A Tangle in the Vines

by Anna Celeste Burke

  The restaurant turned out to be a perfect place for our large, rowdy group. It was a lovely evening outdoors, and only once or twice did I peek over my shoulder, worried that someone was sneaking up on me. The menu wowed my Hollywood divas, which is hard to do given that LA is a foodie mecca. So is Napa.

  I’m not sure how the subject came up, but when Austin mentioned that Napa was a word used by the Wappo tribe that meant ‘plenty.’ Billie had another surprise for me. The first surprise was that he’d ordered grilled octopus as an appetizer. Even more surprising was that he ate it.

  “Wait until I tell Brandy I ate octopus!” he said. Anyway, his third surprise was most unexpected.

  “The Wappo tribe put a curse on the watering hole behind the Watkins’ place.”

  “A curse, how do you know about that?” Zelda asked.

  “All of us kids know about it. Everybody says to stay away from the entire area. My parents told me the Wappo poisoned the water, and the folks who lived there went crazy from drinking it. Nobody’s lived there for a hundred years, and the curse is even older than that. There’s a huge cave underground where the Wappo used to dance and fill it with spirits. Some of them couldn’t get out.” For some reason, that resonated with Dustin’s fears about his sister getting out of her grave. Maybe he’d heard Billie’s story, too.

  “You’re giving me the shivers,” Zelda said as she crossed herself. Then she grabbed the cross hanging around her neck. “All we need is evil spirits. The human stinkers around here have been bad enough.”

  “Ghosts?” Mick asked as his eyes grew wide. He’d been too busy devouring the figs and prosciutto, heirloom tomatoes, and mandilli created with fresh house-made silk handkerchief pasta, to say a word. Don’t tell me the guy who’d had no hesitation about joining us in the middle of a murder investigation was afraid of ghosts. Then he shrugged and went back to eating.

  “I’ve lived around here longer than you have, Billie, and I know for a fact there were people on that property more recently than a hundred years ago,” Judy said. “I don’t believe in curses, but bad water can make people sick, so that’s interesting.”

  “What did you hear about the curse when you were growing up, Judy?” Julie asked. I wasn’t surprised the story piqued the interest of my writer friend.

  “Some hogwash about the family that settled there being cursed because the land was sacred. Almost anything in nature could have been sacred to the Wappo or most other native people. Like a natural spring if that’s what fed the watering hole that Billie’s talking about. Unusual stone formations and caves too, especially if they offered shelter, or places with abundant food sources. That’s why Napa works as a name for the valley which means the entire valley is a sacred place.”

  “Well, I recently learned some of the tribes practiced kuksu,” Austin added. Their ceremonies included dance; some of which took place underground, so that part of Billie’s story could be true.”

  “If the entire valley is regarded as a place of plenty, we’re all on sacred ground. Does that mean we’re all cursed?” Jim asked.

  “That’s my point, Jim. The curse idea is ridiculous. Based on what happened to the Wappo tribe, I’m afraid they’re the ones who were cursed. Now if you told me that squabbling about who got to use the watering hole led to some idiot poisoning it rather than sharing it, and it killed them all, I could believe that. The Watkins’ property never was very productive, although Billie’s right that no one has tried to do anything with it for decades. Maybe there’s poison in the watering hole that seeped into the soil and ruined the crops or drove the people mad. That has nothing to do with the spirits or curses, Billie.”

  “I’m glad you’ve stayed away from there, son,” Jim said. “Judy’s right that nothing good has come from the place as long as I’ve been alive.”

  “Oh, no, do you think Dustin’s been there, and that’s why he doesn’t seem right?”

  “I don’t know, Billie. Some people are born with problems like Dustin’s. Diane’s trying to find out if anyone’s ever heard of a boy named Dustin who was diagnosed with autism before everyone lost track of him.”

  “I hope someone figures out where he’s gone before the Sitter hurts him anymore.”

  “I hope so, too, Billie.” I put an arm around him, and he leaned against me and whispered.

  “I’m pretty sure I know where Dustin is. Can Austin and the secret agents go look for him?”

