Dead on the Vine: (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries #1 (A Cozy Mystery)) (19 page)

“Blamed her? That’s insane! The woman is rotten, but she loved that little girl. There was nothing she could have done. He had a gun.” It felt strange defending Laurel, but I had to keep the facts straight. This wasn’t a witch-hunt. I wouldn’t let Laurel turn me into that kind of person.

Jessica nodded, “I know, but he did blame her. Not at first, but lately. He hated her, I think.”

I tried to make sense of that. Kevin should have been enraged at the animal doing life without parole, not his wife.

“He said she should never have been there,” Jessica added.

“It was after the clothing drive at the PAC, wasn’t it?” I said.

“Yes. Laurel and charity don’t seem to go together, do they?” Jessica asked with an icy edge. “That’s what Kevin thought, as irrational as that sounds. He thought she was meeting someone. Another man.”

“That’s like second-guessing yourself after a car accident.”

“You have to understand how much he loved Winter,” Jessica said defensively. “He wasn’t thinking straight. And he was drinking.”

“When did he tell you this?” I asked.

Jessica hugged herself. “The night he was killed. He had hinted at it before, but he was really pissed that night. I’d never seen him like that before. He was drunk.”

“How drunk?” I asked.

“He could barely stand. He was leaning on that shovel. He almost fell once,” Jessica stared at the tabletop. “I grabbed the shovel and pulled him back up.”

“And that’s why your prints are on the shovel,” I said. She nodded. “Did you tell the police that?”

Jessica shook her head. “Daddy’s lawyer told me to keep my mouth shut.”

“Makes sense,” I said grudgingly. “Still, it might have been better to tell your side of it.”

“That’s exactly what I thought! But Mr. Fine said ‘Don’t help them build a case against you.’  Like I was guilty! Gram acted the same way. They all did, watching me out of the corners of their eyes like I might snap. That’s part of the reason I had to get out of there.”

“Part of the reason?” I asked.

“Gram was ragging on you at dinner last night. She said you had ‘brought me down to the lowest common denominator’.” Jessica didn’t look at me as she spoke, but if she had she would have seen my jaw lock. “I told her to shut her mouth and she dropped her wine glass and ordered me to leave the table. Which I was happy to do.”

“Tell me about it,” I said wryly, proud of my daughter for standing up to her grandmother.

“I had to get away from them. I’d rather be in jail.”

We sipped coffee in silence, and Jessica stole another of my cigarettes. I had another one too. The kitchen was filling up with gray smog, so I opened the window over the sink. What I should have done was put the cigarette out. I was smoking way too much. At this rate I’d be up to a pack a day before I knew it. I kept puffing away, the picture of the mature nicotine junkie, as a cool breeze laden with the damp smell of growing things wafted through the window.

“When you left Kevin was he still in the rows?” I asked.

“No. Stanley threw the brick through the window and I ran around front with Kevin staggering behind me. I saw Stanley’s truck burning out of the driveway. You were up right after that and Kevin said he was going home. Then the police came.”

“So, Kevin was still alive when Stanley came by,” I said, thinking out loud. I cocked one hip against the kitchen counter and blew smoke in the direction of the window.

“Yes.”

“Did you see Kevin later, after the police left?”

“No, but he must have come back.”

I nodded. “With the shovel.”

Jessica nodded. “I guess he was still drunk.”

“Why was he in our rows?”

Jessica shrugged. “I didn’t ask. I saw him walking down the row and I went to him.”

My next question was a hard one to ask, but I had to know. “Why did you and Kevin split up?”

The life drained from Jessica’s face, and I thought she might cry. She brushed at her eyes with her fingertips, shook her head. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say anything definite, only that I was too good for him. He was drinking a lot and working too hard, acting a little wired. But…” Jessica petered out.

“But?” I prompted after the silence had lingered for over a minute.

