Homicide in Hardcover Page 12

  Holy crap. What had I gone and done now? Ah well, I’d find out Monday.

  “Hello, Brooklyn.”

  I whipped around. “Mrs. Winslow.”

  She looked lovely in a black Chanel suit and carried a clutch purse. She patted my arm consolingly. “I thought we should pay our respects.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and breathed in relief. Her sincere kindness was a refreshing change from Enrico’s and Minka’s lies and calculations. “How are you?”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m fine.” She smiled sadly. “But I know what it feels like to lose a good friend, so I wanted to wish you well.”

  “That’s very kind.”

  “If you’re willing to hear some advice from an old gal like me, I’d recommend that you take extra good care of yourself at a time like this.”

  I smiled. “You’re hardly an old gal and I appreciate the advice.”

  “I’m going to have to buy a case of that pinot,” Conrad Winslow said as he joined us. “Damn fine wine.”

  We shared some small talk, and then they left. I was struck again by how genuinely nice the Winslows were, and how inexplicable it was that they’d managed to produce such a self-centered creature like Meredith.

  I’d worked up a real appetite, so I grabbed two more tiny sandwiches, egg salad this time, then headed for the wine bar, praying the hangover gods would be gentle.

  Robin sidled up to me. “You look pretty good for someone I had to pour into the cab last night.”

  “I’m young,” I said. “I bounce back.”

  “Obviously.” Robin turned to the bartender, a local boy who worked part-time in the Dharma vineyards. “Hi, Billy. I’ll have what she’s having.”

  We waited until she had her drink in her hand, then began to stroll the periphery of the room.

  “Who was that old guy you were talking to?”

  “Enrico Baldacchio,” I said. “We just had a very interesting conversation.” I took a sip of wine, swirled it around my mouth and swallowed. I held the glass up to the light. “This is exceptional, isn’t it? Great color.”

  “Don’t you dare change the subject. What’d he say?”

  I gave her the short version as we walked.

  “Do you honestly believe he’s got something to show you besides his etchings?”

  “Ew.” But I’d had the same thought. “I guess I’ll find out Monday. I made a date to meet him.”

  “A date?” She groaned. “What did we discuss last night?”

  I frowned. “Fashion?”

  “No, smartass.” She stopped walking and whispered hotly, “We talked about how you shouldn’t be investigating Abraham’s death by yourself because you could piss off a killer. Remember?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “We discussed how that was not a good idea. And this guy Enrico could be a killer.” She took a sip of wine. “And then I called your clothes atrocious and you got miffed. Any of this ring a bell?”

  I took a sip of wine. “I recall the atrocious part.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good, because that was really the key point of the discussion.”

  “Thanks a lot.” I pulled her along with me to keep strolling. “Look, I’m not investigating anything. I’m just meeting with a colleague who could someday throw some business my way.”

  “That is so much crap.”

  “I’m serious. That’s all I’m going to do. Could you please relax?”

  “I’ll relax when Abraham’s killer is behind bars.”

  “Me, too.” I took another sip of wine and motioned toward the door. “Austin just walked in.”

  She whipped around so she wouldn’t be caught gazing longingly at my tall, handsome older brother, the one she’d been in love with since third grade. “So what?”

  I laughed. “As long as you don’t deal with those deep dark feelings inside, you’ve got no business criticizing anything I do.”

  She pointed her finger at me and gave it a shake. “I have every right in the world to try and talk you out of getting yourself killed.”

  I put the wineglass down on a nearby table and pulled Robin into a hug. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  When I stepped back, I saw her eyes filled with tears.

  I sighed. “I absolutely promise I’ll be careful-”

  “You’d better be.”

  “-if you’ll do me a favor.”

  She sniffled. “What?”

  “Go talk to Austin. He’s staring right at you.”

  “Shut up.”

  “He is,” I said.

  “Shit.”

  “There’s a good attitude.” I grinned as I walked away, hoping at least someone would have some fun today.

