“Are you ready to go see the sheriff?” Patrick Aimes asked.
“Yes, let me get my purse.”
“Hi, Patrick,” Holly said. “Do you want some breakfast? We have coffee and gluten-free donuts.”
“No, thanks,” he said. “I’m watching my carbs. How have you been, Holly?”
“I’ve been good, busy with my business, and happy.”
“Good to hear,” he said with a grin. “You look great. Are you going somewhere?”
“Thanks, but I’m not going anywhere but work. I like the jumpsuit because it’s so comfortable.”
“Well, comfortable works for you,” he said and winked at her.
I grabbed my purse. “We’re going to take the van down for them to look over, right?”
“Yes, I’ll follow you in my car, and then I’ll drive you back home.”
“What if they find something illegal?” I asked.
He gave me a look. “Do you have anything illegal in the van?”
“No, but the van lived through the seventies and eighties. Who knows what is hidden inside?”
“This isn’t a television crime show. They aren’t going to tear it apart,” he reassured me as he held the door open. “The most they’ll do is check for fingerprints and a cursory search.”
“Well,” I said as we walked to the van, “that makes me feel much better.”
With Patrick following in his silver Audi, we drove to the station in Sonoma and walked in to meet the sheriff. “I have an appointment to see Sheriff Hennessey,” I told the policewoman at the front desk. Her name tag said, “Officer Balder.”
“Have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
As Patrick and I waited, I couldn’t seem to get my nerves under control. “Is it always so nerve-racking? I didn’t do anything, and yet I still feel as if I’m waiting outside the principal’s office.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I’m here to ensure everything goes well.” He patted my hand.
Sheriff Hennessey came out from the other side of the reception desk. “Ah, Miss O’Brian, thanks for coming in. Please follow me.”
We followed him through a crowded room full of cubicles and desks facing each other. “Do you want any coffee?”
“No, thanks,” I said. The room smelled of old burnt coffee. “I already had some today.”
He’d put us in an interview room with a small table and two chairs. I figured there was a camera somewhere and found it in an upper corner looking down on the chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
We sat in the two chairs facing the door. Sheriff Hennessey came right back in with a manila folder. “So, Miss O’Brian, you brought your lawyer?”
“This is Patrick Aimes,” I said. “He advised me it was best to have him present.”
“It’s your right, but it hardly seems necessary. We are still asking questions at this point.”
I slumped with relief. “Good.”
“I want to go over the events of yesterday. You’ve had a night to reflect. Have you spoken to anyone else who was there at the time?”
“No, I drove them home in shocked silence. They got into their cars and left the winery pretty fast. Not that I blame them. I took a shower and spoke to my best friend and my aunt, who suggested I hire Patrick, and here I am.”
“I understand you brought your van in for fingerprinting?”
“Yes,” I said. “I remembered last night that the passenger’s side door was unlocked when I went to the van to put out the food. I thought it was odd because I always lock all the doors.”
“You think the killer opened the door.”
“It’s a possibility,” I said. “I know we all drove back in it last night, and I’ve touched the handle since then. So there’s a chance you might not get any evidence, but I’m offering you the opportunity to go over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Thank you,” he said. “The county crime scene techs will be happy to see what evidence they can collect. I appreciate you coming in, but the van is not considered part of the crime scene.”
“I want it to be noted that my client is acting with an overabundance of caution,” Patrick said.
“I’ll note it in my file,” the sheriff said. “But even if we find a partial print that doesn’t fit, there’s not a big chance we can use it in court since the van wasn’t part of the scene.”
“So you don’t need it”? I asked.
“No, we’ll still go over it. It could corroborate your story of how the corkscrew was obtained. I’m simply informing you that it may not lead to anything useful. Now do you mind taking a DNA test and fingerprinting?”
“I’ll do whatever you need to rule me out.”
“Good. I’ll have a tech come and take care of that. Do you have a way home?”
“Patrick will take me.”
“Great. If you think of anything else that seems relevant, be sure to let me know. Thank you for your time.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Do you have anything else to add?”
“No.”
“Okay, then we’re done here. I’ll send the tech right in.” He closed his folder and left the room.
I looked at Patrick. “Did that seem too easy?”
Patrick shrugged. “I think you’re safe.”
“Good.” I slumped with relief. The tech came in with nitrile gloves on, took a swab of the inside of my cheek, and then used a digital machine to take ink-free fingerprints. “I’m leaving my van to be searched for evidence. Do you have any idea how long it will take before I get it back? I run my tour business out of it.”
“We’re a bit backed up,” the tech said.
I shot a look at Patrick. “How backed up?”
“It could be a few days.”
“As in a week or less?”
“Hopefully.”
“But I have another tour scheduled for tomorrow.”
“I’d get a loaner,” the tech said, unbothered by my dilemma. “Your insurance should cover it. You’re free to go.”
