Pasta, Pinot & Murder

by Jamie Lee Scott

  “How would you accessorize your plate?” I asked.

  Without a word, he walked over to my accessories shelf and pulled out a tarnished, antique fork and spoon, along with a gingham linen napkin, and a small butcher block. He sat the butcher block on the marble table where my lighting system was set up, then put his hero plate on the butcher block. Next to the plate, he placed a small chunk of Parmesan cheese, then added a few sprinkles of grated cheese next to it. He lifted the pasta and placed the spoon under the pasta just enough that you could see it was a large spoon, then stabbed the fork into the top of the delicious looking meal at an angle. He placed perfect pieces of basil on the marble.

  I clapped and grabbed my camera. “Bravo. That is clever. Anything else you want to add?”

  We spent the next two hours adding and removing props from the photos and changing the lighting. In the end, we had to photograph my plate too, because we’d made a mess of Jacob’s that couldn’t be fixed. It amazed me how much time we spent working on this photograph.

  Jacob had a good eye, and he seemed to enjoy the process.

  By the end of the session, we’d decided Jacob could take home what wasn’t used for the photo, and I downloaded the photos from my camera while he cleaned up.

  “Just bring back the containers. I’m forever losing them,” I said.

  I looked at my watch to see I had just enough time to get to Alice’s house. I wouldn’t even have time to clean up and get the pesto sauce off my white shirt.

  I locked the studio behind me and walked out to the car with Jacob. “I’ll text you later tonight to let you know what time I’ll need you tomorrow.”

  He waved an okay as he got in his car.

  Peter had brought my Lexus back, so I hopped in and headed straight to Alice’s.

  Straight might not be the right word, since driving the county roads of the Sonoma Valley was more like miles of twists and turns. As I pulled out of the driveway, I got a text from Hattie.

  Stop by Bruce’s office and pick up the check he owes me.

  I thought about asking what the check was for, but I just texted back, K.

  Bruce Parker was Alice’s husband. She ran the winery, and Bruce invested the money. Well, he invested other people’s money. I’m not sure Alice would let him invest theirs. Hattie and Alice were two peas in a pod. Hattie’s husband had died long ago, right after I married Peter. Alice’s poor husband was dying a long, slow death. That was mean. I didn’t mean it like that. Aw heck, I guess I did.

  I pulled into the parking lot of Parker Investments, but I didn’t see Bruce’s Tesla. I did see a dark blue Buick 300, though. Hopefully Bruce had left Hattie’s check with his assistant, and I wouldn’t have to come back again. I hated running errands, especially Hattie’s errands. Errands were the things Tommy used to handle when she lived at home. I missed that a lot.

  I opened the door to see Bruce’s assistant sitting at his desk with the door half closed.

  The assistant hadn’t looked up from whatever she was doing in the desk drawers, so I said, “Is anyone here?” even though I saw the woman plain as day.

  She jumped out of Bruce’s chair and scurried to the door. She opened it, then kicked a gym bag out from behind the door.

  “Darn it, I’d been keeping an eye on that door all day. The one time I’m absorbed in cleaning up Mr. Parker’s desk, someone moseys in. How can I help you?”

  Bruce’s assistant looked to be around forty, with her hair in a slick French twist, and a suit that looked to be Chanel. No way would Alice allow Bruce to pay her enough for a Chanel suit. Then again, there were some really great high end resale stores in San Francisco. Or it could be a knock off. So cynical. Maybe she got a nice bonus and wanted to dress the part for her job.

  I was sort of jealous of the woman’s slick suit. I hadn’t had a reason to get dressed up since I worked as a hostess at Vendredi. I hated that job, but I loved getting dressed up. It was fun to see the elites in the community stopping in for my husband’s mouthwatering recipes. And it was great fodder to meet tourists. Without tourists, the wine industry in Northern California wouldn’t be what it was.

