by Jen Carter
“How are you?” I asked. I pulled the cherry tomato, basil leaf, and mozzarella ball off the skewer, popping each bit into my mouth.
He sipped his martini again. “I’m here.”
Well, that was an interesting answer. I didn’t detect sarcasm. Or gratitude. Or humor. It was just a flat, matter-of-fact, I’m here.
He clearly wasn’t any happier to see me today than he was Monday, and I knew time was ticking. Any person walking by could be an excuse for him to get away.
I swallowed the caprese, leaned forward, and dropped my voice.
“I know that Marlo was blackmailing you,” I said. “Have you told the detective? You need to tell him. And if you’ve got an alibi, you’ve got to provide it.”
Alex leaned forward, matching my posture. His mouth dropped open slightly before responding. “How did you know she was blackmailing me? She said she didn’t tell anyone.”
That was sort of true and sort of not true. My mind flashed back to yesterday’s conversation with Janelle. While Janelle knew that Marlo was blackmailing him, she didn’t know the details. Marlo only brought it up in passing when she wanted a laugh at another’s expense, and Janelle didn’t care enough to press for specifics. Or so she said.
“I don’t think Marlo told anyone what she was blackmailing you about. But I figured most of it out on my own.” I pursed my lips together in a you’re-our-of-luck smile. “I’m a teacher down here. And just yesterday I spent my afternoon rereading our faculty handbook. You know, laws about school property, stuff like that.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” he whispered urgently, glancing around the room as though the desk police might be hiding behind the piano, ready to take him away for stealing school property. “Please don’t tell anyone I’ve been taking those old school desks illegally. I could lose my job.”
There were so many comments I wanted to make—so many what’s wrong with you? questions I wanted to ask. Why didn’t he just get the desks through auction? Why did he tell Marlo what he was doing? Why did he let her bully him?
“Look,” I said. “I don’t want you in trouble. I don’t want you to get fired, and if possible, I’d like you to keep making those tables for Checkmate. But you have to share this with Detective Fitts. If he’s going to solve this case, he needs to know everything that’s happened—blackmail and everything.”
“I didn’t kill her. I didn’t hurt Marlo,” he said. “And I can prove it.”
“Then prove it. Tell the detective that she was blackmailing you about the desks and then tell him where you were on Saturday night. Alex, seriously, if you don’t tell him about the blackmail, I will.”
He didn’t say anything. I stood to leave him alone, but his voice stopped me.
“Do you know what she wanted from me?”
I looked down and waited for him to continue.
“She wanted me to stop seeing Angelia. She was jealous that I was so close with her daughter when I wasn’t even the biological father. And I was all that kid had. I could see how Marlo tried to infect Angelia with her nastiness—but there’s good in Angelia. A lot of good. I couldn’t let Marlo sap it from her.”
I nodded, thinking. “Why did you tell me on Monday that you and Angelia weren’t close?”
He gave a little shrug. “Marlo was blackmailing me, and then she turned up dead. I wanted to distance myself from the family.”
“You have to tell the detective.” I turned toward the kitchen.
“Hey.” His voice stopped me again. “Maybe you should look more into Marlo and Janelle’s relationship.”
So both Alex and Angelia thought something was going on with Janelle. Interesting. I gave a small nod and walked toward the kitchen in search of more caprese.
NINETEEN
I stayed at the reception about an hour. I didn’t feel comfortable staying until the end since I wasn’t a close friend—nor was I related—but I also didn’t want to be the first to leave. By a quarter to three, a couple people had left, and it was time to say my goodbyes. If I was lucky and there wasn’t much traffic, I’d make it to Temecula in an hour, swing by the police station, and get to Otto Viti with enough time to make Jules’ self-defense class.
Driving north past the dried hillsides of I-15, I couldn’t keep questions from barreling through my mind, one rolling through right after the next. Did Alex really have an alibi? Could he have scuffled with her and pushed her into the wine to end the blackmailing? If he did, why go the memorial? Was he upset about her death? Or, was he just worried about losing his job over stealing old desks?
He hadn’t committed to telling Fitts about the blackmailing, and I was feeling that familiar impulse to act—just like I had when charging into the barn and seeing Marlo on the stretcher. I wasn’t going to wait for him. I knew it wasn’t my place, but Fitts needed to know. And keeping secrets wasn’t my specialty.
I got to the police station a little more quickly than I expected, which meant I wouldn’t need to rush to self-defense. That was, of course, if Detective Fitts was actually there and I didn’t have to wait too long to speak with him.
I walked to the reception area and waited for the clean-cut, young man at the front desk to look up. His eyes were cast down on the stack of papers before him, a pen moving along each line of text as he read. After finishing a paragraph, his eyes met mine.
“Hello,” I said with a smile. “Is Detective Fitts available? I think I have some information for him regarding a case he’s been assigned. My name’s Jill D’Angelo.”
The man looked down his nose and over his glasses at me—a move I’d expect from an elderly, fussy librarian. He pointed toward a group of chairs at the other end of the reception room. “Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll tell the detective you’re here.”