  I spent the next hour helping my mother supervise the kitchen staff to keep the tables filled with food to feed the hundreds of people who’d stopped by to console and commiserate. I didn’t mind putting in kitchen time since I figured it would keep me out of trouble for a while. And the sprawling commune kitchen was a warm and familiar environment for me.

  All through my childhood, Mom and Dad were in charge of managing food and wine for the commune. Dad still ran the winery, but Mom was semiretired from the kitchen except on special occasions like this one. With six kids, she was a natural organizer and, more important, a first-class manipulator.

  My parents’ experience in food management dated back to the days when they used to travel to Grateful Dead shows in a big old UPS truck that Dad had outfitted and sectioned off into three rooms: bedroom, bathroom and kitchenette.

  At the time, Dad was still out of favor with Grandfather, so he and Mom needed a way to support themselves on the road. They decided to call upon their God-given talents and created a business called Vino y Green-oh. We kids thought it was the dumbest name ever, but Deadheads and fellow campers loved it. They painted the name on the side of the truck in rainbow colors. Dad offered wine tastings at one dollar a glass and Mom made fresh green salads she sold for two dollars each, including a roll and butter.

  They hooked up with several other entrepreneurs in the food trade and created a “restaurant row” in the Dead show campgrounds and parking lots. Their friends Barbara and Dexter ran a popular eatery out of their RV called Spuds ’n’ Suds. Their operation was a little more complicated, requiring a deep fryer and ice for the keg.

  “We need more taquitos at the Mexican station,” Mom called from the doorway.

  “I’ve got a bunch ready,” Carmen, one of the cooks, answered.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said, and lifted the large cookie sheet stacked with corn tortillas rolled tightly around shredded beef, cheese and salsa.

  “Don’t forget the avocado sauce,” Carmen yelled.

  “Got it,” I said as I balanced the bowl of creamy green sauce on top of the pile of taquitos and headed for the dining room-and nearly collided with two men.

  “There you are,” Derek said. “When are you-”

  “Brooklyn,” Ian interrupted. “I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve got-”

  “Guys, let me put this down,” I said, straining from the weight of several hundred beef taquitos. “I’ll be right back.”

  But they weren’t about to let me escape. They both followed me to the Mexican station, where I gratefully exchanged my full cookie sheet for the empty one on the table.

  “Okay, so much for my break from reality,” I said, smiling back and forth from one ridiculously good-looking man to the other. “What do you guys want?”

  “I’ll need a word with you, Ms. Wainwright.”

  “Hey, plenty of me to go around,” I said, laughing as I turned and stared into the grim brown eyes of Inspector Jaglow.

  Chapter 10

  Oh, bugger, what did the police want with me? I shot a look at Derek, but he avoided my distressed gaze, turning away to chat up the closest woman available, who happened to be Mary Ellen Prescott, the manicurist at the Dharma co-op beauty salon my mother operated with a few of the commune women. He would soon find
out that Mary Ellen was not a member of our commune but a shameless, serial proselytizer for the Church of the True Blood of Ogun. Served him right for ignoring me in my hour of need.

  Semifrantic now, I turned to Ian and was dismayed to realize that in the few seconds it had taken me to observe Derek’s betrayal, Ian had seen his chance and completely disappeared.

  Suffice it to say, this was another lesson learned the hard way. Men were good for one thing only. Killing spiders. Other than that, I was on my own. It was sad, though. Where was the chivalry of yesteryear?

  Inspector Jaglow coughed discreetly.

  I could claim a need to use the bathroom, then sneak through the kitchen, detour out the mudroom door and be gone in seconds. There were back roads and switchbacks and hollows up here in Sonoma I could disappear into, where a hotshot City cop like Jaglow would never find me.

  “Ms. Wainwright?” he said again. “This won’t take long.”

  I sighed, gave him a wan smile and gestured for him to lead the way. Without a word, he crossed the room and exited through the wide double doors. I tried not to hyperventilate as he took the walkway around to the back, across the wide, blacktop parking lot. There were plenty of people in the hall, but nobody was out here, no witnesses to see me forced into a car or led into the woods to be brutally interrogated.

