A Tangle in the Vines

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “I’d love to live in the theater basement!” He clapped his hands. Then he stopped joking around. “The room down the hall is fine, too.”

  “You’ll need more than a bed. We’ll have to redecorate the room. It’s way too girlie for you,” I added. Once the money starts flowing, I can always come up with more ways to spend it.

  “Yes! Carrie has baseball stuff we can use. I’m going to go tell Judy she’s getting her room back. Want me to bring up some chips?”

  “No, we’ll be down for dinner as soon as we work this out,” I replied. Billie, Marlowe, and Darjeeling ran. It only took a few more seconds to realize this could give us the boost we needed to make up for time we’d lost.

  “Offer him the deal and see what he says,” I said. “Yes, to bringing the old sets with him. I don’t know what kind of truck he needs, so he should figure it out and let me know where to send a check if they ask him for a deposit.”

  “Mick, here’s the deal.” Julie told him what we had in mind and he hardly let her finish before jumping at the chance. “He wants to know how soon he can start. Mick’s living on his brother’s couch, and his sister-in-law’s not happy about it.”

  “Tell him he’s on the clock now. As soon as he can arrange to have the sets moved, he should drive on up here.” Then I considered the non-theater-related issues that dogged us. “Before he loads up his car, maybe you should let him know about our other messy issues.” Zelda shook her head no, but Carrie nodded yes. It didn’t matter because Julie was already spilling the beans.

  “Uh, Mick before you pack up your car, there is one teeny-weeny glitch in all this.” I wouldn’t have used the teeny-weeny words, and technically, it’s more than a glitch, but what the heck? “Messy issues” was an understatement too. Julie knows Mick better than I do.

  “We’re mixed up in some murder investigations and there are cops all over the vineyard property. It might not be over when you get here.” Julie turned her back to us and I heard her whisper, “Six.” Then she just listened for a couple of minutes.

  “Uh-huh, I understand. Yep. Okay, call me as soon as you figure it out.”

  “Is he thinking about it?” I asked.

  “No. He’s on his way. Mick says that every time his sister-in-law picks up a kitchen knife, he’s sure she’s going to kill him in his sleep. His car is all packed. As soon as he can locate someone at the warehouse, he’s going to have a moving van load up the sets, his tools, and a few other things like that. Mick says he can talk the movers into accepting payment at this end.”

  Everyone was still buzzing with excitement when we headed downstairs. The discussion continued through dinner about the decision we’d made to hire Mick and rearrange the rooms. Billie was excited about what to do with his room.

  It wasn’t until after dinner that I managed to find out more about the Watkins property. It took me some effort to locate the parcel and get an address. Once I had that, the public records were easy to find. There was an owner, but it was an LLC and not an individual. The price paid for the property was ridiculously low when the LLC bought it in 1985. Colin Brinkley had to be correct when he guessed it was sold for back taxes.

  I also found a picture that must have appeared in a local paper. The husk of a barn—half a barn really—was all that remained standing. A pile of charred debris that must once have been Dustin’s house lay near the frame of a burned-out car. The caption read, Deadly Curse Strikes Again, but I couldn’t find an article that went with the photo.

  I searched for news about the fire, hoping to find that an investigation had determined what caused it or more details about the Watkins family and a boy who survived the fire. I also searched for later references to the Watkins property, and found one mention that the large parcel of land was for sale with a note that all structures were destroyed by fire in 1980. It shouldn’t have been frustrating that I found so little on the Internet since the fire had occurred before the Internet was publicly available or widely used.

  I left a voice mail for Diane Constantine giving her Dustin’s last name and the date the fire occurred. If someone from Children’s Services had been contacted while he was at the local hospital, I hoped Diane could find out where Dustin Watkins had been placed once he’d recovered enough to be released from the hospital in San Francisco. I quickly learned that medical records don’t have to be stored for more than seven years, so even if I knew which hospital in San Francisco had treated Dustin, I wasn’t likely to find much.