I glanced at the name plate on the desk. “Thanks, Gerald,” I said. I crossed the room and sat in one of the vacant chairs. To pass the time, I pulled out my phone and texted my sisters. Stella was likely to text back right away, and Holly probably wouldn’t respond at all—but I had a habit of texting them together. That way no one was ever left out.
How’s crush set up going? Excited about the festival tomorrow?
Then, because my question about the festival made me think twice about self-defense, I sent Jules a text.
Are we still having self-defense today? Or is it cancelled because of the festival tomorrow?
“D’Angelo?” a voice called across the lobby.
I looked up. Detective Fitts was standing behind the reception desk, his arms crossed. I waved and gave him a ridiculously-huge smile—a silent plea not to deny me his audience.
He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Come on,” he said. Then he turned and walked toward the back of the building, which I assumed housed his office. I scurried after him.
Down a long, drab hallway, he opened a door and motioned for me to enter.
“Have you been snooping again?” he asked as I took a seat at the desk in the middle of the room.
“I don’t know if I would call it snooping.” I watched him walk around the desk and sit down. For some reason, I had assumed he would be the messy type with stacks of papers falling over and drawers half-open with random objects sticking out, but I was wrong. There were only two pieces of paper laid out side by side on the otherwise clear desk. “I went to work. And I had to read a teacher’s handbook, which made me think about Alex Benson—Marlo’s ex-husband.”
Fitts raised an eyebrow, and I recounted the conversation between me and Alex at the reception. I didn’t mention that Janelle had confirmed the blackmail the day before. While I had a semi-legitimate reason to be at the reception and talking to Alex wasn’t entirely out of line, I knew that showing up at Janelle’s house the day before would register as snooping to Fitts. Well, it was snooping, but I didn’t want to be lectured for it.
When I finished the story, Fitts leaned back in his chair. He outstretched his arm toward the desk so that he could tap his fingers on its edge.
“Why did you go to the memorial?” he asked. “And the reception?”
I looked to the ceiling in a half-eye roll and shrugged, hoping my body language implied that I didn’t really want to go. “Shane asked me to, and I was sort of there to represent my family paying its respects. Since the accident happened on D’Angelo property and I knew Shane from a long time ago, it just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“This wasn’t an accident. Stop calling it that. And what’s the deal with this Shane guy? Why would he want you at the memorial? Seems like an awkward request to me.”
I shrugged again. “It seemed awkward to me, too. I don’t know. Doesn’t grief make people act strangely?”
Fitts continued tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk, but now his eyes were fixed on a point across the office above my head.
“Before you showed up just now,” he said slowly, “Alex called me. About ten minutes before you got here. And he told me about the desks.”
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. “Oh, thank goodness. I told him that if he didn’t say anything, I would—which obviously is why I’m here. I feel like less of a tattletale now.”
“Well, since you’re a D’Angelo, being a tattletale is in your blood. But,” he sighed, “I guess that works in my favor this time.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Ignore the swipe, I told myself. Getting riled up like Stella isn’t helpful.
But really. The man didn’t have any filter. Ever.
“Did he give you an alibi?” I asked, opening my eyes.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but possibly. He said he was at school to pick up desks that night. I’m trying to find out if there’s video surveillance footage of the parking lot—or anything else that can help confirm he was at school when she drowned.”
I nodded. “Ironic. He could have been a suspect because of the blackmailing, but the very reason he was being blackmailed could be his alibi. Any progress on the Berkes and their sleep aids?”
Fitts gave me a look that told me I had worn out my welcome. Duly noted.
I stood up, and without even thinking about it, I said, “let me know what you find out.” It seemed like the natural thing I would say to my friends or sisters, and it just slipped out.
He guffawed. “Not likely.”
I smiled and gave a little wave. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to talk with me.”
As I turned to leave, I smiled inwardly. He probably would tell me—at least partially. After all, he didn’t have a filter. All I had to do was ask.
As I walked out to the parking lot, I checked my phone. There were three texts waiting for me—including one from Holly, suprisingly.
Stella’s read, Everything is coming along. Looking forward to seeing you!
Holly’s read, I’m short and chubby and haven’t worked out in years. Hauling all this festival stuff out of storage is going to give me a heart attack.
Jules’ read, Self-defense is on! See you at five?
I smiled. I would have to remember to be extra nice to Stella because her calm probably wasn’t going to last long. And I’d have to remind Holly that heart attacks were frowned upon before festivals.
I typed back to Jules, yes!
Once reaching my car, I hopped in and headed east toward Otto Viti.
So, Alex probably had an alibi. For the time being, I could rule him out. He and Angelia both thought it was worth looking further into Janelle, but neither gave a reason why. All evidence pointed toward her being passed out at Snapdragon that night, and maybe Alex and Angelia just needed a scapegoat for their difficult relationships with Marlo. That had to be it.
Could Angelia have done it? Toby had said that Angelia’s family was strange. And although Angelia was being nice to me now—especially given the circumstances of her mom’s death—her family did seem strange.
But no. She couldn’t have done it. Her mom was blackmailing Alex, yes. And her mom was at the bachelorette party unwanted, yes. But that wasn’t enough a reason to kill her. That night, Shane probably dropped her off after dinner, and she probably went right to sleep. There were probably many people who could verify that.