  “Hmm. We’ll ask Austin about it when we get home. For now, let’s keep this between us, okay?” Then, true to his twelve-year-old priorities, he piped up.

  “What’s for dessert?”

  19 The Shack

  When we left for home after dinner, Zelda insisted that it was her turn to ride in the police cruiser—in the front seat since she’d never done that before. Billie was a little disappointed, but I was grateful it worked out that way. Mick took the extra seat in the car the divas had driven, so Billie rode with Judy, Austin, and me.

  “Billie has a question for you, Austin,” I said as soon as we left the restaurant parking lot. “He thinks he knows where Dustin might be.”

  “Not in that poisonous watering hole, I hope,” Judy said.

  “No, not there. I told you I never went to the watering hole. I did sort of get lost in the area once when I was exploring the woods.”

  “Were you following Dustin?” I asked.

  “This was before I knew about Dustin. Two years ago, at least. When I realized where I was, I got really scared. Sort of like what you said, Judy. There was a creek and I wondered if it was connected to the watering hole. Then I thought what if the poison was in the air too.”

  “So, what makes you believe Dustin might be around there?” Austin asked.

  “I climbed to the top of a big pile of boulders to see where I was. That’s how I know for sure that I was in the woods behind the Watkins’ property. When I searched around me, I saw this broken-down old shack. I thought people might have lived there until the poison killed them. The wind blew and a big cloth filled up with air. One end was tied to the shack and others to posts in the ground with rope. Now I wonder if some of the garbage lying around was too new to be a hundred years old. What if that was a tent and Dustin’s living in it?”

  “That’s a good question. Was the shack very far from the road?” Austin asked.

  “Yes. A car went by, and it was tiny, but there was a trail. I smelled horses, so I thought it was for horseback riding. It might be big enough for your SUV or Judy’s truck. I’m not sure.”

  “When you were on top of the boulders in back of the Watkins’ property, was the road to your right or your left?” Austin asked.

  “To my right. There were huge oaks everywhere, so I don’t know how easy it would be to see the trail or anything else from the road. The Watkins’ place wasn’t straight in front of me either. It was more on my left.”

  “I’ve been looking at maps of the preserve area around the Calla Lily Vineyard. Let me see if I can locate the place you’re describing and get a better idea of the best way to get in there.”

  “Then will you and the agents go look for Dustin? The Sitter would never win a fight against you.” Billie was almost pleading with Austin at this point.

  “I can’t promise until I’ve done my research and spoken to Rikki about it. I don’t see what harm it could do to check it out.”

  “You’ll have to be sneaky, so Dustin and the Sitter don’t see you coming until the last minute. I don’t want Dustin to get scared and run away or the Sitter to see you coming and hurt Dustin. It might be easier to do that at night.”

  “Not tonight, kiddo,” I said. “You heard what Austin said about needing to do his homework. Sneakiness requires careful planning.”

  “Maybe tomorrow night since we’re shopping for clothes in the morning, Number One Mom!”

  “I’ll wake you up early so we can beat the crowds. Labor Day is a huge sale day.”

  “Not without me,” Austin s
aid. By the time we drove the last few miles for home, Billie was almost asleep. When we drove in through the gates, he woke up and searched for the secret agents.

  “They’re good,” he said.

  I hoped Billie was right if they decided to undertake the mission he’d proposed to Austin. Rikki had called Austin soon after we returned home from dinner. She thought checking out the shack was worth doing if they could locate it.

  The reason she’d called Austin was to update him about the effort to identify the victim who might be a Lincoln. Rachel Lincoln’s sister had wasted no time providing Rikki with items that had belonged to Bud Lincoln. The crime lab had prepared samples in a couple of hours. By morning they might know if Mrs. Watkins was, in fact, a member of the Lincoln family.

  I slept better that night than I had since this entire nightmare began. I woke up happy at the prospect of playing mom by taking Billie shopping. When I got to the kitchen, Judy was already there, of course, and coffee was made. When she saw me, a quizzical look came over her face.