“But I think it was more than that. He was obsessed with Winter. With Buford Logan. He’d get drunk and talk crazy. He talked like Winter was still alive. I couldn’t take it, and I told him that he needed help. A therapist.   He acted like I had betrayed him.”

Jessica was giving a much more intimate picture of what Hunter Drake had already told me about Kevin’s obsession with his dead daughter. I was ashamed that I hadn’t noticed any of this. Yes, Kevin had seemed subdued, but that was to be expected, right?

“Kevin went through so much,” Jessica continued. “And in the end I think it killed him.” I couldn’t agree more.

Jessica stood, and shook herself. “I can’t think about this anymore. Not right now.  I think I’ll get the tables inside. And finish the dishes.”

“And I better get started on the cellar,” I groaned. I hip-pushed myself off the counter, ground out my cigarette and slurped the last of my coffee.

“I’ll be down to help later,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“That’d be wonderful,” I said gratefully. “It’s a mess.”

“And our two male leads have wandered off into the sunset with other women,” Jessica added, giving me a grin.

“Male leads in a cartoon maybe. A bad cartoon,” I told her with a laugh and went downstairs.

We use an industrial solvent to clean the machines then we go back over everything with mineral spirits and dry it all down. While Jessica did the dishes upstairs, I got out the buckets and sponges and went to work. I unjammed the corking machine first, pulling splintered corks out with my fingernails, picking and tugging at the crumbling stuff. That took me twenty minutes. After that I went to work on the rest of the machines, scrubbing up coagulated puddles and spots of purple. Every nook and cranny of the pump, filler and labeler were splattered with wine. My passion for purple took a serious blow. I never wanted to see purple again. But I go through this every time, probably because Samson and Victor ditch me with the cleaning every time. By the time Jessica came down I was finished with the bottle filler and was halfway done scrubbing the worm, the conveyor that feeds the bottles down the line. She didn’t need to be instructed; she had been teenage slave labor, working for a meager allowance. She grabbed the mineral spirits and started wiping down the filler, drying as she went. With her help, a four-hour job became two. We covered the machines in their canvas shrouds and left them there for the men to store at the back of the cellar. They could do that much!

By the time we finished, we were exhausted and sweaty despite the permanent chill of the cellar. We hit the showers.

Dressed in a bathrobe and frayed pajamas I curled up on the living room sofa, an ashtray balanced on my knee. I lit a cigarette and dialed. It was after ten, a little late to call Ben, but I wanted to talk to him while my conversation with Jessica was still fresh in my mind. I had punched in the first four digits when Jessica appeared at the foot of the stairs, dressed for bed in a rumpled T-shirt and shorts. She looked pale, the dark smudges under her eyes the only color.

“I’m going to bed, mom,” she said. “Who’re you calling?”

“Ben,” I said, flushing a little.

Jessica arched an eyebrow. “Momma’s got a boyfriend,” she said and laughed, a sound I was glad to hear even if it was at my expense. “Kiss him once for me,” she said before heading back upstairs.

I finished dialing Ben’s number. On the fourth ring, he picked up.

“Ben Stoltze here,” he said irritably.

“Hey, Ben. It’s Claire,” I said, “How’s it going?”

“Hey Claire,” he said without enthusiasm. The silence stretched before he spoke again. “Not very well.”

“What is it?”

Ben cleared his throat. “Had a little conversation with the assistant DA handling the Harlan case, Bill Moyers. You might know him, officious little prick in a sweater vest, a drift of dandruff on his collar? I think he was in school about the same time as Jessica.”

“No, can’t say I do. What’s the matter?”

“He’s asked me to back off the case. Actually, he ordered me to.”

“What?”

“Looks like I’m done being sheriff before the election even happens. Someone complained to Bill about our relationship and mentioned that Roger and I used to pal around in high school. Conflict of interest. Moyers’ words.”

“Our relationship? What relationship? Friends?”

Ben laughed bitterly. “Friends. Yeah, you could say that. But more than friends, if you get my meaning.”

