A Saucy Murder: A Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mystery

by A. J. Carton

  Julie shook her head. “Personally, Mom, I still think the police already have the killers. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll see what else Oleg at the Honorage can tell me about Lexie. He’ll love hearing a firsthand account of her performance last night. He’s never been her biggest fan. Maybe he’ll be interested in an info exchange. I got the feeling he hasn’t told me everything about Lexie yet.”

  “Great!” Emma replied. Then she filled her daughter in on the new information about Sergio.

  Julie didn’t buy it. “Nah. The Mafia theory’s just too far-fetched. As for Sergio, I know him. He’s a lady’s man, not a lady killer. He wouldn’t do it.”

  “In a fit of rage. He is Italian after all.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Mom! Where does that come from? The movies? He’s a gentle guy. Besides, Natasha wasn’t murdered in a fit of rage. If it was poison, it had to be premeditated.” Something seemed to pop into Julie’s mind. “By the way, how on earth did you wangle an invitation to the party last night?”

  Emma waved her hand dismissively. “It was Jack. Jack managed it. Jack knows everybody.”

  Julie cocked her head to one side and studied her mother. “Speaking of Jack.”

  “Oh no.” Emma sucked in her breath. “What now?”

  “Nothing, really.” Her daughter hesitated. “I just decided to find out more about him, that’s all. So I asked Piers. And then I Googled him.”

  Emma braced herself. “Go on.”

  “Well,” Julie began, “aside from Harvard and going to the Olympics - I’m sure he told you that. He just doesn’t sound very likeable.”

  “Of course he’s not likeable, honey. He’s a VC,” Emma snorted, “whatever that is. It used to mean Viet Cong…”

  “Venture capitalist. Really, Mom!” Julie rolled her eyes. “With a physics background, no less. But my point is, no one likes him,” she persisted. “He spent a ton of money trying to defeat that kooky Cianci guy when he ran for office in Providence. That was in the papers.”

  Emma shrugged. “Hardly surprising. Cianci sounds Italian. Everyone knows Italians don’t trust each other.”

  “The point is,” Julie continued, ignoring her mother’s comment, “he failed. Making enemies all along the way, according to Piers.”

  “Since when is fighting corruption bad?” Emma shot back.

  “OK,” Julie threw up her hands in frustration. “Have it your way. He’s a knight in shining armor. And don’t get me wrong. His company has backed a lot of winners. Enough to make him mega rich. But every developer in Massachusetts hates him because he also spent a fortune lobbying against casinos throughout New England. And lost again. That was in the papers, too. Something about a personal crusade against gambling because of his father. And get this, he just moved here and he’s already battling with the owners of Bear Creek.”

  Emma nodded. “He told me about his father.”

  Julie crossed her arms over her chest. “How close are you two?”

  “Not close, Julie! Don’t worry. We talk.” She paused. “So what about your theory that Jack’s part of the Mafia?” Emma cringed as she said it. She sounded so small-minded.

  Julie nodded her head vigorously. “Well, actually, there is a Mafia connection, Mom. The Mafia hates him. Because he was so high profile opposing the casinos. Piers joked that he’s probably on some Mafia hit list. He was only half joking. One of Piers’ partners didn’t even want to take Russo on as a client. Until he saw his net worth.”

  Emma waited a few seconds after Julie stopped talking. Then she said, “Look honey, if you study the soles of anyone’s shoes, you’re bound to find some dirt.”

  Julie shot back, “That sounds exactly like something Jack Russo would say. Only he’d probably use the much cruder version that Piers' friends use.”

  Emma thought for a moment. She still couldn’t figure out what version that was.

  “Besides, Mom,” Julie continued, “the truth is, that’s wrong. If anybody analyzed the soles of your shoes, all they would find is a little house dust.”

  “Unfair!” Emma pouted.

  “I meant it as a compliment, Mom. You probably didn’t even smoke pot in the sixties.”

  Emma didn’t reply. Yes, she’d smoked pot in the sixties. She’d just never particularly enjoyed it; and she never told her daughter. She stood up to leave.