I slowed on approach to a stoplight and tried to reel my imagination back in. I was being absurd for even entertaining thoughts of Janelle or Angelia being suspects in the first place. They couldn’t have done it.
The light turned green and I stepped on the gas.
That brought me back to the Berke sisters at Snapdragon. Even if they hadn’t lost that hideous hair clip in the vat of wine themselves, they still could have been there. I hadn’t heard an alibi for them. And they still got sleep aids from Livy’s store that afternoon and might have drugged the bachelorette party to quiet them down that night. Not okay.
Another conversation with the Berkes was in order. After self-defense, of course.
TWENTY
Otto Viti looked just as it had when I left on Monday, which surprised me a little since there was a festival the next day. Normally shop owners didn’t set up their tables or tents until the morning of, but I expected at least a couple people rushing around, organizing what they needed to bring outside and making last minute decisions about where to post advertising signs. As I walked down Via del Corso, I didn’t sense any stress or urgency. Shoppers strolled along the sidewalk, smiling and swinging shopping bags at their sides. Wine tasters and diners sat outside on patios sampling OV’s finest and chatting. Frenzied proprietors were nowhere in sight.
Good. I didn’t like stress or urgency.
I walked into Livy’s shop just a couple minutes before five o’clock. She was wrapping up some products for a customer at the front counter. I browsed the shelves of lotions, waiting as she finished.
“If you get any of the powder from the bath bombs on your clothes, it will come right out—just swat it with your hands a couple times,” Livy told the young woman making the purchase. She handed over the bag filled with bath time goodies.
The customer took the bag, nodded her thanks, and walked toward the exit. I smiled when she momentarily made eye contact with me on her way out.
“Ready?” Livy said to me. “Is it really almost five o’clock?” She reached under the counter and grabbed her cell phone to check the time.
I nodded and took a couple steps toward the counter. I pointed over my shoulder at the customer who just left. “So, do you think of Marlo every time you sell a bath bomb now?”
“Yep,” Livy said. “And the ones that customer bought were the exact same pink-and-blue Vanilla Swirl ones that Marlo and Janelle bought. We just got a new batch on the shelves today. It feels surreal.” She gave a little shiver for emphasis and then stepped around the counter toward the door leading to the store’s back office. Pushing the door open a smidge, she called, “Hunter, I’m heading out to Jules’ class.”
A second later, Livy’s long-time boyfriend and business partner came through the door. He high-fived Livy and smiled at me. Hunter wasn’t my type with his blonde hair and blue eyes, but I still did a double take nearly every time I saw him. His eyes were so blue. I think it might have been the contrast between his eye color and his remarkably long eyelashes that always surprised me.
“Hey Jill,” he said. He stepped behind the counter to take Livy’s place while she was gone. “You two go give ‘em hell.”
“Give who hell?” I asked.
Hunter shrugged, still smiling. “I don’t know—whoever. Oh, just go have fun.”
“See you in an hour,” Livy said.
We walked out of the store, and I waved over my shoulder.
“Any updates on the investigation?” Livy asked as we crossed the street toward OV’s East Park, which was directly across from Mortar and Pestle.
“The ex-husband probably has a viable alibi. We can pretty much count him out. Any updates here?”
“That reporter keeps poking around. And the old men are driving me nuts. Not Aldo, but t
he rest of them.”
I smiled. “It’s okay to say that Aldo is driving you nuts, too.”
Livy shook her head. “Nope, he’s fine. Holly is keeping him so busy in the tasting room that he doesn’t have time to partake in the shenanigans. It’s Eduardo who’s really causing the problem.” Reaching the sidewalk at the edge of the park, we stopped to finish the conversation before joining the self-defense participants who had already congregated a couple yards away. “He’s starting an Otto Viti watch group and has both Artie and Morrie putting flyers up everywhere.” She pointed toward a nearby bench. “See that piece of paper? That’s one of them.”
I saw the bright orange paper fluttering around, only held to the bench with one sad piece of tape.
“Great,” I said. “Let’s advertise to the visitors here spending money and drinking wine that shop owners don’t feel safe.”
“Exactly. Every night Jules and I have been going around and pulling down the flyers. Every morning, they’re back up. So we take them down again.”
I shook my head. “We’ve got to talk some sense into Eduardo.”
We trekked across the grass to the group of women standing with Jules and stretching out their shoulders and hamstrings. Katie Foxx, the assistant from Chocolat, and Shannon Issley, resident jewelry maker and surfer, were talking with Jules. Next to them, Amy and Stella stood joking about something.
Jules looked over and waved to us. “Glad you could make it. I figured we’d have a small group today since the festival is tomorrow, but this is more than I expected.”
Everyone’s eyes followed Jules’ toward us, but quickly they were averted to something behind us. Instinctively, we turned to see what they were scoping out.
Holly, followed closely by the Council of Elders, was striding across the grass toward us. She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head for the last few steps.
“Hey guys,” Jules said brightly. “What’s going on?”
Holly jabbed a thumb over her shoulder toward the men and huffed, “They want to learn self-defense. Just a move or two.”