A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

“I’m at the vineyard. He came to visit me and brought a jacket he said he found at Quarryhill. I think it might be Rashida’s missing jacket. It could have blood on it.”

  “Don’t touch it!”

  “I’m using a tissue.”

  “Taylor—”

  “I already called Sheriff Hennessey and left him a message about it.”

  “Was anyone there with you to see Jack Henry give you the jacket?”

  “No,” I said as I came up to the patio. “Is that a problem?”

  “It would’ve been better if he’d given it to the police and not you. It looks suspicious.”

  “He said he didn’t like the police,” I said. “I’ll leave it on the patio table.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “I’m on my way to you. Don’t talk to the police without me. I mean it. I heard you talked with the sheriff without me when he brought your car back. Please, please, Taylor, trust me on this.”

  “I trust you,” I said and blew out a deep breath. “I’ll be out on the patio waiting.” I hung up and looked around until I found a plastic bag from the recycle bin. I pulled the bag inside out on the patio table so that anything left on the outside wouldn’t contaminate the jacket, and then I placed the jacket on the bag to keep it from touching any of my surfaces. Jack Henry might have not collected it properly, but I wasn’t going to add to that mistake. Millie played at my feet. “You,” I said to the pup. “You didn’t tell me you had another owner. I almost lost you.” I reached down and picked her up. “With everything else going on, I couldn’t lose you, little girl.”

  She licked my cheek as if to reassure me that she’d never leave me. I laughed. Then I heard a car pull up the gravel drive. I walked around to the front of the house to see Aunt Jemma and her new boyfriend laughing. I waved to them, and they sobered up a moment as they got out of the car.

  “Hi, dear,” Aunt Jemma said. “What brings you out to greet us?”

  “I’m expecting company,” I said. “I’ll leave you to your good nights. I’m out on the patio, so you have your house.” Millie barked in my hands. “Millie says, ‘Don’t do anything she wouldn’t do.’” I waved good night to my aunt and hurried back to the table. The jacket was still where I’d left it. It occurred to me that I had let it out of my sight, and that would not bode well for chain of custody.

  Ten minutes later, I heard another car, but this time I waited for my aunt to show whoever it was around to the patio. It was Sheriff Hennessey.

  “Hello,” I said from where I sat. Millie raced up to bark at him and beg for pets. I had started a fire in the fire pit, and it was warm against my skin. The lights out on the patio were soft string lights meant to give it a fairy-tale feel.

  “You said you had a key piece of evidence in the Laura Scott case?” He looked from me to the table. “What is it? Where did you get it?”

  “Don’t say a word,” Patrick said as he came around from the other side of the house. “I want your notes to show that my client voluntarily called when this piece of evidence came into her possession.”

  “It will be so noted,” Sheriff Hennessey said and put on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Where did you find the jacket?”

  I looked at Patrick, who nodded. “It was given to me by a man named Jack Henry Stokes.”

  “Where?”

  “Millie found him in the vineyard. He told me that Millie was his dog but that he was letting her adopt me.”

  “So Jack Henry Stokes was Millie’s previous owner.”

  “Yes,” I said and raised my hand. “I don’t want any charges put up against him.”

  “For what?”

  “Abandoning an animal, general cruelty, and such,” I said. “He explained that she saw me and wanted to be part of my family, so he let her go.”

  Sheriff Hennessey raised an eyebrow. “Did he, now?”

  “Yes, then he said that he had been doing some work at Quarryhill and had discovered a jacket that might be of interest to me.” I pointed to the jacket. “I held it with a tissue covering my fingerprints and placed it on the table.”

  “Why would he bring the jacket to you?”

  “He said I’d know what to do with it. It looks like the jacket that Rashida was wearing at the beginning of the hike at Quarryhill. The jacket she was not wearing when we came back home.”

  “And how is that key evidence?”

  “I need you to have it checked for blood and DNA,” I said. “I suspect the real killer wore the jacket when they attacked Laura, then discarded it to hide any evidence.”

  He took a couple of photos of the jacket and used a pen to spread it out a little. “There are a few dark stains, but I can’t tell if it’s blood. Arterial spray has a distinctive look. I’m not sure this fits.” My heart sank as he pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket. He placed the jacket in the bag and sealed it, then turned to me. “Listen, this may or may not be Rashida’s jacket. If it is, there’s no evidence that she murdered anyone.”

  “Unless you find blood on it, right?” I asked and turned to Patrick. “If it has Laura’s blood on it, you have to consider Rashida and the other yoga teachers as viable suspects. I mean, they could have all three been complicit.”

  “Because they alibied each other?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “My client has said enough,” Patrick said and stood beside me. “Please take the jacket and have the lab test it.”

  “It could be months before they get to it,” Sheriff Hennessey warned.

  “Good night, Sheriff.”

  We waited in silence while Sheriff Hennessey took the evidence bag and left. I walked Patrick to his car.

  “You know, they may throw out the jacket as evidence due to the suspicious way you got it.”