  “Listen, Julie,” she said. “I’ve gotta run. I have a very busy day. But I’d really appreciate it if you’d follow up with Oleg about Lexie. And report back to me immediately if you find out anything of interest.” Without saying another word, she marched out of the room.

  Emma also didn’t mention that she’d decided to check in with Steve at the free legal services clinic to see if there were any new developments with Carmen’s defense. She hadn’t talked to him since their visit to the jail.

  House dust indeed, Emma thought waiting for the electric sliding door to the clinic to open. Who did her daughter think she was? Emma, the independent working single mother all those years!

  She scowled at Barbara. “Is Steve around?”

  “Isn’t this one of your days off?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Emma barked. “I asked if Steve is here.”

  Barbara raised her eyebrows. “In fact he is. Do you want me to…”

  But Emma had already marched past her straight into Steve’s office.

  He was on the phone. Emma stood in front of his desk and waited.

  “Hey, listen, Rick,” he said after it was clear Emma wasn’t going away. “I got a meeting. See you at the courts. At Laurel Park. Not the ones at the high school where we played last week. If we get there at five, something’ll be open.” He paused. “OK. See you then. Bye.”

  Steve put down the phone, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms on his chest, and stared at Emma. “What’s up?” he finally said.

  “I want to know if there are any new developments in Carmen’s case,” Emma replied. “And if you’re still her defense counsel. I’m sure she’s innocent. I want to help.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. Then he bit his lower lip as though considering something. “That’s a gutsy offer, Emma,” he finally said, “considering all that bad publicity Carmen gave you. Frankly, I’m surprised.”

  Emma couldn’t help wondering what kind of a selfish wimp people thought she was. She ignored the remark and continued. “Look, Carmen’s reaction was understandable if she knew she was innocent. And if she believed that someone - that someone being me - had framed her. As far as she knew, I was the only person in possession of the kind of information that would lead the police to her door. So, it was natural she would turn on me. She didn’t know there were other people implicating her in the murder. In fact, it is exactly her reaction to me that leads me to believe she’s innocent.”

  Steve agreed. “I explained all that to her when she calmed down after you left. Like the fact that Ronnie Fitzpatrick and his father falsely testified about the stuff being in Tonio’s garbage can. And that Vera Vasiliev told the police that she saw Carmen eyeing the ring when she first met Natasha Vasiliev. As though Carmen was trying to see how easy it would be to get the ring off. Vera Vasiliev apparently told the police that she believed Carmen stole the ring at the party. Faked being sick to get away. And poisoned Natasha so no one would discover that the ring was gone. By the way, that ring was valued at a hundred grand. Not a bad chunk of change for a Roma.”

  Emma nodded. She remembered Carmen touching the ring when she held Natasha’s hand during the reading. Nothing suggested to her that Carmen was planning to steal it.

  “That theory is very far-fetched, if you ask me,” Emma added.

  Steve shrugged. “Chiara Bruno claims she saw the ring on Natasha’s finger when Natasha sang during dinner. If that’s true, the murderer must have stolen the ring after Natasha was dead, not before. No one has corroborated it. Anyway, by the time I’d explained all this to Carmen, she believed that you did nothing to betray her
. I told her that you never even told me what she said when she visited your office the day after Natasha died. And that I even bawled you out for it.”

  Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Look, Emma. Carmen’s really sorry about everything. She wants you to know that. I was gonna call you but I figured, after that embarrassing news coverage, an apology wouldn’t do you much good. I guess I should have called, though. You’re a bigger person than I realized.”

  Enough with the selfish wimp, Emma thought. “It’s all water under the bridge, Steve. The point is, I believe that Carmen and Tonio aren’t involved in the murder and I want to do everything I can to stop this…,” she paused to think of the right words, “rush to justice. The only way I can see to do that is to find the real killer.”

  “I agree,” Steve said. “The murder evidence against them is very weak. We have a good chance to beat this. But even if they get off, until the real killer is found everyone will still believe Carmen and Tonio did it. Frankly, Emma, I’ve had my hands full just building a defense. I haven’t had time to do the police department’s job finding the killer. And the police are so sure they’ve found the killers, they’re not doing their job.”