Patrick and I walked out into the California sunshine. “I’m not sure my insurance will cover the cost of a rental van,” I said as I got into his Audi.
“You did the right thing,” he pointed out. “You’re being helpful without admitting to anything.” He patted my knee. “It’s a good thing.”
“A good thing that’s going to cost me.” I frowned. “I already had to pay your retainer.”
“Five thousand dollars isn’t a lot to ensure you stay out of jail.”
“I know,” I said and looked out the window as he drove me back to the winery. “But my emergency stash is disappearing fast.”
“It’s going to be all right,” he said. “Once this is over, let’s get a drink and catch up. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen you.”
I lifted my mouth in a half smile. It would make Holly crazy if I said no. “I’d like that. But first, let’s get through this.”
“I agree,” he said and turned into the driveway. “How’s your Aunt Jemma? I heard through the grapevine that you moved back because she was ailing.”
“She’s actually doing quite well,” I said and shook my head. “I suspect she only gets sick when I mention moving back to San Francisco.”
“You’d go back to the city?”
“I don’t really know,” I said with a shrug and opened the car door. “I own my own start-up. There’s a lot of work involved . . . and risk. I’m hoping it’ll start paying for itself before the end of the year.”
“You could always get investors,” Patrick pointed out.
“Who would invest in a small tour business? It’s not like it’d be bought out by Priceline or go public for millions of dollars.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised who would help out. There are quite a few people who want to keep the local economy humming.” His expression made me think he might be willing to be one of those investors. “Think about it. Your business supports the wineries and other de
stinations in the area. Who wouldn’t want to invest?”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He craned his neck to continue to look at me as I got out of the car and stood to close the door. “Call me before you interact with anyone on this case. Okay?”
“Why?” I asked. “The sheriff didn’t say I was a person of interest.”
“Let’s not give them any opportunity to make you one.”
“Right. Got it.” I closed the door and waved good-bye, watching him drive away. Then I turned on my heel and opened the browser on my phone. I needed to find a rental van, and I needed a very good deal on it. My stash of start-up funds was quickly dwindling, and I didn’t want to have to close down before I even got started.
Chapter 6
I decided to take Dan a casserole. I didn’t really know him that well, but Laura had taken a chance on my tour business, and if nothing else, I owed him condolences. I made my best vegetarian lasagna with spinach, chopped broccoli, and vegan cheese.
I wrapped up the lasagna in case he wanted to freeze it and headed out to Dan’s home in my rented minivan. Laura and Dan lived in a three-bedroom, two-story home on the corner of a cul-de-sac in a newer part of town. The small patch of lawn had been turned into a rock garden with an avocado tree in the center. I parked on the road and walked up to ring the bell.
Dan opened the door. “What do you want?”
I blinked back surprise at the anger in his tone. “Hello,” I said. “How are you? I brought you a casserole.”
Dan stood in the doorway. His face was red and tearstained. “I don’t want a casserole from my wife’s murderer.”
“What?” I was stunned. “I didn’t hurt your wife.”
A woman who looked like a younger female version of Dan came to the door to stand beside him. “Is this the woman who killed Laura?”
“Yes,” Dan said.
“No!” I said at the same time. I looked at Dan. “Why would you say that?”
“You were the one who found her. You were the only one who was alone with her. It was your corkscrew. You had her blood on your hands. Get off my property!” Dan took a step toward me, and I took a stunned step back.
“I didn’t have anything to do with her death,” I said. “I tried to save her. I called nine-one-one.”
“Liar,” he said and took another step toward me. From the look in his eye, I had a brief moment of panic. He looked as if he might hurt me.
I backed up. “I had no reason to kill Laura.”
“The press reported that you took a lawyer with you when you went to the police station,” the woman said. “A sign of a guilty mind.”
“No,” I said. “I was—”
“I don’t care what your next lie is,” Dan said. “You never liked Laura. You refused to let us help you. Leave my property.”
“I’m calling the police,” the woman said and pulled out her phone.
“Sheesh,” I muttered. “All right, all right. I’ll go. But I had nothing to do with Laura’s death.”
“Every murderer claims to be innocent,” Dan shouted as I got back into the van. I drove away as the neighbors came out of their houses looking for a show. Why did he think I murdered Laura? Who was the woman—his sister? Their daughter? She seemed kind of old for a daughter. A police car rolled around the corner as I left the cul-de-sac. I drove another two blocks before he pulled me over.
I swallowed hard and opened the window. “Yes, Officer?” I knew I hadn’t been speeding.
“I need to see your driver’s license and registration, plus proof of insurance.”
“Yes, sir,” I said and got out the documentation, including my rental-car agreement. “What’s this about?”
“I got a call that someone was harassing Dan Scott. You were seen leaving his home.”
“It was a mistake, Officer,” I said. “I went over to bring him a casserole. It’s what my family does when someone dies. We feed people during times of grief.” I pointed to the dish that was sitting, rejected, on the passenger’s seat.
