the far end of the hall.
Piers, however, ushered them through two open French doors into the same study where Cheng Bo’s arrest had occurred. As on that day, Curt sat behind his grandfather’s massive oak desk. Steve sat in a Windsor chair facing it. Four additional chairs had been pulled up on either side. Piers motioned the three new arrivals to sit down before taking the seat nearest to Curt.
After all the excitement a few days before, Emma couldn’t help wondering what new surprise the old man had in store. Everything about the room looked the same except, she noted, an 8 x 10 inch inlaid wooden box sitting in front of Curt on top of the desk. That, Emma knew, had not been there the day Cheng Bo was arrested. Cory’s knife lay next to it.
First Curt offered everyone tea or coffee from a silver service set up on a table in the corner of the room. There were pastries, too, Emma noted, from the Plaza Café. Everyone declined.
Then Curt leaned back in his chair. It was obvious from the start that he, not Piers, was running this meeting. Staring directly at Maria, he spoke.
“A lot has happened over the past few days since we last met,” he began. “And I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’m an old man. I know I can’t change the past…”