Seven Deadly Zins

by Nancy J. Parra

  “I don’t know,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot. “But I bet we’re going to find out.”

  “No, I bet you are going to find out,” Holly said as I walked her to her door. “As for me, I think I’m done with all the guru stuff.”

  “I think that’s a good thing,” I said and watched as she opened her door and turned on the light. “Are you going to be okay here alone tonight?”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s simply awful to have two murders in the county. I thought I lived in a safe place.”

  “So did I,” I said. “I guess wherever there are people, there’s a chance for murder.”

  Chapter 16

  The next day, I had no tours. That was pretty typical for a Monday. Most people wanted wine tours during the weekend, and Thursdays and Fridays were popular because of longer weekends or vacations. Since it was starting to get colder, there weren’t a lot of people vacationing much now.

  That meant more time to work at Aunt Jemma’s tasting room and to plan for my own tours. It also meant there was time for me to think about what had happened last night. I poured myself a cup of coffee from my small kitchenette.

  My puppy, Millie, sat bathing in the sun at my feet. Clemmie was lounging on the top of the couch. I loved my fur babies, and after a night of murder and mayhem, it was nice to be home with them and simply breathe the cool, fall California air. I reached for my phone and texted Tim:

  Are you home?

  He didn’t respond right away. So I texted Holly:

  Are you going to work today?

  She texted back:

  Yes, I work 10 A.M. until 6 P.M. There’s a new artist at La Galleria. You should come in for a viewing if you’re bored.

  I texted back:

  Not bored, wondering how you were doing after last night.

  Okay, she texted. Nothing went bump in the night. Have you heard from Tim?

  I tried texting him, but no answer. I’ll contact Patrick and see what he knows, I responded.

  Keep me posted, she messaged back.

  I called Patrick. I pulled up a memory of his handsome face as I dialed.

  “Hello, Taylor.”

  “Hi Patrick, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. I would be better if I’d heard from you sooner. I heard you had quite the adventure last night.”

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t think I needed a lawyer.”

  “I was hoping you’d have called just to talk.”

  I winced. “You should have called me.”

  “I heard you found another dead body last night,” he said, his voice low and interesting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not much to say,” I said. “Tim was there.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you representing him? Is he okay? I tried to reach him today, but he’s not answering his phone.”

  “So you called me to check on Tim?”

  I felt the heat of embarrassment on my cheeks. “Yes?”

  “Well, at least you’re honest. Were you honest when I asked you for drinks and you said you were interested?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were—what? Waiting for me?”

  “Yes?” I winced again.

  “Then I’m asking again. Are you busy tonight?”

  “No,” I said and felt my heartbeat pick up. “I’m not. Tonight would be nice. Where do you want to meet me?”

  “I can come and pick you up.”

  I looked out at the pool. If he picked me up, it was a real date. I thought about Sheriff Hennessey. He hadn’t asked me on a date since my exoneration. Maybe it was time I gave that little crush up. “Okay. How should I dress?”

  “We’ll keep it to just drinks,” he said. “We can talk about anything but your friend Tim and my law practice. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said with a smile. A real date. It had been awhile since I’d had one of those.

  “Good. Now that we have that out of the way, Tim might be in jail for a while. The evidence against him isn’t good. He had the doctor’s blood on his hands.”

  “He was checking on the body,” I said. “I bet Mandy had just as much blood on her. She rolled the body over and exposed the knife sticking up.”

  “They have Tim’s fingerprints on the knife.”

  “How? He never touched it,” I said. “Besides, doesn’t it take time to process evidence?”

  “They did a spot-check on the site,” Patrick said. “And they have a witness who says that Mandy was having an affair with Dr. Brinkman. That means Tim had motive.”

  “He didn’t do it,” I said and felt my hands shake.

  “How do you know that?” Patrick asked me.

  “I just do,” I said. “Besides, I distinctly remember someone saying that Dr. Brinkman was cold. That meant he’d been dead awhile. Surely Tim wouldn’t have killed the man and then stood over the body and waited for us to find him. That’s a bit of a reach, don’t you think?”

  “I think I’m representing Tim, and I really can’t talk about the case with you,” Patrick said, backing off.

  “But you just did.”

  “I haven’t told you anything that won’t be in the news tonight. The sheriff is calling a press conference. I’m sorry, Taylor. This time I doubt they’ll let Tim out on bond.”

  “But there’s a killer on the loose. If they keep Tim in jail, it means they won’t get the real killer, and he may kill again.”

  “How do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

  “I don’t,” I said with a frown. “Why are you being so combative?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Habit of being a lawyer.”

  “Let me talk to Tim,” I begged. “I want to hear his side of the story. I’m sure I can help.”

  “Tim will spend the day in interrogation processing,” Patrick said. “I’ll be with him. I’ll let him know you called and you care.”

  “Tell him I’m looking for the killer.”

  “Taylor, please, stay out of it. I don’t want you to end up hurt or worse—dead by sticking your nose where it shouldn’t be.”

