Seven Deadly Zins

by Nancy J. Parra

  “I’ve got extra pajamas,” I said.

  “I’ve still got my overnight bag in the car,” Chelsea said, “but I do have to be off in the morning. I’ve got a deadline and some research to do.”

  Millie hopped up from her place by the fire and followed us inside. Clemmie purred and rubbed against my ankles. I picked up my sweet kitty. “We’re all going to have a slumber party,” I said to the cat and cuddled her. “Aunt Jemma, you don’t mind if Clemmie is part of the party, do you?” I teased. My aunt didn’t have the best relationship with my orange and white striped kitty. I suspected she secretly loved the cat. It was a mission of mine to make her admit it.

  “I suppose if the cat must be part of the party, it’s all right. But you must try to keep her off my counters.”

  “She’ll be with me the entire time,” I said and took Clemmie’s paw. “Cross my heart.” I crossed the paw over my heart. Clemmie mewed at me, and I winked at her.

  Aunt Jemma huffed. But we all settled in for the night.

  Chapter 12

  It was Sunday morning, but there was no lazing around for us. Chelsea left bright and early. I sipped coffee and stood outside, waving goodbye as Millie chased Chelsea’s car down the drive. Inside, Holly was nursing a headache.

  “I swear it feels like a hangover,” she moaned as Aunt Jemma passed her a glass of lemon water.

  “This will help your hangover,” Aunt Jemma said. She turned and frowned when she caught Clemmie sneaking across the breakfast bar countertop. “Get down!”

  I put down my coffee cup and snagged Clemmie, giving her a squeeze. “I’ll take her over to the poolhouse.”

  “She’s more than welcome here,” Aunt Jemma said. “Just not on my countertops.”

  “And not on your car.”

  “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  “She’s a cat,” I said. “Come on, Clemmie, we won’t let big bad Aunt Jemma ruin your day.” Clemmie mewed her agreement. I opened the sliding glass door and slipped Clemmie into the poolhouse and closed the door behind me. I stared at my reflection for a moment. Today’s tour was a spooky hike through wine country. So I was dressed in a tee shirt under a long-sleeved plaid shirt, beige shorts, and thick socks and hiking boots. My wavy hair was pulled back to keep it under control.

  I had slept like a rock last night. Even though I’d chosen to stay with the girls and sleep on Aunt Jemma’s couch. Whatever was in the air at the lecture had gotten to me as well. I certainly hoped that Chelsea would find out what was in the tea.

  “Do you want a lift into town?” I asked Holly as I stepped back into the big house. I was heading out to Sonoma to meet my tour group for the day.

  Holly had packed her large tote bag and was scratching Millie behind the ears. “I think I’ll be fine to drive. If I can have my phone back …”

  I smiled and pulled the phone out of my pocket. “Promise me you will call me and wait twenty-four hours before you sign up for any more of Dr. Brinkman’s work.”

  She took the phone out of my hand. “I promise. I’m just glad you were able to refund my money so fast.”

  “Chelsea said you didn’t hit the ‘Send’ button.”

  “Thank goodness for that. I really am saving up for a weeklong trip to France.”

  “I know,” I said. “Maybe you can get your boyfriend to take you.”

  She shook her head as we walked toward the door. “Jeremy’s focused on the restaurant right now. Which is fine, since I’m only halfway toward my savings goal.”

  “Have a good day, ladies,” Aunt Jemma said. “I’m off to my Pilates class.” She brushed by, wearing yoga pants and a long tunic swirled with a paisley print. Her gray hair was up in a small ponytail, and she wore a headband like I’d seen in an old Jane Fonda video.

  “Your aunt is the coolest,” Holly said.

  “She is that,” I said and got into my old VW van. The van was part of the California lore, and although it was beat up from the outside, it was super reliable. The inside could easily hold a tour of seven people, plus me in the driver’s seat. Some days I took Millie with me. Today was one of those days.