  I’d never realized it before this moment, but I didn’t trust the police. Here I was, completely innocent of any wrongdoing, yet I felt like a criminal as I traipsed across the blacktop with The Man.

  “Over here,” Jaglow said, pointing to the far corner of the lot.

  That was when I saw Inspector Lee standing by a picnic table under a giant oak tree at the edge of the lot. She wore a heavy black wool coat and flat shoes. Despite the extra weight of the coat, she still looked pathetically thin. I knew I wasn’t the fashion maven Robin was, but I ached to do a makeover on the inspector.

  She watched us approach and I noticed she was smoking a cigarette. That was a surprise. Of course, I wasn’t about to discuss the commune’s recently initiated no-smoking policy. I figured it was bogus anyway since Guru Bob had been sneaking out to light up behind the winery barn for years.

  “Hello, Ms. Wainwright,” Inspector Lee said in her oddly authoritative voice. Now I knew where that deep, sexy tone came from. Cigarettes. It seemed like cheating, somehow. “Sorry to take you away from the service, but we had some questions that couldn’t wait.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Did you get something to eat inside?” Always the hostess, that’s me, but more important, she could use some fattening up. Maybe I’d get Carmen to put together a hearty to-go pack for her.

  “I had a cookie,” she allowed.

  I brightened. “Did you try the Snickerdoodles? My mom makes the best-”

  “Ms. Wainwright,” Jaglow interrupted, thumping the page of his notebook, then looking up. “I had another conversation with, er, Minka La Burr… La Boo…” He gave up and checked his notebook. “ La Beef.”

  “Right, La Beef,” I said, and wanted to laugh, but sadly, even his mispronunciation of her stupid name didn’t cheer me up. Minka had warned me she was going to talk to the cops. I couldn’t wait to hear the lies she’d planted.

  “She tells me you and Karastovsky had a big fight the night he was murdered.”

  “What?”

  I must’ve shouted it because they both glared at me.

  “Sorry,” I said quickly. “But she’s lying. Totally and completely lying. Look, Minka LaBoeuf and I have never gotten along. We go way back. It’s not pretty. She’s a compulsive liar and she hates me. I don’t really want to get into it but-”

  “Get into it,” Inspector Lee said, her lips twisting sardonically.

  I blew out a breath, then gave them the abbreviated version. College. Art class. Boyfriend. Obsession. Sharp knife. Vicious cut. Blood everywhere. Paramedics.

  As I spoke, Jaglow wrote furiously.

  “Okay, so you’re not best friends,” Lee said. “Why would she lie about this fight?”

  “There was no fight,” I insisted.

  “Whatever,” Lee said. “Why would she lie?”

  I clenched my fists. What part of She tried to cut off my hand did they not understand? I counted to five slowly, then said, “It’s what she does. At the very least, Minka would love to see me fired from the Covington.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because she’s always hated me. Because Abraham fired her and she knows we were close. I’m the logical target.”

  “And at the very most?” Jaglow said, following up on my previous sentence.

  Did he expect me to say the words? That Minka would love to see me arrested for murder? I wasn’t going there.

  Inspector Lee actually rolled her eyes. “Nate, I think Ms. Wainwright is convinced this La Beef woman’s trying to implicate her in Karastovsky’s murder.”

  She gave me a pointed look, suggesting I agree or deny it.

  I hastily nodded in agreement. “Yes, exactly.”

  Lee nodded back, then said, “Just so we’re clear, you’re saying there was no fight between you and Karastovsky that night?”

  “That’s right. Absolutely right. No fight. We were talking and laughing; he was in a jovial mood and happy to see me. You can ask anyone-besides Minka.”

  “And you’re saying Karastovsky fired her,” Jaglow said.