  I called Austin to tell him what we’d learned from our conversations with Doctor Kennedy and Judge Brinkley. It didn’t escape my weary mind that hearing Austin’s voice perked me up. He’s a naturally funny guy—not only the hokey cowboy routine—but he finds humor in the world where I just don’t see it.

  His chats with locals in a community where a prison is the number one employer were upbeat. Only Austin could have forged a bond with a fugitive while returning him to face a prison sentence. Who knew what he’d learn from a man the prison guards refer to as Little Bigmouth?

  “That’s Chief Little Bigmouth to you, he told them,” Austin said. “What a guy!”

  “Why do they call him Little Bigmouth?” I asked.

  “He’s short and wiry but has a booming voice.”

  “Does Chief mean he’s Native American?”

  “Yes, but I never heard him refer to the Wappo tribe as his ancestors, if that’s what you’re getting at. To be honest, I can’t remember what he said about his tribal affiliation.”

  “Maybe he’s heard of the Wappo curse. Even if he’s not from around here, he was in Calistoga when he spoke to the police about Penney Lincoln.”

  “I’ll ask him. From what he told the police, he wasn’t in town when he saw Penney Lincoln. If he gave the police more details about exactly where he was, it’s not in the written record. I can’t believe he wouldn’t have made a point of telling them that the man speaking to Penney Lincoln had a face scarred from burns.”

  “You said he was trying to play let’s make a deal with the police. Who knows what he kept to himself?”

  “True. You must be exhausted, Lily. Get some sleep. I won’t be around to beg you to come downstairs in the middle of the night after locking myself out.” I suddenly felt a rush of warmth at the memory of that embrace. “You were an awfully good sport about it.”

  “I haven’t always been such a good sport, have I?” I held up my hand and examined the ring on my finger. “I promise to try harder to be less afraid and cynical. Romance was as phony as all the air kisses and double-edged compliments doled out in Hollywood. I’m a mess. I admit it.”

  “That doesn’t bother me. I never cared much about being alone before we met, and I miss you every minute. Just promise that you’ll be my mess, okay?”

  I have no idea where his earnestness and willingness to trust came from. His life was no bed of roses growing up. Lawmen see the worst of what people do to each other—including broken promises by couples who’d vowed to love and cherish each other forever. I wished he were here with me so I could try again to discover the secret of his courage and strength.

  “I miss you, too, and I’m your mess as long as you can stand it.” And if the messes in my life don’t get either one of us killed. “Call me tomorrow when you’re on your way home.”

  “Will do, Lily.” As I said goodnight, I was trembling. There’s something in the way Austin says my name that’s more tender and romantic than all the other sweet words I’ve ever heard combined. How is that possible?

  15 Faint or Feint?

  Brandy Lewis was, indeed, a big girl. She towered over Billie and stood toe-to-toe with me. Her parents were even taller. They were polite, although clearly anxious about meeting with the police. I’d bet they hadn’t expected to spend their Sunday morning chatting over coffee with the police. We were barred from the room as soon as we’d made the family comfortable with beverages and a plate of cookies.

  I’d tried to take Dahlia aside an
d tell her what we’d learned from Dr. Kennedy and what Judge Brinkley told me. I got a hand in my face for my trouble. My gesture was simply an attempt to be courteous. I had to assume that if Austin considered the information important to the investigation, he’d relay it to Rikki.

  When the interview was over, Brandy was visibly shaken. I assumed that meant she’d been told about her teacher’s death. I wondered if the best thing for her to do was to leave right away for the comfort of home, but a promise is a promise, so I didn’t want to be the one to suggest it to her.

  “I’m going to have Jim Brady accompany you to the theater,” Dahlia announced in an officious tone. “Please stay together, and if you have questions, ask Officer Brady.”

  “Do you have a background in the theater, too?” Ms. Lewis asked Jim Brady in a naïve tone. Brandy rolled her eyes, and then Ms. Lewis sent me a sideways glance, smirking. Jim tried to hide his amusement since he was onto her.

  “All the world is a stage, is it not?” Jim asked as he spread his arm wide, opened the front door, and led us out onto the porch.