  I thought for a moment, trying to remember the assistant’s name, but I couldn’t pull it from the dusty files in my brain. I stepped up to her massive desk, which, though it was stacked high with what looked to be work and files for investors, also looked neat and tidy. I tried not to be obvious as I looked for a business card holder that might have her name.

  “Willa Friday, right?” she said as she straightened her skirt.

  “Yes,” I said, hoping not to look too stupid when I didn’t say her name.

  “Paula Osborne. But you probably don’t remember me. I worked for your mother-in-law about a million years ago.” Her mannerisms were so polite, I felt guilty for not remembering her name. At least she looked familiar to me. That was something, wasn’t it?

  “It couldn’t have been that long ago, since you’re not that old.” And she wasn’t. I’d guess she might have been a few years younger than me.

  “You’re too kind.” She stood behind the chair at her desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to pick up a check for Hattie Friday. She said Bruce has some money for her.”

  Paula looked around at the stacks on her desk. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Parker hasn’t had me cut any checks for Ms. Friday. And to be honest, I don’t even know what he’d be paying her for.” Her face scrunched as she thought about it.

  “Could it have been Alice who asked for the money? I’m sure it’s for the Whine and Roses event.” Not sure why she’d be perplexed about the money, since Bruce had always handled the finances for the event. Then again, I was just assuming it was for the benefit.

  I saw a look pass over Paula’s face. It was there and gone, and I didn’t know if it was the mention of Alice, or the yearly gala. I had to admit, I even got a sour taste in my mouth when W&R was mentioned.

  “I’m sorry, I’d give Mr. Parker a call, but he’s out of town until tomorrow. And he’s off the clock, so to speak.” She didn’t look all that sorry.

  “I’ll call him myself. Thanks anyway.” Like hell was I calling. I’d text Hattie and she could figure out what to do.

  “Oh, please, don’t call. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. He’s taking some personal time, and really shouldn’t be bothered.” It was more of a pleading than a suggestion.

  “Okay. You’re sure he’ll be back tomorrow?” I could put Hattie off, and check back in the morning.

  “Yes, he left yesterday. And you know he doesn’t like to leave Alice for too long. He worries about her.” She sounded like an old friend of the family, not a personal assistant. It was so sweet.

  “I’d want to be away from Alice as long as I could,” I said under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” She leaned forward.

  “Nothing, I was just thinking. I have to go see Alice now, so I’ll just ask her about it.” I turned to leave.

  “She’ll probably call me and ask why I don’t have it.” She still sounded pleasant, but with a hint of that’s just great to it.

  I understood exactly how she felt. It’s how I felt about spending a few hours with Alice to get the poster for W&R started. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to have the client and this event paid well, but I definitely earn it.

  I left Bruce’s office and headed straight to the Parker vineyards.

  The Parkers kept their grapes on a different property than their other businesses. Their winery had been moved to a building on Main Street in Pear five years earlier. It had been a smart business decision, since they got walk-in traffic other wineries didn’t get. Alice had her home on the hill, just like Hattie did, but Hattie kept everything on the same property. The Parkers wanted more privacy.

  Usually, I had to stop at the main gate and announce myself, but the gate was open, so I drove up the long asphalt driveway, past row after row of grapevines. The landscape finally opened up to an English style
garden, with a trimmed boxwood maze and circles of flower gardens. Alice maintained a few of the gardens herself. Her roses were her pride and joy, along with her grapes.

  The garage stood to the left of the house and I could see one of the bay doors was opened, and Alice’s car inside. At least she was home. I looked at my watch. I wasn’t late, so she wouldn’t spend the first twenty minutes berating me and lecturing on punctuality. I’d only been late once, because of a car accident on the winding crazy roads. It couldn’t be helped. But I didn’t hear the end of it. She’d probably mention it again.

  I’d been coming to this mansion on the hill since I was in my twenties. Peter and I married while we were still in college, so these people were like family. You can’t pick family, they pick you. I parked in the circular driveway in front of the house, and left my keys in the car. Even though the main gate was open, I had no worries that someone would steal my car.