  Hearing Jaglow say it aloud made me remember that Minka had her own motive for murder. Hadn’t I accused her of that when we first spoke in the basement hall the night of the murder? I rubbed my head. Days and conversations were getting blurred. The thing was, I seriously doubted Minka was capable or even competent enough to commit murder, but I was almost giddy with relief that the spotlight was off me. Now it was time to return the favor and kick Minka under the tires.

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “Minka had been hired by the Covington to work with Abraham on the Winslow collection. He fired her from the project within a week. Frankly, if it had been up to him, he never would’ve hired her in the first place.”

  “You know this because?” Lee drawled.

  “Because Abraham knew she was a hack, and he knew what she tried to do to me with that knife. He knew she brought problems with her wherever she went. Any job she works on never goes smoothly. She’s disruptive, a troublemaker, and besides her crappy attitude, she’s just not very good at the work.”

  “But tell us how you really feel,” Lee murmured, and almost cracked a smile.

  Jaglow nodded in amusement. “I hear that.” He looked back at me. “So you and the La Beef woman have some history and all, but what does she have to gain by lying about you?”

  “For Minka, it would be for the sheer joy of watching me squirm.”

  “That’s some serious stuff,” he said.

  Lee was more philosophical. “Girls just want to have fun.”

  I walked into the town hall alone after watching the inspectors drive off. I’d offered them both some takeaway goodies, but they declined. Too bad. Lee could use the calories.

  I was gratified to see Derek still cornered by Mary Ellen Prescott. He looked utterly desperate. I knew Mary Ellen, so I felt his pain, but I flashed him a broad smile and he bared his teeth at me. I’d be sure to remind him later that karma was a bitch.

  I was headed toward the kitchen when someone called my name.

  “Brooklyn, my dear.”

  I turned and saw Guru Bob walk toward me.

  “Are you in a hurry, gracious?” he asked.

  “Yes. Uh. No.” He always left me tongue-tied. What did you say to someone who’s supposed to be a highly evolved conscious being? I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but I knew he was incredibly intelligent and perceptive. He could talk anyone into doing anything. I’d grown up trying to stay under the Guru radar and I’d been fairly successful for years. Then, when I was fourteen, Abraham showed him a beautiful family Bible I’d restored. That gained his interest.

  It had bee
n Guru Bob’s suggestion that I go for the multiple degrees in library science and fine art, even though Abraham had thought it irrelevant. I’d always insisted to my parents that neither of their opinions mattered, but Guru Bob’s encouragement had helped move my parents to fully finance my college and postgrad schooling, so I was grateful for that.

  “I saw you speaking with the police, dear,” he said.

  Good to know someone had been aware of my situation out in the parking lot. The fact that it was Guru Bob caused my throat to go dry as sand. I reached for a water bottle from the nearby table, popped it open and took a long sip.

  “You are distressed,” he said kindly.

  “No, I am fine,” I said. “I am just very thirsty.”

  Guru Bob never used contractions and I tended to imitate him whenever I spoke with him. Weird.

  “Water is life-giving,” he said quietly as I drank.

  He was a tall man with broad shoulders, but when he spoke with you, he would hunch over to appear less intimidating and more humble. He also spoke softly, believing his words would be better received than if he spoke louder. It worked. I definitely paid attention to him.

  “The police upset you?” he asked.

  “No, no,” I said. “They were just asking me about Abraham and some statements one of my, er, colleagues made.” Calling Minka a colleague left a bitter taste, but I didn’t want to have to explain the whole thing to Guru Bob.

  “There is no need to explain,” he said, doing that creepy mind-reading thing he did sometimes.

  I felt an urgent need to explain anyway. “It’s just that this woman lied to the police and I had to tell them the true story. She’s not really a colleague, Robson, she’s really a…” I sighed. I couldn’t say anything too negative to Guru Bob.

  He touched my shoulder and I felt a tingle of energy.

  “You are under a great deal of strain, gracious.”

  Guru Bob called most people “gracious.” Mom said he liked to make them aware that they actually were full of grace. He was definitely a glass-half-full kind of guy.