  Ever since a good friend had gotten into a car accident that killed her unrestrained puppy, I made certain that any animal riding in my car was safely restrained. That meant Clemmie always rode in a cat carrier, and Millie—who came with me more often—was hooked into a seatbelt connected to her halter. That way, should anything happen, she would be safe.

  “Are you ready for a spooky hike?” I asked Millie. She sat in the seat behind me and to my right. She looked at me with a happy puppy smile on her face. “Off we go.”

  Today’s tour group was interested in the haunted areas for Sonoma wine country. I loved to mix hiking and themes with my tours. This one had been fun to research. Patrick Albert, the group organizer, had asked me to put together a spooky tour for October’s Halloween season. So I planned a hike through Sonoma County’s most paranormal trail. Lucky for me, it was close to home.

  The Jack London State Park Mountain Trail was listed as one of the spookiest trails in the area. It featured tall redwood trees casting shadows, creepy ferns, gnarled oaks, thick madrones, and spooky legends of witchcraft and pagan rituals. The oaks were losing their leaves, adding to the spooky feel of the dark hollows.

  We met the group at the shopping center just off First Street, across from the Sonoma Valley Visitor’s bureau. I liked to meet people there so they had time to go to the Visitor’s Bureau and gather flyers. That way they could plan their next trip or point out to me different places they might want to see on our way. I usually set aside time for one or two detours.

  I pulled the van up to a parking spot and got out. What caught my eye was the big pink tour bus parked right in front of the Visitors Center. It had “Quirky Tours” written on the side in a scrolling font. Bridget Miller gave me a wave. I waved back slowly. There was a line of fifteen people beside her bus.

  “Oh, I forgot to say thank you!” Bridget called out to me.

  Confused, I walked across the street toward her. “Why the thanks?”

  Her smile widened. “Since the news broke about your last tour, my requests have doubled. So I thought I’d say thanks. At Quirky Tours, everyone’s safety is our top priority.”

  “No one was hurt on my tour,” I pointed out.

  “Physically,” she said. “People come to Sonoma for fun, not to get involved in the court system.” She pointed at her line. “The proof is in the pudding.”

  “Where are you going today?” I asked. Maybe I could mention how different our groups were.

  “We are off on a haunted tour,” she said. “It is that time of year, and Sonoma has some great history.”

  For a brief second, my smile slipped. How did she know? Was it a coincidence that we were doing the same tour? “Yes, haunted tours are pretty typical this time of year. Where are you going?”

  “I got permission to take them through the old Henderson Sanatorium.”

  “I thought that place was abandoned.”

  “It was recently purchased by a friend of mine,” she said with a shrug. “They say it is so haunted that people can hear and see ghosts in the daytime. Which is why we’re going. My tour wants a real scare.”

  “I thought safety was your highest priority,” I said flatly. “That old building can’t be safe.”

  “It’s been fully inspected,” she said and lifted up the paper on her clipboard. “I have the report right here. Do you want to see it?”

  “No,” I said. “Well, I’ve got a tour. Have fun with your old building.”

  “Where is your tour going?”

  “We’re hiking,” I said. “Fresh air and no chance of anything falling down around us.”

  “Sounds … well, I was going to say ‘safe,’ but didn’t someone die on one of your hikes?”

  I sent her a short smile. “Bye, Bridget.”

  “Tootles.” She waved me off and turned to the driver of her bus.
>
  I tried not to sigh too loudly as I walked toward my van. I had to gather up my group before they got distracted by the big pink bus.

  A young man with a hipster beard and black square glasses was hanging out, by a car, with a woman about my age dressed in hiking gear and another young man who looked like he spent a lot of time on a computer. The “Think Geek” tee shirt and ratty old jeans gave him away. His blond hair was brushed to the side and shaggy.

  “Hi, are you Patrick?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Patrick Albert,” the hipster guy said. “This is T.J. Thomas and Sally Field.”

  “Like the Sally Field?” I asked as I shook hands.

  She shook her head. “No relation—my mom was just a big fan. I swear she married my father just so that she could name her daughter Sally.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Are there other members of the group? I have reserved for six.”

