by Jen Carter
Katia nodded.
“Did you buy it? Or make it? I know you’re really crafty.”
“I made it,” she managed to spit out.
“Wow, really? I guess I’m not surprised.” I waved my hands toward the swirly murals painted across the walls. “You two have always been very artistic. Would you mind if I tried fashioning something like it for me and my sisters? Could I see it, maybe? To get an idea of how you made it?”
Katia stared at me as though she was looking right through me. I smiled, trying not to seem weirded-out by the intense gaze. Then she snapped out of it and said, “I’ll look for it. The last two days have been a whirlwind. The place here is a disaster with all the police activity. If I find it, I’ll bring it by the winery.”
The lobby looked exactly as it had every time I had ever been in there—perfectly tidy with nothing more than bright Gerber daisies brightening a side table along the wall—but of course she could have been referring to guest rooms or her own living quarters.
I kept smiling and nodded. “I totally understand. Thank you.” I wondered if I’d be pressing my luck to ask more questions. Probably. But I couldn’t help myself. With a sympathetic look, I said, “Have the police been poking around here a lot? They’ve been doing the same at the winery. Such an awful situation.”
“They’re just doing their job,” Katia snapped.
Carolina pressed her fingers to her temples and stared daggers at her sister.
I nodded again. “Of course. You’re absolutely right. I’ll let you get back to your day. Katia, thank you for trying to find that hair clip for us.” I crossed to the door but turned around rather than walking through it. Again, I couldn’t help myself.
“Are you two doing all right?” I asked. “You seem really upset. Is everything okay?”
Katia sighed and covered her face with her hands.
Carolina patted her sister’s shoulder and said, “We’re fine. It’s just that reporter who—”
Katia jerked her hands away from her face and cut her sister off with a tuh-tuh-tuh noise. She followed it up with a stare of her own daggers.
Carolina glared back as though to say what’s your problem? She remained silent.
I thought about sharing my run in with the reporter that morning, but I doubted they would care.
“If you need anything, please let me know,” I said. I walked out and turned toward the winery.
Something fishy was definitely going on.
First, Katia couldn’t produce the hair clip, and it took her way too long to explain why. Second, they were obviously rattled by the police and the reporter—more than seemed necessary. If they had nothing to hide, why would either of these visits make them so jittery?
What did they have to hide?
My phone buzzed. I pulled it from my back pocket and saw that Livy had just sent a text.
Any updates?
She included Jules on the message, but I knew her inquiry was for me.
Yes, I typed back. I glanced, making sure I wasn’t blocking anyone’s way on the sidewalk and saw two women walking toward me with coffee cups. Coffee. Witnessing Fitts’ argument with the reporter and speaking with the Berke sisters had made me forget about my morning coffee. I’m going to get coffee if either of you want to meet me, I finished the text.
Be there in five, Livy responded.
Me too, Jules chimed in.
Just before I reached the winery, I saw Stella emerging from the tasting room and veering east down Via del Corso, the same way I was going. She didn’t see me. I quickened my pace to catch up.
“Hey, where’re you going?” I asked, tapping her shoulder.
She looked over. “Coffee.” She cringed. “Hey, I’m sorry that I had to tell Jason about last night.”
“I’m going to get coffee, too. Don’t worry about telling Jason. I sort of figured you would—it’s not in your nature to keep stuff from your hubby.” And then, because I just couldn’t stop myself, I added in a sing-song voice, “You got in trouble, you got in trouble.”
Stella looked straight down the street, and for a moment I could tell that she was considering a defense for herself. Then she shrugged and went with a half-smile instead. “Yeah, I kind of did. But Jason’s grubby baseball equipment got dirt all over the SUV’s cargo area last night after the game, so he and I are sort of even, right?”
I laughed. “Probably not.”
Her half-smile widened. “Well, it’s over now, and no more sneaking around, right?”
“Not like last night, no. But I might need to ask a couple people a couple questions here and there.”
“Jill,” she said in her warning voice.
I pretended not to hear and pushed through the door of Amy’s shop, Books and Brew, scanning the room. Holly was sitting with Elita off to the left at a high top table. Neither looked happy as they nursed large coffees, and I wondered if it was because Elita’s most recent ex-flame happened to be sitting with Amy’s husband on the other side of the shop.
We approached Holly and Elita’s table, pulling up two extra chairs with us.
Without a hello, Holly started talking. “I just told Elita about what Aldo and her dad were up to last night.”
Elita crossed her arms and shook her head. “Mom isn’t going to be happy.”
“Are you going to tell on your dad?” Stella asked.
I had to smile. It seemed like there was a lot of tattling, confessing, and lecturing going on lately. Were we even adults? Sometimes I wondered if we were just pretending to be grown up.
Elita sipped her coffee and then said, “I should tell her. And I bet this was my dad’s idea in the first place. He’s always talking his buddies into doing what he wants.”
Neither my sisters nor I responded. Our parents taught us well. If you don’t have anything nice to say. . .
The coffee shop door opened, and Livy and Jules walked in. Just as Stella and I had done, they each grabbed a chair and crowded around our little table.
“What’d we miss?” Jules asked.