  “It might be a little unconventional, but I wouldn’t label it suspicious,” I argued. “Call Jack Henry to the stand. He can testify as to where he got it.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Patrick said. “With any luck, it’ll throw enough suspicion on the yoga teachers that they’ll drop the charges against you. Now go get some rest.” He unlocked his car and opened the driver’s side door. “Be careful, okay? Don’t go rushing out into the dark by yourself anymore. Remember, the killer is still out there.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He touched my cheek. “People care about you, Taylor. Don’t forget you’re not alone in this. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good night.”

  I watched him drive down the long driveway. Laughter came from inside the house, and I walked around the back way to the pool house. Maybe, just maybe, the jacket would prove to be the saving piece of evidence.

  Chapter 18

  “Hey, you didn’t show last night. What happened?” Holly asked as she picked me up for yoga class.

  “Oh, man, I completely forgot about your showing. How’d it go? Did you sell a lot of landscapes?”

  “Now, see, that’s how you deflect a question,” Holly said as she drove toward town. “You stood me up, girlfriend. That’s not like you.”

  “It’s a bit of a story,” I said.

  “I’ve got nothing but time.”

  I told her the details of last night’s strange visitor.

  “Huh, Millie is this man’s girlfriend’s name? Strange.”

  I laughed. “Is that all you can say about what happened?”

  “No, I want to know if you are going to let Patrick take you out.”

  “What? Why would he want to take me out?”

  She pulled into a strip mall with a low-hanging tiled roof. Palm trees were strategically placed to make the mall look more tropical. “Because he’s hot, and clearly he likes you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Are you blind?”

  I considered her comment as we went and signed in for class. “I’m sorry,” the receptionist said and looked directly at me. “We can’t have you in class.”

  “Excuse me? I’m paid up for the next thr
ee months.”

  “Your presence is too disruptive to the class,” the receptionist stated. “The instructors have asked me to ban you from coming.”

  “But—”

  “We will gladly refund your money.”

  “You’d better,” Holly said and put her arm around my shoulders. “Refund mine while you’re at it. Seriously, what happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

  “What’s going on?” The manager of the yoga club where Laura and her students taught, Angela Maggs, came out of the office.

  “She said that my friend Taylor is banned from class even though she paid.”

  “Please come into my office,” Angela said. “Let’s not disrupt the classes.”

  “So it’s true?” Holly’s voice went up an octave.

  “Holly,” I said and put my hand on her arm.

  “No,” Holly said. “This is an outrage.”

  “Please, come into my office.” We were ushered into the manager’s office and out of the lobby, where others had gathered. “Now,” she said as she went around her desk, putting it between us, “I want to thank you for your business . . .”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming . . .” I said.

  “We can’t have you here. It’s too distracting to our community.”

  “I didn’t kill Laura.”

  “Taylor, you’re being tried for her murder.”

  “Technically I’m being arraigned in a potential manslaughter case,” I interjected.

  “Pot-ay-toes, pot-ah-oes,” she said. “We have a lot of people who are sensitive to negative energy.”

  “My energy isn’t negative.”

  “We need you to leave the premises.”

  “But I’ve paid through the next three months.”

  “We have your refund check here.” She pulled out a check from her top drawer. “We appreciate your business, but we are unable to continue having you on our campus.”

  “Well, drat.”

  “I won’t come if she isn’t coming,” Holly said and put her arm around my shoulder.

  “That’s fine,” the manager said. “I’ll write you a check right now for your membership as well.” She pulled out a checkbook and started writing.

  “But we’ve been coming here for over a year.”

  “And we thank you for your business.” She ripped a check out of the checkbook. “Here you are. Now please leave quietly. I don’t want to have to call security.” She stood and waved toward the door.

  “Hold onto your hat. What’s your hurry?” Holly muttered as she stomped to the door, dragging me along with her.

  “It’s all good,” I said as we walked out into the California sunshine. “We can start our own classes on the winery grounds.” We got into Holly’s car. “We can do ‘Wine Down Wednesday’ with an hour of yoga and wine and cheese after.”

  “Oh, I like it. Who will you get to lead the class?”

  “I know a few people,” I said. “Let’s go get coffee.”

  “I’m on it,” she said and drove us to Abuelo’s. “I still have some landscapes left if you want to see what you missed at the show.”

  “I’d love to.” We chatted with Austin for a moment, then picked up lattes and went to Le Art Galleria. Holly held the door open for me. During the day, the galleria was open from nine to five and staffed by Miss Finglestein. Miss Finglestein was close to ninety years old and wore black cigarette pants and a colorful peasant shirt. She smoked cigarettes with a stem and waved her hands as she talked to display her wild nail polishes.

  “Ladies, ladies, ladies.” Miss Finglestein floated over when we entered the foyer. “Come in, darlings. What brings you around? I thought you had a yoga class.”

  “Not anymore,” Holly said and waved her check. “We’ve been paid to leave.”

  “Well, I never,” Miss Finglestein said.

  “Neither have we,” I replied and gave the old woman an air kiss on each cheek. “Holly tells me you had quite the showing last night. Show me this fabulous collection.”

  “Darling, let me tell you how lovely this collection is—all pastels. They are the freshest thing on the market today. Such a departure from the graphic colors and lines of the latest midcentury modern fad.”