  I paused. “ ‘Sticking my nose where it shouldn’t be’?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I? Because that sounded condescending and mean. I’m only thinking of my friend here. I know what it’s like to be in jail. It’s not nice and it’s not fun, and he’s innocent.”

  “I’m sorry,” Patrick said. “I only meant that you should stay safe.”

  “I think maybe we should get drinks another time.”

  “Taylor.”

  “Goodbye, Patrick. Please tell Tim I’m thinking of him.” I hung up, hopping mad. Why did he think he could say things like that to me? It only made me more determined to figure out what was going on. Tim was innocent, and I was going to prove it.

  I dialed Chelsea.

  “Hey, Taylor,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Did you hear about Dr. Brinkman’s murder?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve been doing some more research into the guy.”

  “Well, I was there when the body was discovered. In fact, I called nine-one-one.”

  I could hear her smile over the phone. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

  “Good,” I said. “I think we need to do a little more digging into what is going on here. It seems that someone is trying to frame Tim and is doing a believable job of it.”

  “So maybe we should start with who has the motivation to frame Tim.”

  “That’s a great idea. I was thinking that maybe it was a serial killer and Tim just happened to be a convenient person to blame.”

  “No, serial killers are too self-important to try to frame someone,” Chelsea said. “They are all about getting away with something. Or manipulating other people.”

  “Framing someone isn’t manipulating them and the cops?”

  “Not in the way most serial killers think,” she said.

  “You’ve studied up on t
he subject?”

  “I’m into true crime. I’ve been thinking about writing a book—that’s why I’m into reporting the crime beat. I’m certain that someday there will be a crime that goes national. Then I’ll be there to figure out who did it and write the book that makes the bestseller lists.”

  “Now that’s a great goal. Okay—I’m at the poolhouse. I’ve got some chores to do for Aunt Jemma, and then I’ll meet you at the auditorium.”

  “You think that they’ll let us into the building?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” I shrugged. “We can certainly try. And I want to see those women from my tour again—I know where they’re staying, and they were there last night. They might have seen something.”

  “I’ll meet you in front of the auditorium.”

  “See you soon.”

  I hurried through my chores, ensuring that Clemmie was fed and petted, and Millie was walked. I left Millie with the tasting-barn personnel. Then I got into the van and headed into town. It was a bright, dry fall day, so I rolled the windows down and inhaled the scent of the vineyards. It was the dry, dusty smells of mulched leaves and the end of grapes that had all been harvested.

  I loved living in Sonoma. I didn’t tell Aunt Jemma, but it would take a lot for me to go back to the hustle and bustle of the city. Cities are where the real crime is. I suppose that was why Chelsea lived an hour away in North San Francisco. Maybe she should move to Sonoma. We seemed to be having a crime spree.

  In my mind, by definition a serial killer was someone who killed more than one person. So whoever was framing Tim was most definitely a serial killer if you used that definition.

  But Chelsea was right. This person seemed to be targeting Tim. It was like they were trying to ruin his name and reputation, and make him suffer through a trial and a possible lifetime in jail. Who would hate a man so much that they would do such a thing?

  A jilted lover?

  As far as I knew, Mandy was Tim’s long-time girl. Tim was clever and funny and super smart. He could cook, but he was also difficult and picky. He didn’t date around.

  Had he said something to the wrong person? No, surely saying something mean wouldn’t cause someone to react this severely.

  Then what could Tim have done to deserve this?

  I parked across the street from the auditorium. The place was deserted. There was a police tape across the door to the building. I peered into the glass-fronted lobby. No one seemed to be around.

  “Are you looking for someone?”

  Startled, I turned to see a man in his thirties, wearing all white, behind me. I hadn’t heard him come up. “Hello.”

  “I saw you looking inside,” he said. “The place is closed until further notice due to last night’s incident. Are you looking for someone?”

  “You look familiar. Do you work here?”

  “I work for …” he frowned. “I worked for Dr. Brinkman. Wait—didn’t I give you tickets to come to the lecture?” He looked around. “There was another woman with you, pretty with brown hair?”

  “Holly,” I said. “That’s right. Your name is Bruce … Bruce Warrington?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “I was stopping by to see if we had access to our equipment and such.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” I said and held out my hand. “I’m Taylor O’Brian.”

  “You said you were here last night. Did you become a follower?” he asked as he shook my hand.

  “Not really,” I said. “I was on my second lecture last night, but I still didn’t get it.” I shrugged. “Three times is the charm? I guess we’ll never know.”

  “Ah, so his message wasn’t for you.”

  “What do you mean?” I tilted my head and squinted up at him.

  “Dr. Brinkman was a gifted man. He’d done a lot of research on the subject of proper messaging and life-altering realities, but what he discovered is that it only works on eighty percent of the population.” Bruce studied me. “If you still weren’t sure after your second lecture, then you are an outlier. The messaging wasn’t for you.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  “Dr. Brinkman was a man of science. We’ve done many research studies on the effects of his message. As I said, eighty percent had real positive benefits in their lives. The rest …” He shrugged. “Nothing works on every person.”