“Nothing that you didn’t already know,” I said. “But hang on.” I glanced at the counter where Amy was handing change to a woman. Catching her eye, I signaled her toward us. She smiled and gave a little nod. “Let’s give Amy a second to finish with her customer, so she can hear, too.”
“We already told her about the old men’s outing,” Holly said.
“Perfect, then we’re all in the same place,” I said. “I just have a couple details to add.” I watched Amy walk around the counter, and cross the coffee shop toward her husband and Chris, Elita’s ex-boyfriend. The guys both worked for Morrie at Vendemmia and the adjoining tasting room, Canterbury, and I figured either it was their day off or they were on a break. After a quick exchange, Will rose and went to the coffee bar while Amy made her way to us.
“Quite a gathering here,” she said. “Something big must be happening.” There was no room for another chair, so she stood next to Stella.
“Well, you all can decide if this is big,” I said. “Everything seems like a big deal to me, so I’m not really a good judge.”
I told them about Fitts confirming that Marlo’s death wasn’t an accident and relayed his description of Marlo’s injuries. Then I told them about the reporter and Fitts running her off. I left out the part about Fitts saying the reporter was a pain like Stella. Just as I was about to launch into recounting my Berke sister encounter, Will appeared next to our cramped table and set down a carrier with four cups of coffee.
Stella reached into her purse and pulled out two bills. “I’ve got it,” she said, referring to the coffees. “Thank you, Will.”
“On the house,” Amy said, waving her away.
Stella shook her head. “No.”
Will smiled. His wife was always giving away coffee, and though he said nothing about it, I assumed he preferred when her customers paid. “I’ll be back with sugar, cream, and change,” he said.
Stella shook her he
ad again. “Keep it. Tableside service deserves a tip.” She grabbed a cup from the carrier.
Will laughed as he walked away. I smiled at him, momentarily thinking about how he and Nico would look like brothers if Nico grew his hair out more than half an inch. Once Nico got here, I hoped he’d join the soccer league with Will and Chris—I imagined they would have a lot of fun together. I hoped so.
Livy, Jules, and I thanked Stella for paying. I almost said that it would be my treat next time, but I knew that wasn’t really true. Stella had never, ever, ever let me pay for anything. Not since our parents passed away, at least.
Sipping my coffee and recalling where I left off with my story, I saw Elita scowling at the back of Will’s head. I wondered if she blamed Will for her break up with Chris. Guilt by association, probably.
No matter. Next week she would be scowling at someone else.
“So what happened with Katia and Carolina?” Jules asked.
Her question brought my wandering mind back to matters at hand. I told them about the sisters’ agitated behavior, emphasizing how Katia said she didn’t know where the hair clip was and how Carolina admitted to being rattled by the reporter.
Just as Will came back with the cream and sugar, Livy gasped and threw her hands over her mouth.
We all stared at her.
“I know why they’re so upset,” she said. Her words were muffled through her fingers.
We all stared at her, waiting. She didn’t continue.
“Are you still with us?” Holly said. “Liv?”
She shook her head, pulling herself out of deep thought.
Slowly, she began, “I was really busy in the shop Saturday afternoon—and this didn’t occur to me until just now. Right before we closed for the day, the Berke sisters came in.” She looked at me. “So this was after they accosted you on the park bench, insisting that you fix the noise issue with the bachelorette party.”
I nodded.
“They bought sleep aids. A lot of them. Like, three bottles of pills.”
The words sunk in. Silence surrounded us as we each connected the dots.
“You think the Berke sisters drugged the bachelorette party?” Stella asked.
Livy pursed her lips and swept her bangs over her forehead away from her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Well. That would explain the Berke sisters’ jumpiness. If they had given Marlo herbal sleep aids that caused drowsiness and then she fell asleep in the wine, could the Snapdragon sisters be held responsible? Was there any way to determine if herbal sleep aids or carbon dioxide from the must affected her consciousness? Were the herbs even that strong?
“But Fitts told you this morning that there were signs of a struggle,” Jules said. “A broken finger, a chunk of missing hair, and whatever else he wasn’t telling you about.” She raised her coffee for a sip, and no one responded as her words faded away.
“She could have just fallen down outside,” Holly said. “People can really hurt themselves when they’re drunk.”
“That might explain a broken finger,” Jules said, “but what about the chunk of hair? And it sounds like there were other things Fitts didn’t tell Jill.”
“How else did Katia’s hair clip get into the wine?” I looked at Livy and Jules. “Did you two see the sisters when you brought Janelle back to Snapdragon that night?”
They shook their heads.
“So,” Amy said slowly. “We don’t know how Katia’s hair clip ended up in the wine, but it’s possible the sisters were in the winemaking facility, and there could have been some sort of struggle. It’s also possible that the sisters gave Marlo sleep aids that could have impaired her—on top of the alcohol she had been drinking all day—and that could have played a role in the drowning. Theoretically.”
No one objected to her assessment.
I leaned back in my chair and turned my coffee cup around on the table. “Of course, they aren’t the only ones who could have played a role in this. Remember when we were at Deseo for girls’ night and we heard Marlo fighting on the phone? She was talking to her ex-husband, Alex, and they didn’t get along. Maybe he had something to do with it.”
