A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

  “No, talking to the Chelsea. She is the press.”

  “You have to admit she was good to you back there,” Holly said.

  “She was,” I said. “She stuck me around the corner and stepped out to distract Ivy.”

  “So let’s get her involved. We could use another investigator on our side.”

  “How do we know for sure she’ll be on our side?”

  “Because we’re the right side,” Holly said. We watched Chelsea get out of her car and head in. “Over here.” Holly waved her over.

  “Hi,” she said and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you again . . . under better circumstances.”

  I smiled. “Holly tells me you’ve been friends for a while?”

  “Yes, from college.” Chelsea gave Holly a quick hug.

  “Thank you for your help back there,” I said. “Let me buy you a beverage.”

  The waitress came over as Chelsea sat down. “I’ll take a chai latte,” Chelsea ordered. Then turned to me. “Thank you for letting Holly call me about this story.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Of course, since I saved you, I hope to get an exclusive once this is done.”

  “Now that’s something I can promise you,” I said. “As soon as my lawyer lets me talk, you’ll be the journalist I speak to.”

  “Wonderful,” Chelsea said and sat back. “Now what were you two doing at Billy’s?”

  “What were you doing at Billy’s?” I asked.

  “Stalking you,” she said with a grin. “A friend tipped me off to the fact that you were there.”

  “Wow, that makes me nervous,” I said and looked at Holly. “I thought we were undercover.”

  “Your face is the most famous one in the area right now,” Chelsea said. “Since I couldn’t get you to respond to my requests, I had my friends keep an eye out for you. But don’t worry. I’m only able to do that because I’m local. I have friends who grew up in Sonoma.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” I said.

  “In fact, Matt was my brother’s best friend. He let me know you were there, and I asked him to keep you busy until I got there.”

  I gasped. “We didn’t give Matt our real names.”

  She grinned. “He knew but figured you were out to try to forget what was going on in your life. So he texted me and then spent time with you.”

  “Oh, that is so low,” Holly said.

  “No lower than us pretending to be tourists,” I said with a shrug. “So you stalked me.”

  “It’s called desperation,” Chelsea said with a sigh. “I’m freelance for the Chronicle right now, and I’m trying to get them to hire me on staff. It’s tough these days with so many bloggers writing for free.”

  “Well, we don’t mind helping you get a job,” I said, “but not at my expense. So you have to understand that we’re trusting you here.”

  “I have ethics,” she said. “Listen, you seem like a nice person. We both love Holly. Seems like we should like each other or at least trust each other. I want to use the angle that you’re being railroaded by the local police. I heard that the mayor was pushing for a quick resolution on this murder. I’ve studied the case. It seems circumstantial.”

  “Thank you,” I said and sat back. I bit my bottom lip to prevent me from speaking more.

  Chelsea took out her pad of paper. “Do you mind if I record this?” She put an MP3 recorder on the table.

  “Go ahead,” I said, “but I’m not speaking. Holly is.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “Now, Holly, tell me about Ivy Scott.”

  “Well, she’s Dan Scott’s sister and was Laura Scott’s sister-in-law. Laura Scott was found murdered at Quarryhill. We were speaking to one of the caretakers at the gardens, and he described seeing a woman who looked like Ivy Scott park her car along the road—not in the parking lot—and get out to walk the trails.”

  “That’s odd. Why wouldn’t she park in the parking lot?” Chelsea asked.

  “We think she didn’t want anyone to know she was there,” Holly said.

  “Why?”

  “Well,” I said, “they found an SD card on Laura with critical identity information from their business. Ivy might’ve been trying to get that back from Laura.”

  “Or she might have been trying to sell it, but Laura found out.” Holly sent me a look to remind me I wasn’t supposed to be talking. Which I wasn’t, but it was so hard.

  “So maybe Ivy was mad about the data breach or Ivy caused the data breach,” Chelsea concluded.

  “We don’t know which,” Holly said, “but you can find out, can’t you?”