  I walked up the cobblestone path to the front door and rang the bell. I heard it echo along the chambers of the six-thousand square foot home. Funny that I heard it. This house was well-built, and you could yell, “I’m coming” as you approached the door, and the person waiting on the other side wouldn’t hear it.

  I looked at the door and saw it was slightly ajar. I frowned. Maybe Alice really did need regular watching over. But seriously, she was only in her early seventies, and I’d never seen signs of dementia. I pushed the door open.

  “Alice?” I called out as I entered.

  She might be taking a nap. I didn’t want to scare the crap out of her and cause a heart attack. Not that Alice’s stone cold heart worked that way. Oh, I was so mean. She really wasn’t that bad, unless you asked her kids, all of whom got the heck out of Dodge as soon as they graduated from high school. I don’t think I’d ever seen them around even during the holidays. But then again, holidays meant tourist season and busy tasting rooms, and families like the Parkers and Fridays had a lot going on at that time of year.

  I called out again, but nothing. I walked into the kitchen and saw a crystal pitcher shattered on the floor. That was nothing compared to what was by the dining room window.

  Chapter Four

  I wanted a do over. I wanted to have called earlier in the day to reschedule the appointment. That’s exactly how it should’ve happened. I should’ve been too busy with the blog and rescheduled. If I didn’t get an answer, I’d have left a message. Then Bruce would’ve been home, and I’d wouldn’t have walked in on what I saw.

  It looked as if there’d been a struggle. The crystal pitcher may have had iced tea in it, but now the tea, or whatever it was, was all over the floor. In many places, it had already dried, leading me to believe Alice had been attacked many hours before I’d arrived. It wasn’t hot enough to have any fans on, so the liquid would have dried naturally. A vase of fresh flowers had fallen over on the far side of the breakfast table, Gerber daisies strewn everywhere. One had even landed on Alice’s leg.

  And Alice, sprawled out face up with her eyes wide open, stared at me from the floor. I couldn’t look at her, but I couldn’t look away, either. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to go over and close the damn things. No dead body touching for me.

  I reached for my phone to call 911, but it slipped from my hand as I pulled it from my pocket and slid across the floor, getting lodged under Alice’s black pedal pushers. Really? What were the chances? I took a step forward, then stopped and reassessed the situation. No way was I going to retrieve it.

  I looked around the room for a landline. Yes! An antique telephone hung on the wall. I remembered that it used to be a fully functioning phone. But all of my television watching told me not to touch the darned thing. I reached across the island in the middle of the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel. Carefully lifting the receiver, I listened for a dial tone. Darn it if that thing wasn’t just wall art now; no freaking dial tone.

  This wasn’t how I’d planned to end my afternoon. I’d planned to talk with Alice about how unique she wanted the poster to be this year. She always wanted something spectacular, but nearly the same as the year before, so people would take notice and beg for tickets. It worked. The event usually sold out weeks in advance. And then I’d go home and enjoy a glass of wine with my meal prepped turmeric turkey and carrot mashed potatoes that were calling my name. My stomach would have growled if it wasn’t doing summersaults.

  I looked around the first floor of the house for a telephone. I felt as if I’d run a mile by the time I looked in each room. As I stopped to look for a phone, I also looked to see if anything was out of place. Then again, I’d never been given a tour of the house, so I wouldn’t know unless something was blatant. I found a phone in the office at the far end of the house on the first floor. I still had the paper towel in my hand and used it to pick up the receiver and dial 911.

  As usual, things didn’t go as planned. I wanted to call Hattie or Peter. No way was I going near that body, and I shouldn’t touch the phone again, in case there were fingerprints to be lifted. And I had to stay until the cops arrived. I couldn’t just call and leave. How would that look?

  Then I remembered I had Bluetooth in my car. I stepped carefully out of the house and went back to my car, hoping my phone sitting under Alice’s leg was still in range.

  I started my car, pressed the voice button on my steering wheel and said, “Call Peter.”