  “Yeah, they’re over at the Visitor’s Center on the other side of the big pink bus,” Patrick said. “That thing is a little too gimmicky.” He looked at my VW van. “That’s our ride, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He took out his phone and texted. “I’ll let the others know you’re here.”

  “Where are we headed?” Sally asked.

  “I’ve got us going up to the Jack London State Park Mountain Trail,” I said. “It’s got some spooky hollows, and there are tales of witches and spells and apparitions.”

  “During the day?” Sally asked, her eyes growing wide.

  “Well, there are spots that grow quite dark beneath the redwoods. The light is lower now that it’s autumn, so shadows get tossed around.”

  “Oh, is there, like, a creepy cabin in the woods?” T.J. asked.

  “We’ll have to see,” I hedged.

  The rest of the group consisted of two women about my age and an older man. I loaded them and their equipment into the van. Millie was happy to sit with Sally and Patrick. The older man named Ben sat in the passenger-side front seat. He had a brochure out with a map of the area and paranormal tours.

  “So,” he said as I headed out of town, “that other tour lady—the one with the pink bus—said that they were going to tour a haunted sanatorium. Is that on our tour?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s a derelict building. I’m not confident it’s safe enough for a tour.”

  “I understand that you actually lost a person on one of your wine country hiking tours.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The yoga teacher,” he said. “I heard that went bad. What’s the possibility of that happening to us?”

  “I assure you that you are perfectly safe with Millie and me,” I said.

  “We heard that on your last tour you found a dead body floating in a vat of grapes. Is that true?” Sally asked as she leaned forward.

  “Well,” I said, “it was a crime scene. But no one on my tour was hurt.”

  Patrick laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We picked you because of your reputation for finding the dead.”

  “What?”

  “Your reputation for stumbling over dead people,” Ben said. “We want in on that action. We’re pretty sure you can’t get that on a big pink bus.”

  “Seriously? That’s kind of—”

  “Gruesome?” Sally asked. “Yeah, we know, but we’re really into the paranormal, and what’s more paranormal than dead people?”

  “Let’s hope we only see ghosts on this tour,” I said with the best smile I could muster. “Right, Millie?”

  The dog barked with joy.

  “We can see ghosts after we taste wine,” Amber, one of the girls in the back, said. Her black hair was a curtain of silk. Her almond-shaped eyes were expertly lined, and her pale skin was luminous. She was dressed in yoga pants, a tee shirt, and hiking boots.

  “I’m looking forward to visiting some wine-tasting places too,” Annette said. She was blond with blue eyes, and dressed in shorts, a pale blue blouse, and hiking boots.

  “Whiskey’s more my thing,” T.J. said from the back. “Do you have any whiskey-tasting places in Sonoma?”

  “Yes,” I said, glad for the change in subject. “We do have a few distilleries. In fact, there is a winery and distillery on our route back. I can add it to our tour if it’s okay with everyone in the group.”

  “Works for us!” they all agreed.

  The trip up to the park was filled with easy laughter. The group was from San Francisco. They lived and worked in the South Bay and had wanted to try mixing their love of the paranormal with a day trip to Sonoma.

  “What do you know about Jack London?” I asked the group.

  “He wrote Call of the Wild,” Sally said.

  “He was a handsome adventurer, according to this brochure,” Ben said.

  “He was a very famous writer for his time, and he lived and worked the land at the state park we are about to visit,” I said. “He died young.”

  “Yep, it says he was forty,” Ben said. “That’s harsh.”

  “Didn’t his house burn down or something?” Amber asked. “I think my brother and his friends went to hike the trails and talked about a fire.”

  “Says here it burned down right before he was getting ready to move in,” Ben said.

  “Another tragic paranormal episode,” Patrick said and rubbed his hands together with glee.

  “It says they did some forensics on the site in 1995,” Ben continued to read, “and ruled it as nothing more than a fire caused by linseed oil on rags.”

  “Linseed oil?” Patrick asked.

  “It’s highly flammable,” I said, “and was often used as a paint binder, putty, or wood finisher.”

