Grenache and Graves

by Sandra Woffington

  Rose beamed. “The can tested positive for arsenic. It was wrapped in pages from The Overland Monthly, April 1888.”

  “The timing is right. Mercy died in May,” said Joy.

  Max added, “Otis told the truth. He hadn’t opened the tin.”

  Rose continued, “Mercy’s hair and nails coincide with the levels of poison in the chocolate tin, estimating the amount needed to make a cup of chocolate. Mercy ingested the arsenic over a the course of three months. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

  Joy pondered, “There may have been days where James Jr. didn’t make her chocolate. Or maybe he felt guilty and stopped.”

  “Eventually, however,” said Angelo, “this caused renal failure or liver failure, or both.”

  Max said, “The diary coincides with a three month time frame of when she became sick to when she died.”

  Joy grew tense. Her brows knit in worry. “We know her brother brought her the chocolate at night, but that’s not enough to point a definitive finger. James III could argue someone else made the chocolate. He tried to accuse Phillis before.”

  Max had an idea. “Why don’t we suggest to James III that we know for a fact who did it. He either knows more than he’s letting on or he doesn’t. Jaxon wants answers. He assumes his father has them. But he may not.”

  Max parked in front of the Summerfield estate. He and Joy strolled through the massive adobe archway and across the terra cotta courtyard inlaid with colorful Mexican tiles, a fountain, and a fire pit. They approached oversized wooden doors, set in a smaller adobe archway. Max rang the doorbell, and a chime like that of a bell tower rang out.

  Joy had a manila envelope in hand.

  A maid, clad in white, opened the door. “Please.” She led Max and Joy to the living room, where James Summerfield III faced the picture windows. When he turned, they could see he had a drink in hand. “Can I get you a scotch? Or something else?”

  “No thanks.” Max settled on the sofa, sitting forward on the edge of his seat. Joy did the same, both anxious for the interview.

  James III slowly walked over and sat facing them.

  Joy set the envelope on the slab table. “We have a diary written by Phillis Washington. She drew lovely pictures of Mercy and Little Wolf and others. Would you like to see them? I made copies.”

  James III sipped his drink. “The past is the past. Let it die.”

  Joy pushed, “Even if it’s a picture of your relative—of James Jr.”

  At the sound of the name, James III polished off his drink. He rose to his feet and strolled away from them.

  Joy cocked her head and shot Max a quizzical look of incredulity.

  Max returned the glare. James III needed to suppress something, but the liquor should work in their favor instead.

  James III stood by the bar and poured himself another drink. “James Jr. is long dead. I know, because my father took me to see him when he was on his deathbed, and he left me alone with him while he spoke to the doctors.”

  Max kept his voice low but stern. “Mercy Summerfield’s love for Little Wolf is no longer shameful. It never was.”

  “I know that!” James III returned to the sofa, but he stood behind it, using it like a last barrier of defense.

  Joy pressed him. “The diary describes Mercy’s symptoms. They are acute arsenic poisoning. Headaches, confusion, diarrhea, stomach pain, black urine, fati—”

  “Enough!” shouted James III.

  Max drove another point home. “Otis Washington, a living relative of Hiram and Phillis Washington, kept the tin can of Whitman’s Instantaneous Chocolate. James Jr. made Mercy a drink most nights. According to Phillis, he carried it up to her, and he sat with her, watching her drink it. Phillis even drew a picture of Mercy and James Jr. together with the cup and saucer on Mercy’s bedside table. The can tested positive for arsenic.”

  Joy carried on from there. “James Jr. poisoned his sister.”

  James III winced. He gulped from his glass and clamped his jaw shut.

  Joy kept up the attack. “Segmental analysis showed it lasted for about three months.”

  Max added, “She suffered every day for—”

  “Stop!” shouted James III, putting up a hand to make his point more forceful.

  Max didn’t stop. He raised his voice. “Mr. Summerfield! You said so yourself, James Jr. can’t be punished. But Mercy deserves for the truth to come out.”

  James III’s voice lost all strength. “Who will it help?”

  Max stood up. “Belle Aguilar, Otis Washington, and Jaxon Summerfield. The living need to know their history—the good and the bad of it. The truth of it.”