“What a load of…, Ben, you don’t have to stand for this! Everyone knows you’re honest. Who the hell does—“

“Let it go, Claire,” Ben cut me off. “It’s done and it doesn’t matter. In three months I’ll resign anyway. They can have the whole shooting match.”

“You sound like you don’t even care,” I said, getting angry. “This isn’t the Ben Stoltze I know.”

“Nope,” Ben said and laughed sardonically. “This is a
tired
Ben Stoltze that just wants to be left alone.”

“Is that last remark directed at me?”

“Not a bit of it,” Ben began, trying to be conciliatory. “You know you’re a good friend. But I think it’s best if we don’t see each other right now. I have three months left and I want to keep my reputation intact. I’ve worked too hard to retire under a cloud.”

“What about Jessica?” I asked, growing hotter by the second. “Without your help Priest will railroad her right into prison.” I had been counting on Ben.

“I didn’t say I was going to drop out of the case, did I? I said Moyers o
rdered
me to. I don’t take orders too well. I’m talking about appearances.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to keep asking questions and reading the reports that Priest files. I’ll keep my distance and not crowd anyone, for your sake more than my own. The private detectives Roger hired are stirring up a real mess. Lawsuits’ve been threatened and mud has been flung, which doesn’t help Jessica in the long run.”

“That might not be enough,” I said testily. “I called to give you some information. I talked to Jessica tonight and she told me some things.”

“She didn’t say much at the interrogation,” Ben said. “She wouldn’t tell them a thing.”

“Maybe because Priest’s a jerk. She told me that the letters Laurel gave Priest were stolen from her car. She told me that Kevin was obsessed with his daughter’s murder and that he blamed Laurel and –”

“Hold on a second, Claire. Let me get a pen and something to write on.” I heard him shuffling around. “Okay, fire away.”

Quickly I ran down all that Jessica had told me, adding what I knew about Marta Valdez and Kevin spending time together.

Ben didn’t seem too impressed. “I’ll need to pass this on to Doug Priest,” he said when I finished. “But I have to do it in a way that keeps you out of it.”

“Why do you have to tell
him
anything?”

“He’s the lead detective. If I know something that’s pertinent I have to share it. That’s how it is,” Ben explained, annoyance creeping into his voice.

“I could call him,” I offered.

“That’s not a good idea,” Ben said. “Just leave it to me. I can handle Doug. My advice is to stay away from him and Laurel Harlan.”

“I guess you’re right,” I sighed. “I just don’t want to be left out of the loop. Jessica’s arrest really blindsided me.”

“I swear I’ll keep you posted. I can’t tell you everything, of course. That
would
be a conflict of interest, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks for your help, Ben,” I gave in. But I wasn’t giving up.

“You’re welcome. If you hear anything else, if Jessica tells you anything else, pass it along to me immediately. Okay?”

“You got it,” I told him, then changed the subject. “So, are we still on for lunch? After this is over, of course.”

“Not trying to worm out of it, are ya?” Ben asked with a chuckle. “Cause, I ain’t gonna let ya. Burgers and fries on me at Shaky’s, as soon as possible.”

“Oh, big spender,” I teased, feeling way too girlish for fifty.

Ben laughed. “I’ve got four kids, two of them in college. You’re lucky I didn’t say tuna fish sandwiches at my place.”

“Shaky’s will be great,” I told him. “Be looking forward to it.”

“Me too. Good night, Claire,” Ben said.

“’Night, Ben,” I replied and hung up.

I smoked another cigarette, thinking about Ben. Thoughts that I won’t share. But there was concern as well. Ben had been ordered to back off. No matter what he said, that wasn’t good for Jessica. She’d be left at the mercy of Priest, more or less. My natural inclination to meddle had me wondering what I could do to spur things on. Three more cigarettes and I still hadn’t thought of anything clever. Miss Marple I’m not. I went to bed, my mind occupied with thoughts of murder and the adorably rumpled, ex-football-hero sheriff.