Molly set up the coffeepot, then checked to see how Emma was doing. She’d gone up earlier to let her know that she was chatting with Randall about antiques and would be in the garage for a while. She didn’t want Emma to walk in on the discussion. The less Emma knew, the better. Besides not wanting her involved in the solving of the homicide, she feared Emma might innocently slip and tell Michelle something. When Emma asked if Randall’s meeting had been cancelled, she’d lied and said they’d decided to meet later.
She found Emma in her room. She was propped up on her bed, reading. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know that Loomis and Dan decided to drop by. We’re having coffee in the garage.”
“The garage? Why don’t they come upstairs?”
“They’re having fun looking over all the merch we haven’t inventoried. And you know, just ‘hangar flying.’ So, what are you reading?”
Emma showed Molly the book. “I’ve decided to be a mystery writer. I got this at the library. It’s a ‘How-to’ by a lady named Carolyn Wheat.”
Molly sat next to Emma. She laughed. “Uh, I think you’d best wait until you’re a little older. Murder and mayhem is, well, not something we want as a steady diet, right? I think we’ve had just about enough of that around here.”
“Well, they say, write what you know. I figure I’ve got a head start.”
“I thought you wanted to be an antiques dealer.”
“Oh, I do. But just think about how the two professions seem to work together.”
“You
are
kidding, aren’t you?”
Emma laughed. “Yeah, I am. I have to do a report on how a book is constructed. I figured this one would be fun to use.”
Relieved, Molly said. “Don’t stay up too late. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
Emma nodded but said only, “Night, Aunt Molly.”
Molly whispered, “Night, Emma.”
Chapter 27
WHEN MOLLY returned to the garage with a fresh pot of coffee, she was surprised to see Lieutenant Stuart was back. He rose when Molly entered. “Hope you don’t mind my returning, Molly,” he said. “Randall asked me to come back and sit in on the confab.”
Molly had decided she liked Stuart. He’d been courteous to her and appreciated her contributions. And, she had noticed, he wasn’t hard on the eyes. Not quite as tall as Randall or as broad in the chest, he was also a good fifteen years younger. Molly guessed him to be around thirty-five. His brown hair was razor-cut close to his skull, and his rather large brown eyes reminded her of a basset hound. It was nice to see he was one of the few men these days who wore a wedding ring.
“Not at all,” she smiled. And then she laughed. “I guess Randall thought it was time you got used to these little gatherings. We usually have them in Daria’s private room at her restaurant when... well, when things pop up.”
“So I hear. A nice place to have a command center.” He looked at Loomis, Lucero, and Randall. “We all know it’s not in the handbook, but I’ve got to say I kind of like this roundtable idea. I’m not opposed to it at all. The more info I get, the sooner we’ll nail this killer. By the way, I want to thank you again for your cooperation and offer an apology for the rude way you’ve been treated. You know it’s not our policy to harass witnesses.”
“Thank you,” Molly said. She set the coffeepot on the table and found a chair. “So, what have I missed?”
Loomis cleared his throat. “Some interesting news, Molly. Apparently Susan Jessop and Carla Jessop have been in communication for some weeks.”
Molly shot a look at Randall. “You knew this all along? Is that why you told me to stay away from the winery? Damn. I was right. The meeting this morning was a phony!”
Randall nodded. “There’s more.”
Loomis went on. “Maili Montgomery and I have been coordinating our research. Man, she’s a whiz on that computer. What she can sneak into makes me ready to give up my e-mail address. Anyway, there’s a good dozen e-mails between them, and we’ve got cell phone records showing calls going back and forth. The e-mails are worthless. They’re cryptic. It only proves they’ve been in contact. But it’s a link of sorts if we need it down the road.
“Randall called me about Sullivan’s brother. The skeet shooter? I did some quick checking on him right away. He lives in Redding, and his leg has been in a cast for over a month. He broke it skate-boarding with his son. But that doesn’t let Horne and Sullivan off the hook. I’m still digging on those two.”
“I don’t get the Carla-and-Susan thing,” Molly said. “It’s just too bizarre. I mean, it’s so unlikely that they would become friends.” She thought for a moment, then yelped, “Oh, wait! Wait just a damn minute! They both have access to belladonna!” Molly’s eyes flew to Randall. “Am I out of my mind thinking what I’m thinking?”