  James III rubbed a hand over his head as if to calm the storm brewing within him. He stepped over to the sofa and fell into it like a man who could no longer carry a burdensome weight.

  Joy cocked her head. She slowly rose to her feet beside Max. “You knew! He told you—on his deathbed—didn’t he? When your father stepped out and left you alone with him. He confessed.”

  Max gave Joy a quizzical look. He couldn’t tell if she simply goaded, suspected, or bluffed. Her face showed clarity and conviction. On the other hand, James III’s face had a look of defeat.

  James III’s eyes dropped to the glass in his hand. He tossed back the remaining liquid and set the glass down. “The parting gift from my dying great-grandfather to me, a ten-year-old-boy. He never meant to kill Mercy. He thought the arsenic would cause her to lose the baby.”

  Max and Joy sat back down. Neither said a word.

  Max blinked. “That’s not really any better, is it? He conspired to kill Mercy’s child?”

  “No, it isn’t,” said James III. “He didn’t think it through. He didn’t hate Mercy. He hated Little Wolf, a man he viewed as his brother. He felt betrayed. That’s why he stopped them. He couldn’t let Little Wolf take away his honor, his family name, but mostly, he said he could not part with his beautiful sister.”

  Joy sighed. “Kill the baby and James Jr.’s life would return to normal. Or so he thought.”

  James III nodded.

  “Thank you, for the truth.” Max added, “The M.E. will release Mercy for internment. You’ll get a call soon.”

  James III met their gaze. “You have to understand. I thought it was my job to protect the Summerfield name and reputation. That’s how I felt when James Jr. put that yoke around my neck. It took me a long time to realize that what he really wanted was absolution. He told me to ease his own conscience. He couldn’t tell anyone else. He probably thought I’d forget or misunderstand. All he did was pass his guilt to me! Years went by. I thought the secret would die with me. The harm was already done.”

  “Not for some,” said Joy. “Like Belle and Otis and Jaxon, who were left wondering.”

  “And Mercy’s spirit,” said Max. “She lay in her crypt with no one to acknowledge her dead child or the love she had for Little Wolf.”

  The liquor had worked. It began to loosen James III’s lips, and he uttered his own confession. “I’m just sorry it took me so long. I’ve carried the burden for a lifetime. Like most locals, I grew up eating at Belle’s. Every time I saw her or anyone with Native American features, every time I went to the casino, I thought of Little Wolf and Mercy. I didn’t know Belle was related to the baby, or I’d probably have spoken up sooner.”

  Joy used a soothing tone. “And now, the healing can begin. You did the right thing.”

  James III bobbed his head. “Thank you.”

  Max asked, “Did James Jr. ever say what happened to Little Wolf?”

  James III locked eyes on them and didn’t blink. “I asked him that. I wasn’t afraid of him, even though he told me he’d killed his sister. A ten-year-old boy is curious, and the very name Little Wolf stirred my imagination. ‘What happened to Little Wolf?’ I asked. He said he heard rumors of an Indian vaquero in Mexico who spoke to the lobos, the wolves.”

  22

  Max and Joy had no sooner sat down at their d
esks than Steele approached them. “Valerie Valdez wants to see you. She says she has a clue.”

  “Thank you, Officer Steele,” said Joy, keeping her tone professional.

  Steele picked up on it and teased her back. “You’re welcome, Dr. Burton.”

  Max shook his head. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

  Joy smirked. “We know.”

  Valerie had been booked and arraigned. Given the severity of the charges—two murders—and the fact she had openly admitted to coming to Wine Valley to kill Jared Masterson, and given that she had attempted to flee with Gunner’s blood on her clothes and in her car, the judge remanded her for trial.

  Valerie waited for her day in court at the coed detention center in Riverside. With morning traffic, it took Max and Joy nearly an hour to get there.

  Max pushed through the glass doors of the main entrance, appreciating the chilled air that instantly cooled his face. “Let’s hope she’s got a solid lead for us.”

  “Her life might depend on it,” said Joy. “That’s motivation.”