Will came up behind Amy and put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I need to go help Chris. Morrie asked him to do something down at Checkmate for Artie. Something with computers. I’m going to help.”
I had a pretty good hunch about what Artie needed. He wanted Chris the computer guru to help him hack into Alex’s messages, of course.
Amy nodded. “All right, back to work.”
She and Holly stood at the same time.
“I’m coming with you,” Holly said to Will. “They better not be doing what I think they are.”
She followed Will and Chris out of the coffee shop. Elita stared after them, not moving from her seat.
Stella and Amy migrated toward the front of the shop, chatting about something having to do with the crush festival. Livy and Jules walked with me toward the front door, not ten seconds behind Holly and the guys.
“Should I call Fitts and tell him about the sleep aids?” Livy asked. “He left me his card yesterday.”
I nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“What are you going to do now?” Jules asked.
I watched Holly walking down the street with Will and Chris.
“I’m going to put the Berke sisters on pause. I think the Council of Elders is making the investigation into Alex much more difficult than it needs to be. I think I know how to simplify it.”
FOURTEEN
With a quick internet search, I discovered that Temecula Hills High School had already been in session for a week, there was only one art teacher named Alex, his classroom was located in the back of the school’s C Building, and lunch began at eleven forty-five.
Bless the World Wide Web.
I walked into the school’s front office, watching as the two women sitting at the front desk rose and bustled over to a copy machine with a stack of papers. I approached the desk, signed in and grabbed a visitor badge, and walked with purpose through the office as though I had a perfectly legitimate reason for visiting the C Building. I thanked my lucky stars that the office staff was preoccupied with the copy machine. There was no doubt they would have asked me questions if they had been sitting at their desks.
It only took a minute for me to find the C Building, despite having to navigate through crowds of high schoolers eating and goofing off everywhere, including the walkways between buildings. I hoped Alex was eating lunch in his classroom as so many teachers did. I pulled open room twenty’s door and peeked in. My luck had not run out. A man with thick gray hair and a goatee sat behind a desk holding a sandwich inches from his face.
“Are you another reporter?” he asked. His voice was gruff—and a little intimidating.
“No, I’m definitely not a reporter,” I said. I pushed back my normal instinct to avoid intimidating people and situations, reminding myself that someone died at our winery and I was there for a good reason. I stepped inside, summoning all my confidence. “Were you just visited by one? Short, blonde, wearing a blue skirt and jacket?”
He nodded.
“She visited us this morning as well.” I walked across the classroom and stuck out my hand. “My name is Jill D’Angelo. My family owns the D’Angelo Winery in Otto Viti.” Alex eyed my hand warily and finally shook it.
“Do you need something, Jill?” He took a bite of his sandwich. Chewing, he continued, “I only have about twenty minutes until next period, and I need to eat lunch.”
“I just wanted to offer my condolences for your loss. I’m very sorry about what happened to Marlo.”
He nodded, still chewing. “Thank you. It’s shocking.”
I let a moment pass before speaking again.
“Is there any word on the funeral?” I asked.
Alex furrowed his thick, gray eyebrows. He took another bite and said, “I’m the ex-husband. I don’t know anything about the arrangements.�
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I nodded. “Oh, yes, I see. I’m sorry—I just thought since you and Angelia were still close that you might know.”
That last statement was a leap, only based on the drunken conversation we had heard through Deseo’s back window about Alex and Angelia ganging up on Marlo.
If it was possible for Alex’s eyebrows to furrow anymore, they did.
“What?” he said. “Still close? Me and Angelia? No.” He shook his head and returned to his sandwich.
I let another moment lapse. “Well, I am very sorry for your loss no matter what.”
He nodded at his sandwich.
I wasn’t getting anywhere. Was this totally futile? Artie and the Council of Elders thought Alex could be involved. Artie said Marlo was trying to sabotage Alex’s side business. I had to bring the conversation around to the chess tables. Slyly.
“Enjoy the rest of your day.” I turned and made for the door. Halfway there I stopped and turned toward him again, hoping the move appeared spontaneous. “Hey, you make the chess tables that Artie sells at Checkmate, right?”
Alex stopped chewing. He stared at me.
“They’re beautiful,” I added quickly. “My grandfather has one. You’re so talented—and what a great way to recycle old school desks.”
He didn’t respond.
This wasn’t working either. He wasn’t warming up at all. How could I get him to talk about the tables and his side business?
“I’m a teacher down in Carlsbad, and I bet we have a ton of old desks stashed somewhere and taking up space. Maybe I’ll mention the idea to our art teacher. I bet turning them into chess tables could be a cool project for kids to work on, too.”
Alex’s face had been stony since I mentioned the desks, and now with his widened eyes, it looked practically stricken. As I heard the last words coming out of my mouth, I realized they might have come across differently than I intended. Ugh, total backfire.
“Of course I wouldn’t suggest selling them,” I added. “You’ve got the market covered. I just wanted to say that they’re lovely—and clever.”
Alex stood and motioned toward his classroom door. “I’m really sorry, Jill, but I have to finish my lunch before the kids get back.”