  “I didn’t know there was a new midcentury modern fad,” I said.

  “Pay attention, darling,” Miss Finglestein said. “Now come with me.” She floated across the gallery to where there were large and small pictures in soft pinks, oranges, and yellows highlighting the California coastline, vineyards, and sunsets. “Ta-da!”

  “Wow,” I said. “These are gorgeous.”

  “Thanks!” A young woman with short sandy-blonde hair came around the corner.

  “Taylor, this is our plein air artist, Anna. Anna, this is my best friend, Taylor,” Holly introduced us.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said and held out my hand.

  “A friend of Holly’s is a friend of mine,” Anna said and gave me a big hug and air kisses. I patted her on the back because her warmth was a little awkward for me.

  “Anna studied in Paris and Rome,” Miss Finglestein declared. “Right there in the same spot as the masters.”

  “I bet that was cool,” I said.

  “Très chic,” Anna said with a wave of her hand. She wore cropped distressed jeans and a plain white T-shirt, but she made them look like they were top-designer elegant.

  “I’m sorry I missed last night’s show,” I said. “I heard it was a huge success. After seeing these paintings, I can see why.”

  “I thought it went well,” Anna said with a smile. “I really try to capture the local flavor in the pictures. I want people to take a bit of California home with them.”

  “Well, this series looks as if it was drawn at Quarryhill,” I said and waved at the waterfalls.

  “It was!” Anna clapped her hands. “I’m so glad you recognize it. I spent a month at Quarryhill doing sketches.”

  “This series is so successful that we’re thinking of creating a group of numbered prints.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That would be something.”

  “I think the success is because of the rare wild Asian plants,” Anna said. “The setting and rarity of the plants makes people want to take a picture home to remind them that they sat in the garden. If enough prints sell, we might even get a coffee-table book commissioned.”

  “Sounds ambitious,” I said and looked at Holly and Miss Finglestein as they nodded. Their faces were filled with joy at the prospect. “I’m excited for you.”

  “Thank you,” Anna said.

  “Listen,” I began as I leaned in close to her. “While you were working at Quarryhill, did you happen to meet Jack Henry Stokes? He said he’d done some gardening work for Quarryhill.”

  “Jack Henry? Yes, he’s a nice guy, if a bit of an odd duck. He could appear and disappear like a ghost. Spooked me until I got used to his coming and going. I swear there isn’t anything that doesn’t escape his intent eye.”

  “So he was there a lot?”

  “The month I was there, I saw him at least twice a week. I think he lives in nature and is a bit territorial about his places.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I came to the conclusion that he has a circuit he works. Quarryhill is his Tuesday to Thursday job. I think he works somewhere else the other days. Probably doing similar work in the vineyards.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. I looked at Holly. “My tour was at Quarryhill on a Tuesday. I wonder if he might’ve seen who killed Laura.”

  “A witness?” Holly said. “Is this the same guy who brought you the jacket last night?”

  “Yes,” I said. “If I can prove he’s a regular, perhaps I can convince Sheriff Hennessey to question him. At the very least, I can get Patrick to call him to the stand and testify about what he saw that day. You never know. He might be the answer to everything.”

  That was my first big hope in a long time. I saluted Anna with my latte cup and t
ook a sip. Her paintings were gorgeous. Perhaps I could talk Aunt Jemma into purchasing one or two for the tasting barn. After all, she might have saved my life. The least I could do was support a local artist.

  Chapter 19

  “We have a problem.” Patrick’s voice came through my cell phone.

  “What now?” I asked. I was in the tasting barn, helping Aunt Jemma with her latest group.

  “They found Laura’s blood on the jacket you gave Sheriff Hennessey.”

  “That’s good, right? Now they’ll have to look at the yoga instructors like Rashida.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, you gave them the coat. They want to use it as evidence that you killed Laura.”

  “What! But Jack Henry Stokes gave it to me. Call him to the stand as a witness. He can tell them where he found it.”

  “Most likely they’ll throw out that piece of evidence. In fact, Taylor, we want them to throw it out. It is darn suspicious.”

  “I don’t understand. Sheriff Hennessey said he wanted proof that someone else could have done it. I gave him that proof.”

  “It’s not up to the sheriff. It’s up to the prosecution, and they want to use it against you. I’m going to have them throw it out.”

  “But—”

  “It’s for the best.”

  “How can I solve this if I can’t talk to anyone and I can’t present evidence?”

  “It’s not for you to solve, Taylor,” he said. “We’re simply trying to keep you out of jail at this point.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “I understand, but we’re in the middle of a fight for your life here. Trust me.”

  “I have to trust you,” I said and tried not to sound bitter. “You hold my life in your hands.”

  “I’m going to see that nothing happens to you,” he said.

  “I didn’t do this.”

  “I know.”

  I hung up and sat down to wipe away the tears.

  “What’s going on?” Aunt Jemma asked.

  “They aren’t going to use the jacket to pursue other suspects in Laura’s case,” I said. “It’s because I gave the jacket to the police. They can link me to the jacket even though it’s Rashida’s. It has Laura’s blood on it.”