  After they checked in, an officer led them through the surprisingly calm and friendly blue corridors, through communal spaces with fixed-in-place long tables and fixed-in-place seats, and upstairs to a wing of doors that opened to individual cells.

  The guard stopped in front of a cell and opened the door. The cell was bland: cream-colored walls, a cement floor, a stainless steel toilet and sink, and a thin, narrow mattress.

  Valerie lay on the bed, reading a book, and wearing an orange top and loose pants.

  “Valerie,” said Max. “You have a clue?”

  Valerie jumped up from her bed.

  “I thought so,” said Valerie, “but now I’m doubting myself.”

  Joy assured her, “Sometimes the smallest clue makes the biggest difference.”

  “She’s right,” said Max. “It can break a case.”

  Valerie wrung her hands together. “I told you that Gunner had a bad trip. Anyway, I remembered something else.” She paced. “It’s all I do in here. Think. Think. Think. Or read. I used to regret having so little reading time. Now I regret not walking in the park enough or star-gazing.”

  Joy asked, “What did you remember?”

  “I can’t pinpoint why I think this is important, you know. Scenes just keep replaying in my head, especially the Ayahuasca ceremony. Gregor and I sat with Gunner. It was awful. It was like he relived the moment his buddy blew up. Later, as he came down, he grew calm. He opened his eyes and turned his head. He looked at Jared. He reached for him and whispered, ‘I love you.’ Jared turned his head and his lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what he said. It looked like ‘I love you’ back.’ Gregor laughed. He said it was normal for people in a group to bond and express their love. In fact, Gunner grinned and said to Gregor, ‘I love you too,’ and he said it to me. I didn’t think anything of it. But what if Jared and Gunner both committed suicide?”

  “That’s interesting,” said Joy. “They had both suffered a lot from what we’ve learned. But I don’t know how that helps you. What matters is what we can prove.”

  Max added, “Gunner was drugged up with Ayahuasca. They both were.” Max turned to Joy, “Like I loved my pizza the night I ate pot-cookies.” He turned back to Valerie. “And the circle seems like a place where people openly express themselves—to say the least.”

  Valerie’s eyes panned back and forth between Max and Joy. “I told you I was second-guessing. You know, the other thing I can’t get out of my head. Ruby’s trance. She wailed about babies who had never taken a breath.”

  Joy stepped closer. “Ruby probably knew about your sister’s death and her pregnancy. Little did she know there was another dead baby in that cemetery, Mercy Summerfield’s.”

  “And maybe others,” said Max. “Come on. It’s a pretty good bet that when standing in a graveyard, especially one from the 1880s, you can call out several groups of dead people and be right. Babies would be in that group. The mortality rate for children was higher than now.”

  “Someone doesn’t have a mystical bone in his body.” Joy laughed. “But I think my partner makes a good point. There’s usually a reasonable explanation.”

  “Nope, no mystical, magical bones,” said Max. “Just normal bones. And these bones like cold, hard facts.”

  Joy offered a keep-your-chin-up final comment. “Your suicide pact is plausible. We can run it by the M.E.”

  Valerie exhaled a long breath. “I’m sorry if I wasted your time. I’ve got a lot of it on my hands these days.”

  “We said to call if you thought of anything. We meant it,” said Max.

  Joy added, “Hang in there. We’re doing our best to find answers.”

  Max drove out of the parking lot and headed to the freeway entrance that would take them south. “Let’s play out the suicide idea.”

  “It’s worth examining. Jared suffered extreme remorse for Haley’s suicide. She not only killed herself, she killed their unborn child.”

  Max added, “A son, according to the autopsy report. Man, that’s rotten. I know it felt like her world had fallen apart, but she set it up so Jared pulled the trigger.”

  “Gunner saw his best friend Brandon explode before his eyes. And he survived—survivor’s guilt maybe.”

  “We also know that Jared sat with Gunner during his first Ayahuasca experience. They bonded over it. They became tight friends.”

  “Gregor helped Gunner get off of oxy, but the fact that Gunner wandered the streets after seeing Jared dead makes him seem pretty messed up still. Maybe they were both supposed to commit suicide, and Gunner chickened out—until later.”