  “Nicely put, Jim,” Mr. Lewis murmured as he followed me out of the house. “I was worried the missus was going to fly over the table a time or two. She does not appreciate anyone needlessly upsetting Brandy.”

  “To be honest, my colleague isn’t always the most skilled interviewer. In this case, she knew Brandy’s teacher, so she’s having a harder time staying on an even keel.”

  I wondered what Jim meant by that. Neither of the men seemed to mind that I was listening in on their conversation, so I continued to walk with them hoping to learn as much as I could. Mrs. Lewis was walking ahead of us talking to Judy.

  Billie and Brandy walked side by side, with Brandy carrying Marlowe. Billie had insisted that Brandy carry our “comfort pooch.” I’m sure that term had come from Melody, who, on more than one occasion, had been allowed into stores with Darjeeling in her purse. The rest of my friends were told to stay behind. Hostages, I guess, in case we tried to make our escape.

  “Isn’t she supposed to recuse herself or something like that if it’s personal?” Mr. Lewis asked.

  “I don’t mean it’s personal in that way,” Jim responded.

  “Was it something about Brandy? She was like a Doberman with a cat cornered up a tree when she questioned her.” Mr. Lewis turned to me.

  “No offense, I’m not talking about your little fella. He’s a good dog with so many strangers in the house.”

  “No offense, taken. I think what Jim is trying to say is that Dahlia’s behavior isn’t about Brandy, but maybe it ought to be. Brandy’s young and she was closer to her teacher than your colleague, Jim.” Something about what I said must have upset Jim because I saw his jaw tighten. Was he worried Brandy’s parents would file a complaint against the department? It wasn’t his fault.

  “Let’s hope we can make it up to Brandy. I’m sure she was a big help to the investigation.”

  “She did her best, but she’s a student, not her teacher’s confidant. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know the name of the man her teacher’s dating—was dating. It’s a crying shame that a wonderful person like Ms. Wainwright is dead. I hope they find the miserable so and so. Brandy can’t be the only one who saw her get into that souped-up Camaro.”

  I stumbled and Jim took my arm to steady me. When I made eye contact with him, he nodded yes to my unuttered question—was the car black? A sighting of someone in a black Camaro picking up another victim made it a little easier to understand why Dahlia had pushed Brandy so hard.

  When we stepped through the trees onto the theater grounds, Brandy squealed with excitement. She put Marlowe down as she and Billie ran down the middle aisle.

  “It’s bigger than I thought it would be!”

  “Let’s go up on stage, Brandy. We’ll sing something.” They were on the stage in a flash and stepped centerstage. For a moment, they discussed what to sing. Brandy giggled, nodded, and they launched into an acapella version of Ebony and Ivory. They were surprisingly good, and the difference in their heights was adorable. By the way they worked in a few dance steps, this couldn’t have been entirely improvised.

  “Have they performed this song before?” I asked Mr. Lewis.

  “Brandy sang the song with someone else last year for the students in Ms. Wainwright’s class. Billie must have paid close attention. He’s got most of the moves down.”

  “Brandy’s got star quality written all over her. Their voices are great together,” I added, cheering as they bowed. Then I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled the way Aunt Lettie had taught me to do.

  “Warn me next time you plan to do that!” Mr. Lewis said as he wiggled his ear and laughed.

  “It’s a deal! Let’s go congratulate the stars.” I took off running for the stairs that led up to the stage, cheering all the way.

  “That was awesome, you two!” I exclaimed when I reached them. “Brandy you have a great voice.” She curtsied.

  “Thank you.” Then Brandy hugged me.

  “You do too, Billie! Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?”

  “Nobody asked me,” he said. I ruffled his hair, and it stood up on end.

  “How would you like to do that in front of a bigger audience?” I was suddenly inspired to include them in our opening night.

  “Singing’s not in the show,” Billie commented. “Where would it go?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s for our writer to figure out. Let’s go backstage.” For almost an hour, we set aside worries about murder and mayhem, although I did check that all the windows were closed in the basement. When I returned to the stage with Billie and Brandy, her mother was sitting and chatting with Judy. Jim and Brandy’s dad were doing the same thing, closer to the stage.