  “I can certainly try,” Chelsea said. “This is a good lead.”

  “I was in the bathroom tonight when Ivy and her friend were there,” I said. “They were talking about laying low for a while until things blew over. Do you have any idea what that might mean?”

  “It might mean that she was selling data,” Chelsea said, “but anyone with a brain would know they can’t sell it until you’re convicted.”

  “I won’t be because I didn’t do anything,” I said.

  “That’s not on the record,” Holly said and nudged my latte toward me. “Just spitballing here, but what if Laura’s murder was a two-man job? Someone stole the corkscrew out of Taylor’s van and used it to hurt Laura.”

  “Or they could have pushed her down the cliff, then gone down and used the corkscrew to put suspicion on me,” I said.

  “Interesting,” Chelsea said. “Maybe two people were involved.”

  Holly looked from me to Chelsea. “There are really only two ways it could happen: either Ivy did it herself or she had help to do it.”

  “How did she get the corkscrew?” Chelsea asked.

  “The passenger’s side door on my van was unlocked,” I said. “I suspect it was jimmied. I told the police, and they inspected it and found a partial fingerprint on the door, along with scrape marks that showed it had been jimmied at least once in its life. But there’s no proof it happened that day. As far as they can tell, Laura could have simply forgotten to lock it when she left the front passenger seat.”

  “Except for the partial print,” Chelsea pointed out.

  “Except for that,” I said.

  “Now who else didn’t have a solid alibi?”

  “Dan, the husband; Sally, the HR lady; and Amy, the office manager,” Holly said. “Ivy could’ve been helping any of them.”

  “Or they could have been helping her,” I said.

  “There’s no telling, at least not yet,” Holly said.

  Chelsea grabbed her phone and sent out a text.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “I texted Matt and asked him to see if he can’t get Ivy to talk.”

  “About the murder?”

  “The identity information,” Chelsea said. “If she is selling identities, Matt will find out. He loves this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We noticed.”

  Chapter 22

  “Ivy Scott’s best friend, Dawn Weller, has been arrested,” Chelsea said to me on the phone the next morning.

  “What? How do you know? What for?”

  “Turns out there was a sting operation in the works for the last two months. They finally got enough evidence to arrest Dawn and charge her as part of an identity-theft ring.”

  “Wait, was Dawn the woman who was there last night?”

  “Yes, she was the woman with Ivy.”

  “Ivy must be furious.”

  “I’ve contacted her to see if she’ll make a statement, but she hasn’t returned my call.”

  “She seems pretty press savvy,” I said. “I’d be surprised if she talks.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was able to break the news about Dawn, so I’m hoping this means the Chronicle will accept me as staffer. Thank you for the tip to look into Ivy. It’s how I learned about Dawn. I have been up all night working on this. I’m stoked.”

  “I’m glad
I could help,” I said.

  “I owe you. Let’s get a drink sometime.”

  “After I’m free and clear,” I said.

  “Good. I have a feeling that’ll be soon.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, I drove by Ivy’s house. I couldn’t help myself. I had to know if she was involved in Laura’s murder. Was Ivy the connection between the SD card and Laura’s death?

  A bit of research online, and I learned that Ivy lived in a tiny two-bedroom house that had been built in the 1930s. The little house was pale blue with white shutters. There was a three-foot picket fence around the front yard. It was the very picture of homey.

  I parked in front of the house and noticed that the front door was open. I looked around. There were no other cars in sight. So I got out—maybe if I had a face-to-face talk with Ivy in the daylight, she’d at least acknowledge that I didn’t have anything to do with Laura’s death. Especially with the evidence that she was at Quarryhill.

  I pushed open the little gate and walked up. I was right. The front door was open, leaving only a screen door between the world and the house.

  “Hello? Ivy? Hello?” I called through the screen.

  There was only silence. I tried again. “It’s Taylor O’Brian. I want to talk with you about Quarryhill.” Nothing.