  Max argued, “I disagree. Gunner faced battle. He engaged in combat. If anyone was weak, it was Jared, Haley’s handsome assistant. According to Val, when she confronted Jared, he pleaded for her to kill him. Maybe that was Jared’s plan all along, to talk Gunner into killing him, because he couldn’t do it himself. Maybe Gunner killed Jared and then killed himself.”

  “Or Jared did commit suicide—with Gunner’s encouragement. One shove of the blade into his heart, and his pain ended. Jared was upset after Val’s attempt to kill him, which was the morning before he died. Maybe that tipped him over the edge.”

  “What if Jared and Gunner planned the final Ayahuasca ceremony as a cleansing ritual? That explains their mutual expression of love. It was a goodbye ceremony.”

  Joy added, “Val’s pointing a gun at Jared and dredging up her sister’s suicide all over again could have been the catalyst he needed. Gunner asked Jared to come over that morning. Jared could have taken pills from Gunner’s medicine cabinet. Dual suicides make sense.”

  “Angelo said a person usually cuts downward, but we’re talking about a military-trained combat soldier. If Gunner cut someone else’s neck, he’d probably do it with force and pull upward, not downward like a civilian.”

  Joy thought about it. “The only discrepancy is the knife wound. And it’s explainable.”

  Max glanced at the hills. They stood sure and grand, unlike their case. “The problem is, if that’s how this happened, how do we prove it?”

  “Sadly, Angelo didn’t find any prints on the pill containers except for Gunner’s.”

  “Even if we had found other prints, Chief Goldsby and the D.A. are not going to let Valerie go on a ‘what if.’”

  “You’re right, Max. Valerie pointed a gun at Jared. She placed her hands on Gunner’s bloody throat. Every shred of evidence points to her. What’s our next step?”

  “Sleep on it. First thing in the morning, let’s examine every suspect, every lab report, every connection. It’s there. We’re just not seeing it.”

  Joy’s voice had an edge of doubt. “If we can’t, Valerie will spend her life in jail for two murders she didn’t commit. The irony is that she hated Jared. She wanted him dead. But if she didn’t kill him or Gunner, she’ll sit behind bars for at least one crime she plotted but never committed.”

  “That takes
the cake on being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  23

  As Max and Joy sipped coffee, they reviewed the case with a critical eye—was Jared’s death murder, suicide, or an accident? Was Gunner’s death murder or suicide?

  Max swiveled back and forth in his chair. It served as a metronome ticking from one thought to the next. “Let’s start with Valerie, since she’s in jail. She came here for the express purpose of killing Jared—for revenge. And she fled the scene of Gunner’s murder covered in his blood.”

  “But I believe her. Either Gunner killed himself or Valerie narrowly escaped running into Gunner’s murderer. Val knocked on the door, giving that person full warning. All the killer had to do was stand against the wall next to the door, unlock the knob, wait for Val to open it, and stay hidden behind the door until it was safe to duck out.”

  Max swiveled left as he shot out another idea. “Gregor called the police, but Crystal liked Jared and Gunner. She stalked two boys in Ojai and L.A., and she put binding spells on both men. She had a motive to kill Jared for jilting her, even if she says he did it nicely. Gunner also rebuffed her. She’s got no alibi for the time of Gunner’s murder. She was running errands. And, frankly, from a man’s perspective, she scares the crap out of me.” Max swiveled right and sipped his coffee.

  Joy laughed. “I can’t argue with you, Max. She’s got anger issues, mother issues, and abandonment issues. Those don’t devolve and disappear so easily. She could have killed Jared in the circle, and later slipped out of Gunner’s apartment after having killed him. We know she escalated. What about Gregor? He wanted to be high priest. He had a history with Alizon. He loved her so much, he followed her to California, and he stayed in her circle to be close to her. He’s obsessed.”

  “And he was jilted again for high priest, because Ruby met Jared, and as her consort, Jared took that role instead.”

  Joy sipped her coffee. “He might have been pushed past his limit. Take Jared out, and he becomes high priest. But what’s his beef with Gunner? Did Gunner see something—did he confront Gregor about having seen him or Crystal kill Jared?”