  Yes, I called Peter. He was my rock and my right hand. I knew I shouldn’t depend on him, but I did. I loved him to the end of the earth, even if I couldn’t be his wife.

  “Hey, I’m kinda busy.” I could tell he had me on speakerphone. “We have a packed house tonight.”

  Dang it. Really bad timing. “I need you to take me off speaker. I promise I’ll only take a second.”

  He took his phone off speaker. “What’s up?” He didn’t sound harried or in a hurry. He had time for me now that he’d heard the terror in my voice. And he seemed to have more time for me now that we weren’t married.

  Now, after ten years of barely speaking to each other when we ran Vendredi’s together, after he’d had an affair with one of his servers. Now, that we were just friends. Sort of.

  I whispered for some reason. “I’m sitting in my car at Alice Parker’s house. Peter, she’s dead.”

  “What? Did she have a heart attack?” He sounded only slightly alarmed. Even though Alice was almost as fit as Hattie, she was high strung, so no one would have been surprised.

  I mentally went over the scene in my head again, the flowers, the broken pitcher with the liquid everywhere. Could she have had a heart attack? Could she have slipped and fell? Then my mind zeroed in on the divot on the side of her head, and the blood on the floor. That hadn’t been caused by smacking her head on the floor. She’d been walloped hard on the side of her head.

  “No. I think she was murdered.” I whispered even quieter.

  “What? Speak up. I swear you said she was murdered,” he laughed.

  I thought it highly inappropriate that he’d laughed, but Peter marched to his own drummer.

  This time, I realized I didn’t need to whisper. I was locked in my car. So even if the killer was still in the house, I had my keys in the ignition, and I was safe. I said in a normal tone, “I think Alice was murdered.”

  I heard the phone drop. He must have been working and holding the phone with his ear and shoulder. He picked it back up. “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m in my car in front of the Parker house.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “Just me and Alice, as far as I know.” I started to cry. “I dropped my phone and it’s lodged under Alice’s leg.”

  I’m not sure why this was what made me cry.

  “Holy cheese on crackers. I’ll be right there. Did you call the police?” I could hear him drop something metal into something metal. I assumed it was a knife in the sink.

  “I did. I’m waiting in my locked car until they get here.”

  “I’m on my w
ay.” I could hear him talking to his assistant chef as he put his phone in his pocket, forgetting to disconnect.

  The Parkers lived way off the beaten path, and I knew it would be at least half an hour before the police arrived. Like I said, the roads are crazy curvy, and you can’t drive that fast.

  I couldn’t go back in the house, and I couldn’t just sit there, so I called my best friend, Saylor Griffin.

  “Saylor Griffin here, how can I help you?” She sold real estate, so she always answered her phone as if it might be a client, even though the screen probably had my name showing. I doubt she bothered to look.

  Reduced to sobbing, I cried into the phone. “Where are you?”

  “Did Peter cheat on you again? I’ll kill that SOB,” she snapped.

  “He can’t cheat on me anymore, silly,” I laughed in between sobs.

  “Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting. Are you okay?”

  I told her all about what I saw, and how I called Peter, and how he was coming to the Parker house, but it was a terribly busy night for Vendredi’s.

  “I’ll call you right back,” Saylor said.

  I hiccupped a few times and stared at Alice’s roses while I waited. True to her word, she called right back.

  “Hey, Peter is headed back to the restaurant. I told him I was on my way. Besides, I’m closer, since you caught me at home. He tried to argue, but you know how much he likes to hang out with me, and I told him I’d be consoling you.”

  “Are you really coming?” I’d stopped crying and now whined a bit.

  “I’m not if you don’t get over this pity party you’re having for yourself. It’s not like you’re dead.” I could hear her moving. “I’m already in the car.”

  “I love you,” I said with more strength in my voice.

  “I know.” I heard the car radio blaring Lindsay Sterling before she turned it down. “Stay on the phone with me until I get there. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”