  I decided to try the back door. Maybe the front was open but she was in the backyard? I walked around the side rock garden. It looked like there had once been a green lawn here, but due to the drought, it had been replaced with curving rocks and gravel.

  “Hello?” I called as I rounded the back. I could see that the back door was also open. This door had no screen. No one was in the backyard. “Ivy?” I glanced at the small shed, but it appeared to be locked up tight. She had to be inside.

  A nagging feeling hit the back of my neck. Something was wrong. I knocked on the back door, and it opened wider. “Ivy? It’s Taylor. I wondered if we could talk about last night?”

  I stepped inside the tiny kitchen. I could see Ivy lying facedown on the floor in the hallway that led to the living room. “Ivy?” She didn’t answer. I saw the small hole in her back. A pool of blood inched out around her. I went to her and touched her shoulder. “Ivy?” She felt cold to the touch. “Oh, no.”

  I reached for my cell phone, dialed 9-1-1, and went out onto the front porch to wait. If the killer was still inside, I didn’t want them to find me.

  The deputy sheriffs got there within five minutes. They drew their guns as soon as they got out of the car.

  “She’s inside,” I said. An ambulance followed shortly after them. One officer went inside, and the other stayed with me.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I came by to ask Ivy a question,” I said. “I found the doors open and went inside. That’s when I found her dead.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “I touched Ivy. I shook her shoulder to start first aid, but she was cold so I called nine-one-one.” A mighty shiver went down my back, and I hugged myself as Sheriff Hennessey pulled up.

  “The house is clear,” the first deputy said as he came out. He held the door open for the ambulance crew. “There’s definitely a body inside.”

  “Taylor, are you all right?” Sheriff Hennessey asked. There was deepening concern in his gaze.

  “I know this looks bad. But I came to ask her a question and sort through the confusion,” I said and realized how lame my excuse sounded. “Look, I might not have liked the woman, but I didn’t want to see her dead.”

  “Don’t say another word,” Sheriff Hennessey said. “Blake, stay with her. See that she’s comfortable and doesn’t move.” He went inside to check out things for himself. More police cars showed up, and I dialed Patrick.

  “Hey, Taylor, what’s up?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Oh, no, now what happened?”

  “I stopped by to talk to Ivy and found her dead in her hallway.”

  “Taylor!”

  “She was shot. I called nine-one-one. The deputies and Sheriff Hennessey are here along with an ambulance crew.”

  “Don’t say another word,” Patrick said. “I’ll be right there.”

  Sheriff Hennessey came out onto the porch. “Taylor, do you own a gun?”

  “No, sir,” I said honestly.

  “Good,” he said with a bit of relief. “I want you to come down to the station with me until we get this sorted out.”

  A sedan pulled up, and Dan Scott came running out of the car. “What’s going on?” he asked. “What’s she doing here?”

  “There’s been a murder,” Sheriff Hennessey said.

  “Another? Is Ivy all right?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “No!” Dan crumpled to the ground. “No, no, no.” Then he looked at me with hatred. “You. You did this. You killed my sister and my wife.” He stood, looking as if he were going to come after me.

  Sheriff Hennessey pushed me behind him and stepped between Dan and me. “Stop. Take a breath. There’s no evidence that Taylor did anything but find your sister.”

  “I think it’s pretty convenient that she keeps finding the bodies.” Dan bit out the words. His face was bright red with emotion.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the sheriff said. “Come on. I’ll have Deputy Blake stay with you.” He waved for the uniformed policeman to come down. “I’m taking Taylor into the station.”

  “Take her,” Dan said. “Lock her up, and throw away the key.”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Right,” Dan said, then muttered something dark under his breath. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  I was glad that Sheriff Hennessey was between me and Dan Scott, who had a murderous look in his eye. “I’ll meet you at the station,” the sheriff said.

  * * *

  Patrick was at the station when I got there. “I figured they would have you come straight here,” he said.