  “Exactly my thought,” Emma replied. “That’s why I’ve been poking around.”

  Steve motioned for her to sit down in the chair facing his desk.

  “So here’s what I’ve found.” Emma proceeded to summarize everything she, Julie, Piers, and Jack had found out about their list of suspects.

  When she finished, Steve nodded. “You’re right. Lexie’s gotta top the list. Aside from Chiara Bruno whose alibi, according to the police, is that she spent the whole evening with this Massimo conductor guy.” He snorted, “Her lover, right? Aside from Chiara Bruno, Lexie B. appears to have had the most to gain from Natasha Vasiliev’s death. Especially if we can show that her husband was giving away his assets to the singer.”

  Steve paused for a minute and closed his eyes like he was trying to remember something. “Buchanon Vineyards. Lexie Buchanon. Wait a minute.”

  He opened the file drawer behind his desk and started leafing through some papers. After a couple of minutes he pulled something out.

  “Here,” he flipped through a file. “About a year ago, a gardener up at the Buchanon Vineyards contacted us about her. Wanted to file some sort of complaint. He was a good looking guy.” Steve stopped talking to scan a piece of paper. “According to this report, she propositioned him and when he wouldn’t cooperate, she fired him.”

  “Wow! What happened?” Emma asked.

  Steve studied the file some more. “It looks like the poor guy never came back after the intake meeting. He was probably illegal and got scared.” He shrugged and continued reading. “But, whoever followed up on this initially - I can’t read the signature. Annie? Anton? People come and go here all the time. Anyway, whoever it was ran a search on Lexie Buchanon and found DUI’s, an assault, even some shoplifting charges, later dropped. All of them going back to when the then Lexie Grankowsky lived in Connecticut.”

  “Still, that doesn’t make her a killer,” Emma answered.

  “No, but she’s not sympathetic. And nothing rules it out. You said your daughter’s following up on this with someone who worked with Lexie Buchanon at the Honorage Spa?” Steve asked.

  Emma nodded.

  “Good,” Steve said. “Now, what about the sister? The unstable twin. Surely she had an axe to grind. Sibling rivalry? Definitely a known cause for murder going all the way back to Cain and Abel in the Bible.”

  Emma considered that for a minute. Cain and Abel did provide compelling historic precedent.

  She nodded. “I agree. It could. But nothing points there. She’s clearly devastated by her sister’s death. I’ve seen her. I don’t think she’s faking. And what did she have to gain? Everything she had she owed to her sister. Alive not dead.” Emma paused. “Last night, I got the feeling she’s carrying some sort of torch for Sacha Kuragin, the bass. He was all over Natasha at the fundraiser. But he certainly wasn’t in love with her. Sacha is only in love with himself. So was Vera jealous enough about that to kill her sister, her sole source of support and the only reason Sacha ever gave her the time of day?” Emma shook her head. “It doesn’t add up.”

  “What about this Sergio character, the celebrity chef?” Steve asked. “Jealous lover? Desperate for money? I don’t buy the theory that the Mafia killed Natasha Vasiliev to get back at him. But who knows? Anyway, is anyone following up on that?”

  “Can’t we just go to the police with Sergio’s story? Shouldn’t they follow up on it?” Emma asked.

  Steve looked at her skeptically. “First of all, the police want to believe they already have the killers, right? And second, put the police on him and this Sergio guy will clam up. Or worse, go missing. I say, someone should talk to him informally. He was in love with Natasha Vasiliev. He had every reason to be jealous. Let’s hear what he has to say. Sound him out. Do you know anyone who could do that?”

  Much to her own surprise, Emma answered, “Me. I know Sergio. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 15: Wednesday Night – Try a Little Tenderness

  When Emma got home there was a message on her land line from Julie.