“His sister, Ivy Scott, claims you were harassing them.” He looked at the documentation, then looked at me as if to verify everything. “Miss O’Brian, did you kill Laura Scott?”
“What? No. Why would I?”
“Are you stalking Dan Scott?”
“No.”
“Did you go to his home and ring his doorbell?”
“Yes. Like I said, I brought him a casserole.”
“I see, and are you and Mr. Scott friends?”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Ma’am?”
“It’s a simple question,” I said. “Have I done something wrong? Do I need to dial my lawyer?”
“No, ma’am. I think we’re good here.” He handed me back my documentation. “I suggest you leave the Scotts alone.”
“Oh, no worries—Deputy Riley, is it?” I read his name tag.
“Yes.”
“I won’t be back.”
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Have a nice day, miss.”
I rolled my window up before I could say something not so nice. My first instinct was to drive away, so I did. I could feel the heat on my cheeks from embarrassment. I pulled into a parking lot outside of Vons grocery store. People were shopping as if it were a normal day. It was kind of comforting to see that life went on even when your world was spinning out of control. I called Patrick.
“Patrick Aimes.”
“Hi, it’s Taylor. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.”
“So I went to see Dan Scott.”
“What? Why?”
Okay, not the reaction I was expecting. “Because his wife died, and I thought he might need a casserole. Don’t you take food to someone when someone in the family dies?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Taylor. You found the man’s wife dead. You don’t think your presence would bring up more grief?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“What happened?”
“Why do you think something happened?”
“Why else would you be calling me?”
I sighed. “Dan accused me of murdering Laura.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Because I found her. I was the only one he knew who was alone with her. And it was my corkscrew.”
“That’s serious.”
“I told him it was ridiculous. I had no reason to kill Laura.”
“Taylor, I told you to not speak to anyone—I mean anyone—about this if I’m not present.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” I said and rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes. “It’s not, right?”
“That depends. Were you in his house when he accused you?”
“No,” I said. “He barred me at the door. Then his sister called the cops on me.”
“Why?”
“She said I was harassing them . . . I think it’s all a bit of a crazy blur.”
“Taylor, please tell me you left.”
“I left,” I said and glanced at the cold casserole. “But then a cop stopped me on the way out.”
“I feel like a broken record. Why? Did you run a red light?”
“He said something about leaving the scene.”
“Taylor, he had no reason to stop you.”
“He asked me if I killed Laura.”
“Taylor, please tell me you didn’t say anything.”
“I told him I didn’t kill her.”
He sighed long and hard.
“I know, I know. Don’t say anything. But it’s hard to think when you’re in panic mode. It’s why I stopped at Vons and called you.”
“I’m glad you called me,” he finally said. His tone was reassuring. “I know this is hard, Taylor. But you need to remember to only talk to people when I
’m present. Can you do that?”
“Even Aunt Jemma?”
“It’s best if you keep things to yourself. As your lawyer, it’s my job to advise you.”
“Sheesh. This is all crazy. All I wanted to do was bring over a casserole.”
“I know this is hard.”
“Darn right it’s hard,” I said. “I’m going to take my casserole to the soup kitchen and see if they can use it.”
“You do that. And remember . . .”
“I know, I know. Don’t talk to anyone about what happened. Thanks, Patrick.”
“It’s what you pay me for,” he said.
* * *
My friend Jasper, a laid-back guy with a long ponytail, worked at the volunteer kitchen. “Hey, Taylor,” he said. “Thanks for the casserole.”
“It’s vegan,” I half apologized. “It was meant for someone who was vegan, but he refused it. So I figured you could always use it.”
“Sure, it’ll make a nice lunch. We have vegans who come eat with us,” he said. “Sometimes it makes it difficult because the food is all donated, and people don’t think about the poor or homeless being dairy intolerant or gluten-free.”
“I’m glad you can use it.”
“So it was for a guy, right? What happened? Were you looking for a date, and he turned you down?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” I said with a sigh.
“Then at least come have a cup of coffee. Tell me, what’s been going on with you?”
“Don’t you watch the news?”
“I don’t,” he said. “The Dalai Lama says to ask yourself if there is anything you can do to change it. Well, when it comes to national or even local news, the answer is usually no. So he says, why watch it if it bothers you?”
I smiled. It sounded like Jasper. “I like that idea.”
“I know,” he said. “I get that a lot.” He poured me a cup of coffee, and I added creamer to it. “Now tell me what’s been going on with you.”
“I had my first wine country tour,” I said and sipped.
“That’s awesome. How did it go?”
“Someone died.”
“No, don’t kid like that. It’s bad karma.”
“Oh, I wish I were kidding,” I said, “but it really happened.”
“Was it a heart attack? You have to watch the older people.”
A Case of Syrah, Syrah Page 6