  “Dan Scott saw me at Ivy’s, and when he learned the news, he accused me of the murder. I know it doesn’t look good, but I didn’t do it,” I said.

  “We need to process your clothes and body for trace evidence,” Sheriff Hennessey said. “I’ve got Deputy Linda Moore here to take you back. CSI Ashlyn Cate will take the evidence.”

  “Do you need to take my clothes? Should I call Aunt Jemma?”

  “I’ll call Jemma,” Patrick said.

  “We will take pictures,” Deputy Moore said. “If we find anything that needs further investigation, then we’ll need to take it.”

  She took me by the arm and led me back to the area where they had investigation rooms, Patrick following behind.

  “Have Aunt Jemma bring me jeans and a T-shirt,” I said.

  “Don’t say anything unless I’m present,” Patrick reminded me.

  I was taken back to a detention area, and they quickly took pictures of my hands, my clothes, my face, and my hair. Then they took scrapings from under my nails and checked my hands for gunshot residue. I saw that I had blood on my shoes. Not much, but enough that they asked for them. I slipped out of them.

  “We’d like inspect your clothes to be thorough,” CSI Cate said. She was a small woman with a California tan, blonde hair, and green eyes. I think the camera weighed more than she did. She wore a uniform of khaki pants and a khaki shirt with a name tag over the pocket.

  “I’ve got a change of clothes from your aunt.” Deputy Moore came through the door and placed the T-shirt and jeans on the table.

  “I don’t want to change if there are cameras in here,” I said.

  “You watch too many cop shows,” Deputy Moore said. “We don’t tape everything. But come on. I’ll show you to the restroom.”

  We walked down a short hall to a ladies’ room, where Deputy Moore waited outside the stall while I changed. I handed her my clothes, and she had me place the shirt and jeans into separate evidence bags, then handed the bags to CSI Cate.


  “Can I wash up now?” I asked.

  “Yes,” CSI Cate said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  I washed my hands with soap and water. I wanted to get rid of the smell of death that seemed to come out of my every pore. I wondered who could shoot a person in the back.

  “Sheriff Hennessey will ask you a few questions now,” Deputy Moore said as she took me to a small interview room.

  “I’d like my lawyer there,” I said.

  “We’ll get on that,” Deputy Moore replied and sat me inside the small room. There was a table and two chairs, a camera in the corner, and what was most likely a two-way mirror in the wall. It was all starting to feel wrongly familiar.

  I checked my phone. It had taken two hours to collect the evidence. I waited another full hour before Patrick came in. I wondered how I was ever going to pay his fees. “Have you been here the whole time?”

  “Yes,” he said. “They asked me to stay out.”

  “I asked for you an hour ago. I guess they’re busy.”

  “It’s rather standard,” he said with a shrug. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s hard to find a dead person. There’s a sort of shock that goes through your system. I think I might sleep like the dead tonight once all the adrenaline is gone.” I winced at my own grim humor.

  “Why did you go to Ivy Scott’s house?”

  “That’s my first question,” Sheriff Hennessey said as he came in with a file folder and some papers. “I’ll get another chair.” He went out, grabbed a plastic chair, and came back in. Then he sat so that Patrick and I faced him. “Now let’s try to get you out of here as quickly as possible. Why did you go to see Ivy Scott today? Are you two friends?”

  “I ran into Ivy last night at Billy’s bar,” I said.

  Patrick whipped his head around and studied my face. “What were you doing at Billy’s?”

  “Good question,” Sheriff Hennessey said.

  “Holly and I went to have a little fun and get out,” I lied.

  “Please tell me you weren’t there to investigate anything,” Sheriff Hennessey said.

  “I wasn’t.” I figured it didn’t hurt to fib a little. They studied me hard, and I realized I was a very bad liar. I could feel the heat of a blush rush up over my face. “Okay, so we went to see if we could find out any more information on Ivy Scott.”