  “Mom, it’s your loving daughter. I’m sorry about the house dust comment. Piers is furious with me. He says you’re like Nancy Pelosi compared to his Mom when it comes to getting out of the house. Except, I told him, Nancy Pelosi is in the House which I thought was very funny. Anyway, we both want you to come over for dinner tonight. Harry has been asking when he can see you. Besides, with all that’s gone on, Piers and I don’t think you should be spending time alone. Piers’ll pick you up at 6:00 on his way home.”

  Emma figured the Piers pickup was Julie’s way of ensuring Emma didn’t back out. Emma had half a mind to do just that after the house dust comment. But she missed Harry. She looked at her watch. It was already 5:00. Piers would be there soon.

  Emma walked into her kitchen, filled her teakettle with water and set it on her Viking range – perfect for testing recipes. Then she pulled her favorite Marimekko mug off the open wood shelving and placed it on the butcher block counter. Julie originally chose Persian Crème granite for the counters, but Emma nixed it as not in character with the old historic home.

  The tea kettle had just begun to whistle when she saw Piers’ silver Porsche Carrera glide under the flowering white magnolia tree that shaded the small yard between her front porch and Julie’s office. Piers was early. She’d barely had time to catch her breath.

  She turned off the stove, grabbed her purse and parka off the coat rack in the hall, and raced out the front door, waving at Piers as she locked up. Then she ran down the front stairs to the car and settled into the soft leather interior.

  I could get used to this, she thought as Piers drove away. He had even turned on an oldies station for her. Or maybe he actually liked Otis Redding. She closed her eyes and let Try a Little Tenderness roll over her.

  “Sorry Julie’s so hard on you sometimes, Emma. The house dust comment was really out of line.”

  The sound of Piers’ voice jarred her. She’d dozed off.

  “I know you know how much she loves you. And values your opinion about everything,” he continued.

  Valued her opinion? That was a stretch, Emma thought. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and listened to the music.

  “You’ve been her rock, what with all the Andy troubles. I think,” Piers hesitated, “I think her, well, her abrasiveness for want of a better word, is all part of her defense mechanism. You know how deeply she was hurt. First the divorce. Now the conviction.”

  Emma tried not to open her eyes. This wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have with Piers.

  “Anyway, she doesn’t mean it,” he continued. “She doesn’t mean to hurt you is all I meant to say.”

  Emma tried to keep concentrating on Otis Redding’s bittersweet lyrics.

  “I know,�
� she said. Then all of a sudden Emma felt tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. Why did that song always make her cry?

  “Oh Emma,” Piers looked over at her. “I didn’t mean. I’m sorry. This is terrible.”

  Emma sat up and wiped her eyes. “No. It’s not you, Piers. It’s not what you said. It’s that song. It always makes me cry.”

  Piers hand went straight to the radio button. “I apologize.” He clicked it off.

  Emma wanted to tell him, no! She loved the song. But what was the point?

  “Anyway,” he added, “while I have you alone in the car, I wanted to mention something about Jack Russo. I know Julie’s been giving you a hard time about him. But honestly, I just think she’s jealous. I mean, since Andy left, you’ve never had anybody else in your life and it’s going to take her some time to get used to it. That’s all.”

  Emma ignored the “never had anybody else in your life” part. It was what she’d always wanted Julie to believe. In the twenty-five plus years since Andy left, of course there’d been others. Just not anybody Julie knew about. There was the hunky contractor who redid her bathroom after the pipe burst. Awfully good with his hands. But a no go from the start. It was the summer Julie was with Andy’s parents in Maine. She didn’t need to know.

  And, later, there was the old college classmate whose wife abruptly left. And then just as abruptly returned. Julie was on her high school semester in Italy. At the time Emma thought her heart would break. In hindsight, it was just one more bullet dodged.

  “Piers,” Emma finally replied, “let’s get one thing straight. Jack Russo is not in my life! We had coffee together. He asked me to the Ormon thing. We’re going to the Opera Friday.” Darn! She wished she hadn’t said that.

  “Opening night?” Piers asked. “You know how much that costs?”

  “No,” she answered. “And I don’t care. I mean, seriously Piers, I wouldn’t even call him a friend. He’s an acquaintance, of sorts.”