  “Now people eat it,” Sally said.

  “Seriously?” Patrick asked.

  “Yes, it’s good for you. It’s made from flax seed.”

  “That’s crazy,” Patrick said.

  We arrived and I parked on the edge of the parking lot. “Let’s try to stick together,” I said as they hopped out of the van. Sally took Millie on her leash. “I’ve got water and snacks. When we hit the halfway point, we’ll stop and take a rest. Afterward, I’ve got a small picnic, and then we’ll go visit the local wineries to taste their wares.”

  The air was cool, but dry. The tree limbs rustled around us as we started off on one of the many hiking trails in the park. I loved being outside. Sonoma Valley was a pretty place of rolling yellow hills with tall grasses and patches of woods that included redwood trees and madrones. We crunched past the welcome center, where we stopped to grab some more brochures and ensure everyone had what they needed for the hike.

  “Whatever you take in, you haul back out,” I said and pointed to the sign that agreed with me. “We want to help keep the park clean.”

  “Good thing I’m not taking anything in,” T.J. said with a grin.

  “Oh, dogs are only allowed in the ranch area and on the trail to Wolf House ruins,” Sally said and handed me Millie’s leash. “That might put a crimp in our hike.”

  “No problem at all,” I said. “Millie will be staying here with my friend Joyce.” I waved as Joyce walked across the parking lot. She squatted down and gave Millie’s ears a good rub.

  “How’s my little puppy dog?” Joyce asked.

  “She’s good,” I said and handed Joyce the leash. “Thanks for watching her.”

  “Oh, it’s always a pleasure. Besides, my Sadie loves Millie.”

  Sadie was a big old chocolate Labrador that Joyce had in the ranch area of the park. Joyce worked as a park attendant and would bring Sadie with her to greet people. Sadie was kept in a small penned area whenever Joyce was off the ranch.

  “Why aren’t dogs allowed on the trails?” Amber asked.

  “It’s not good for them or the environment,” Joyce said. “We’ve got poison oak and rattle snakes. Plus, the scent of a dog in the area can ruin your chances of seeing local wildlife.”

  “We’re not here to see wildlife,” Patrick said and rubbed
his hands together. “We’re here for the paranormal activity.”

  “Ah,” Joyce said, smiling. Her raven hair floated around her face. “You’re here for the spooky hike. I hear that your soul can get pretty twisted in the darker hollows. I’d be extra careful if I were you.”

  “I’ve got my camera,” Patrick said with a grin. “I’m going to document any paranormal activity we see along the way. Come on, everyone. Let’s get started.”

  They all turned to the trailhead. I turned to Joyce. “Thanks again for watching Millie. I didn’t want to leave her home alone. Aunt Jemma had several things going on today.”

  “Your aunt is pretty active,” Joyce said. “I hope I’m active at her age.”

  “You will be,” I said.

  “Which way are you taking them?”

  “We’re going up to the Grandmother tree and then back down. So we’ll be back in two hours or so.”

  “I would have thought you would take them on the longer trail.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked and pointed to Amber. “Her boots are new. There’s no way they’re prepared for a seven-hour hike.”

  “Let me know if you spot any ghosts,” Joyce said with a quick grin. “I can spin that story until we have people begging for season passes.”

  “I’ll do my best to find a ghost for you,” I said and tugged on a ball cap to keep the sun off my skin.

  “A documented spirit,” she said as I walked off.

  “I’ve got a man with a camera. If anything happens it will be documented.”

  Chapter 13

  The hike to the Grandmother tree was fairly uneventful. The group had started off laughing and chatting and looking for ghosts. But all we saw were gorgeous views and signs warning about the occasional mountain lion in the area. At the first sign, I was glad I’d left Millie at the ranch area with Joyce. The last thing I wanted was my puppy attacked on a hike.

  I always started off at the front of the group, but once we got going, I would fall back to ensure that the stragglers and those who were slower hikers did not get lost.

  “This has been a bit of a bust for paranormal activity,” Patrick said as he slowed down to walk with me at the rear of the trail.