  “Lily, what are you doing here? Did you forget something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Billie said Jim was taking the two of you shopping. Since you were already in the front seat, Billie was excited that he was going to get to ride in the back this time.”

  “Austin!” I shouted. I ran up the stairs, but Aunt Lettie’s room was empty. No Austin. No Billie.

  “Where is he?” I asked as divas stumbled from their rooms.

  “Who?”

  “Austin!” I replied.

  “Judy, did Austin go with Billie?” I yelled that question, but Judy had followed me upstairs and stood right behind me.

  “I don’t think so. Maybe he’s already gone after him, though,” she said. “I’ll call Jesse.” We both ran downstairs to the landline in the kitchen. Judy had Jesse on the phone in a second.

  “Jesse says Austin, Steve, and Glen left ten minutes ago.”

  “Was that before or after Billie left?” I asked.

  “About the same time,” Judy replied. “What, Jesse?”

  “Jesse says they had maps with them, and you’re not supposed to go anywhere.”

  “Let me speak to Jesse, please,” I insisted.

  “Jesse, did you see Jim Brady leave?”

  “Yes. Austin saw him, too. Billie was in the back, and that’s when Austin and the others took off after Jim.”

  “Did Billie seem scared?” I asked.

  “Not really. He was smiling and trying to get attention, I think, by waving. I’m sorry I let Jim in here. He said Dahlia sent him to pick up important materials she’d left in the reading room.”

  “Jim lied to Billie and Judy too. That’s why Billie got into the backseat of his car.”

  “What can I do?” Jesse asked.

  “What did they tell you to do?” I asked.

  “Block the gate with my truck and don’t allow anyone in or out—that includes you.”

  “Call me if you get any news.” When I hung up the phone, Melody stood there already dressed.

  “Did you find Billie?” She asked.

  “No, but Austin and a couple of the men went after him.”

  “Lily! Lily!” Carrie and Julie came running into the kitchen. Zelda was following them.

  “You’ve got to see this,” Julie said. “When Billie told us that he thought no one was living at the Watkins’ place for a hundred years, I thought maybe that’s when the trouble started—a hundred years ago. Carrie said we needed to dig into old news about Calistoga. We worked until about four this morning. She has access to all sorts of archives. Look.”

  The man in the photo was the spitting image of Jim Brady if you ignored the ratty looking hair that hung to his shoulders. As far as I could tell, this photo was taken right before he was hung. The caption read:

  Bart Lincoln sentenced to hang for claim jumping and the murder of Hank Watkins.

  “Look behind the condemned man,” Carrie demanded. Another man stood in front of an opening in an outcropping of large boulders. Water poured from a crevice in the rocks. The man had a slick grin on his face as he stood there glaring.

  “What do you want to bet that’s another member of the Watkins clan?” Julie asked.

  “This can’t be about gold a hundred years later. If there had been gold, the Watkins would have cleaned it out,” I argued.

  “Yeah, and they wouldn’t have lived like paupers on that miserable plot of land they owned before someone torched what little they had and killed them. Revenge is more durable than gold,” Judy added.

  “Some members of the clans may have tried to end the conflict.” I explained about the DNA evidence and the possibility that Mrs. Watkins was a Lincoln and that the still unidentified victim was also a Lincoln.

  “From that photo, it’s clear Jim Brady’s a Lincoln,” I said, feeling sick at the thought that he had Billie.

  “By marrying a Watkins, maybe you weren’t a Lincoln anymore and Jim Brady set that fire to settle the score. How could Jim Brady be a serial killer? I’ve known him most of his life.” Judy looked every bit her age as she leaned against the kitchen island.

  Marlowe suddenly went nuts, growling and barking at the door that leads into the kitchen from the cellar. I grabbed a huge French knife from a drawer in the island. When the doorknob turned slowly, someone spoke, and I recognized his voice as he opened the door.

  “Lily, you have to come with me. Fast, the short way! We need to save the boy. The lawman that boy shot too, or his number’s up.” Dustin took my hand. “The Sitter set a trap, but I know how to fix it—by the numbers. You have to get the boy while I do the numbers.”