  “These seats are comfortable,” Mr. Lewis commented as he stood.

  “That’s good, Dad, because Billie and I are going to be in the show here during the Thanksgiving Harvest Festival.”

  “You are?” her mother asked as she stood, too.

  “If it’s okay with you two, of course,” I added. “I’m not even sure exactly what they’ll do, but a duet of some kind.”

  “It’s going to be a big audience. Are ready for that, Brandy?” her mother asked.

  “Definitely!”

  “Then why not?” Billie and Brandy hooted and hollered. They hammed it up doing a silly dance routine onstage.

  “What are you doing?” A thin, middle-aged woman asked as she squeezed through the trees not far from the steps leading up to the stage.

  “Time to go,” Jim said immediately. He stood up and stepped closer to the woman. I motioned for Billie and Brandy to come down from the stage, and, in seconds, we were standing with Brandy’s parents.

  “Mrs. Lincoln, where are you?” That was Dahlia’s voice.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Lewis why don’t you and the kids go back to the house with Judy while Jim and I reunite Mrs. Lincoln with Dahlia?” Judy herded everyone together and ushered them up the aisle toward the main exit. I saw Judy waving at someone who must have been Dahlia.

  “Mrs. Lincoln, I’m Lily Callahan. Would you like me to show you around the theater building?” Jim inched closer to Mrs. Lincoln and reached for her arm. She dashed up the stairs to the stage.

  “Don’t let me stop the party!” she shouted. Judy and the others were gone, but Dahlia and Rikki came running toward us. Mrs. Lincoln spun around on stage. Was she drunk? She hadn’t reeked of alcohol like Billie’s mother. Drugs maybe?

  “Mrs. Lincoln, I can tell you’re upset. What can I do?” I asked as I slowly walked up each step until I was on stage with her.

  “Why not invite more people to dance on my daughter’s grave?” Penney’s mom opened her arms as if she were standing in front of an audience.

  “I understand how stressful it must be to find out that Penney’s dead. It was shocking to me and I was a friend, not her mother.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Penney did
n’t have any friends.” She stopped and stared at me. “Especially not a snooty girl like you.”

  “I was new in school at the time, but she was friendly toward me. She was cute and funny and appeared to have plenty of friends.”

  “Boyfriends—that’s what you mean, don’t you? The police told me they’d heard that, and I told them whoever said it was lying. I didn’t want them to believe I was a bad mother.” The woman began to sob. My eyes filled with tears as I went to her and put my arms around her. Jim moved closer to the steps.

  “I’m sure you did your best. It’s not your fault Penney got mixed up with the wrong person. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re acting, Lily Callahan. If I’d told the police someone had picked her up, she might still be alive, but Bud said it would make me look bad since I didn’t even know who it was. Penney and I had another fight about her stepfather telling her what to do. I thought she’d run off like she’d done before. Penney was gone for three days before I called the police and asked them to look for her.” She pulled away from me and scanned the area around the theater as if searching for an escape route.

  “I knew no high school kid could afford a hot car like that. When I asked who was picking her up, Penney told me a parent was driving and his daughter was in the car, too.”

  The more she rambled on, the more confused I became about her story. If Penney didn’t have friends, why was it so easy for her to believe a friend’s parent was picking them up in a black Camaro? It had to be the same car Jesse had seen picking up Penney at school. Had Mrs. Lincoln seen it before?

  Why was she convinced that Penney had run away if she’d left the house with a friend and her parent? Had Penney given her the name of the friend, and had her mother tried to locate Penney at the friend’s house?

  “Let’s go inside where it’s quiet. I’ll tell the police to keep out, and we’ll sit and talk with coffee or a glass of wine.” A smile flitted across her face.

  “Is that okay with you?” She asked Jim and the two women standing at the foot of the stairs on opposite sides of the stage. Then Mrs. Lincoln looked up for a second and turned as white as a ghost before crumpling to the ground. When I glanced in the direction she’d been looking, I caught a glimmer of light, as if the sun had reflected off a shiny object. Had it been the decorative lights strung up in the trees glinting in the sunlight or had she seen something—or someone—else?