  “Were any of the outliers angry enough at Dr. Brinkman to want to kill him?” I asked.

  Bruce blinked at me a moment. “Why would you think that Dr. Brinkman was murdered?”

  “Because I was there last night. I found the body. I saw the knife. You can’t un-see that, you know.”

  “I see,” he said and took a step back. “I’m sorry. The police told us to keep quiet about the details of what happened last night. We released an official statement that Dr. Brinkman had died and that his death was under investigation.”

  “I was backstage. There were a lot of people around, but it seemed that everyone had access badges. Did Dr. Brinkman have security?”

  “He didn’t think we needed security, but with the kind of fame he had, we convinced him to at least lock down the backstage area. You see, he trusted that people would either understand his message and follow him or, like you, be an outlier. The outliers generally got their money back. We had a thirty-day guarantee. Customer service was one of his passions. Dr. Brinkman felt that there was enough negativity in the world, and good customer service was an easy way to spread more positivity.”

  “Yes, my friend Mandy said he was all about the light.”

  “Oh, you’re a friend of Mandy’s?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Why?”

  “I’m surprised,” he said and folded his arms.

  “What surprises you about my friendship with her?”

  “She doesn’t seem the type to be friends with an outlier. I’m going to have to talk to the council about that.”

  “Gee, you make it sound like I’m in some sort of dystopian novel.”

  “I’m sorry if my language bothers you,” he said with a perfectly straight face. “Precision of language is important to our happiness. If you weren’t an outlier, you would understand.”

  Would I?

  Chapter 17

  Things were getting weirder by the moment. Bruce left me to my own demise. He seemed quite put off by my status as a nonbeliever. The reaction made me wonder yet again what was really going on.

  “Taylor!”

  I saw Chelsea wave as she crossed the street. “Hi,” I said and gave her a welcoming hug. “You got here quickly.”

  “I’m always fast when it comes to a good crime story. What happened?”

  “Oh, that’s a story for when we get coffee,” I said. “I’m curious to look over the crime scene, but the building is closed.”

  “Let’s do a walk-around. We can check out entrances and exits, look for cameras that might have picked up something on tape.”

  “Don’t you think the police already did that?”

  “Of course,” she said with a grin, “but they think they have their suspect, and we’re still open to other possibilities. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then let’s take a look around.” We wandered around the outside of the large art deco building. The corner stone said it had been built in 1934, and it had tall, elegant clock tower. The building itself was painted beige, and the vintage marquee stood out over the town square. Aunt Jemma had told me that the theater held a supper club as a fundraiser. She went once a month to have dinner with friends and watch a vintage movie.

  The front had two main doors and a box office. There were vintage buildings on either side, and so the only entrances were in the front and the back. Behind ran an alley and a small area for a few cars.

  “It really is a lovely old building,” Chelsea said and snapped a few pictures of the back and alley with her phone. “It looks like the entrances are covered by security cameras.”

  “I think Dr. Brinkman entered through the
back,” I said. “Mandy will be able to tell us more.”

  “Do you think the killer came through the back or entered the front of the theater and then came around to the back dressing areas?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said and tapped my fingers on my chin. “What I know is Dr. Brinkman was stabbed. Whoever killed him slipped into the room, stabbed him, and left. Why wouldn’t Dr. Brinkman call out for help? I mean, it was violent, but only one deep stab wound.” I motioned with my arm. “He should have come stumbling out to be found right away.”

  “Unless the killer knew what he or she was doing. If they thrust up and twisted the knife into the heart or lungs, he could have fallen in place and drowned in his own blood.”

  “Yuck,” I said and made a face.

  “Our killer was most likely a man who may have been a hunter. A hunter would know how to kill with one knife blow.”

  “Or a butcher,” I said thoughtfully. “Or someone in the military.”

  “And is your friend Tim any of those things?”

  I laughed softly. “No. Anyone who meets Tim can tell he’s not exactly the hunter-killer type. Although he is a trained chef, so they might say he knows how to butcher meat.”

  “But chopping up a chicken is very different than slicing into a person.”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m so certain he’s innocent. The problem is that I saw his girlfriend Mandy kissing Dr. Brinkman just the night before. They think they have cause for a crime of passion. The thing is, I don’t see Tim as much of a crime-of-passion type.”

  “So what if it is a crime of passion, but not your friend Tim? Who else might Dr. Brinkman have angered?”

  “That’s what I was asking. There was a guy who saw me looking into the lobby right before you got here. His name was Bruce Warrington. He was surprised I knew Mandy. Maybe there is more going on here than we think.” I looked at Chelsea. “He called me an ‘outlier’ because I didn’t get passionate about Dr. Brinkman’s lectures and ideas of self-improvement. You went to the first lecture. Did you get a feel for what it is that has Mandy and Holly all worked up?”

  “I didn’t really get it,” she said and shook her head. “I sent the tea off to the lab for analysis. It can’t be the scent in the air because it would have affected us both.”