  “Dustin, it’s okay. I can call Austin to tell him it’s a trap, okay?” I dialed Austin’s phone and it rang—upstairs.

  “Judy, call Jesse. Have him call Glen and tell them they’re walking into a trap.” I stepped toward the cellar door.

  “Lily, no. Austin told you to stay here,” Judy said. She was already calling Jesse.

  “Who knows where they are by now?” I grabbed a kitchen towel and wrapped it around the knife. Marlowe ran down the stairs.

  “Oh, no, you don’t! If you go, I go,” Zelda said as she grabbed a paring knife and a rolling pin from a counter. She swung the rolling pin like it was a baseball bat. Carrie and Julie grabbed knives, too, and wrapped them as I’d done.

  “Are you telling me you lived in LA as long as you did, and none of you carry mace?” Melody asked as she pulled a can from a crossbody shoulder bag she wore with Darjeeling’s little head poking out. I heard Judy leave a message for Jesse.

  “Hurry,” Dustin said. “I can show you where the Sitter hides his guns.”

  “Aren’t you going to call Jesse again?” I asked Judy.

  “And let you all take off without me? Not one of you knows how to handle a gun like I do!”

  Dustin led us down into the cellar and left using a door I never even knew was there.

  “Don’t look at me,” Judy said. “I didn’t know it was here.”

  “Our security has more holes than Swiss Cheese,” I muttered. Dustin ran catty-cornered to the fence not far from the slime pit. He knocked a piece of the fence right over.

  As soon as we were in the woods, Dustin picked up the pace and we moved as fast as we could without stumbling over fallen limbs or other obstacles in our path. At least it was daylight and we could see where we were going.

  I’d never ventured into this section of the woods, so I only had a vague idea of where we were and where we were headed. When Dustin said the “short way,” I could only imagine he had us crossing along the diagonal of a square or rectangle while Jim, and the men following him, were forced to take the long way around the perimeter using roads. We didn’t have to cut across the entire diagonal, either, to reach the area where Jim had set his trap.

  We couldn’t have been moving for more than twenty minutes, but my legs felt like rubber. My friends were breathing as hard as I
was. Only Judy seemed to be moving with ease. Marlowe was in the zone. I figured at the pace we’d set, closer to a jog than a walk, we’d already covered a couple of miles.

  After another ten minutes, I didn’t think I could go on. When we reached an outcropping of granite, I prayed we’d arrived at our destination. Dustin turned and pointed toward a narrow ridge trail that ran along behind the granite protrusion.

  “Quiet now so I can hear. Marlowe, shh!” Then he started up the ridge that could only accommodate us single file. As we trudged on and on, climbing higher and higher, I wanted to look around to see if I could spot the Watkins’ place or the shack. The rock obstructed the view to my right, and the drop off to my left stopped me from looking in that direction.

  We finally started to head down the other side and were soon wedge between rock on both sides. I felt relieved until Dustin suddenly disappeared. Judy and Marlowe vanished next. When I reached the same point, I could see that the trail split. I could have continued around large rocks in my path where the trail began to rise again. Instead, I took a branch that descended sharply into a cleft in the rock.

  “That’s the trap,” Dustin said as we followed him to another opening in the rock wall. He pointed to a crudely fashioned bomb made from sticks of dynamite triggered by a timer. It sat on a large flat rock slap. If the bomb went off, anyone passing beneath it would be buried in stone. “I can fix the numbers. You get Billie. I’ll show you where to hide. The guns are there.” Judy walked to a narrow opening in the stone and removed a rifle and a pistol. Zelda tossed the rolling pin away.

  “No noise!” Dustin whispered.

  “That’s a .38 isn’t it?” Zelda asked Judy in a whisper. Judy nodded. “I got this.” In a few more minutes, we were all in place as Dustin scrambled out onto the ledge, and went to work on the timer. He scooted back into hiding and none too soon.

  “For a serial killer, you’re awfully dumb, Jim,” Billie said, loudly. I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him.

  “Shut up! I’ve had just about all I can stand of your mouth.”