Lucero laughed. “If you are, then so are we.”
Randall grinned. “Bingo. Molly Doyle hits the mark once again.”
“Sounds like all of you are a few steps ahead of me for once,” Molly said. “But that still doesn’t tell us who shot Jessop.”
“That,” Stuart said, “is the jackpot question. Your coming across the tree-climbing gear might give us a winning ticket.” He turned to Lucero. “If we can come up with prints that make sense.”
Lucero shifted in his chair. “I’d bet my next election the shooter wore gloves. Anyone familiar with that gear would know he’d have to. The rope pulleys would tear up his hands. He’d never get more than a few feet on the ground without them.”
“The only good news is that the discovery will help narrow the suspect list somewhat,” Randall said. “Not many people know how to use that stuff. Including Mafia hit men.”
“What about those rumors that Mr. Mattucci was responsible for Carla’s first husband’s death?” Loomis asked. “I don’t know the history around here, but could there be something there that might connect?” Loomis put up his hands. “Before you remind me that Mattucci is in a wheelchair, just think about it.” He looked at Lucero. “Let’s do an out-of-the-box exercise here.”
Lucero shrugged. “It was a chopper accident. I don’t remember the details.”
“No offense, boss,” Loomis said. “I know the Mattuccis are old family friends, but—”
“Whoa,” Lucero snapped. “I won’t take offense, but don’t think for one minute I’d hesitate to check on anybody or anything. Friends or not. If Stuart thinks looking into the accident report merits attention, then I’ll do it. In fact—” Lucero pulled out his cell phone. “Hang on.”
He waited for a moment, then said, “Hey, Dad! How you doing? Good, good. Listen, put on your thinking cap for a minute for me. Remember when Tony Giordano’s chopper went down? Yeah, way back, I know. Do you remember where it happened? Was he dusting crops, or joy riding?” Lucero listened, then shoved his hand in his pocket and began to jiggle some loose change. “No kidding?” he said. “Where? Do you remember who was there? I mean, in the party?” He nodded a few times, then said, “Hey, thanks, huh? No, no...just doing some jawing about a similar case. Yeah, keep it between us. Give Mom a kiss. See you later.”
All eyes were on Dan Lucero as he set his cell phone on the table, then poured cold coffee into his cup. He took a sip, then said, “It happened at a hunting party near Reno. Dad said he remembered that Mattucci was there, old man Giordano, and some ranchers from Salinas and Stockton. Maybe some others, but he hadn’t gone that trip, so he’s not sure who else went. Tony Giordano flew his chopper up to use for spotting elk. He went down the third day they were out. My dad said they chalked it up to mechanical failure or pilot error. He’s not sure which.”
“I can get the details from the Washoe County Sheriffs Department in Reno,” Stuart said. He looked at Loomis. “I like out-of-the-box thinking, and I like this group.”
Randall rose, and picked up the now-empty coffeepot. He turned to Molly and said, “I think we’re going to need more fuel. Do you mind?”
Molly took the coffeepot. “Not in the least.”
She stopped when Randall asked Stuart, “Are you a hunter?”
“No, never saw the attraction.”
“We should know who were their camp people,” Randall said. “Who they hired for the setup, and who the guides were. That gear is used by hunters to make shooting blinds.”
“You gotta be kidding,” Lucero said. “It was years ago.”
Randall’s smile was slow, but tight. “I never kid.”
Molly said, “I think the killer is someone who works at the winery.” She looked at Randall. “Did you tell them about that man in the truck? The one who stopped at the cave, and then later passed by the tasting room when Susan showed up with the reporter?”
“Yeah, I did. Probably just a supervisor checking up on the laborers.”
Molly didn’t agree, but didn’t reply. She left for the storage room and pulled back the memory of the man in the truck. She hadn’t seen enough of him to offer a description. Still, it bothered her. She remembered a creepy feeling when he stopped at the cave. It was his utter stillness as he sat in the truck. Add to that, it seemed strange that he would turn his face away when he passed her leaving the tasting room. She thought she could describe the truck, but then realized it was probably a company truck and would be available to many of the employees. She began to think Randall was right and that she was reading too much into too little.
While she made the coffee, her thoughts wandered to Emma’s meeting with Marshall Macomber tomorrow. She would take her to Daria’s and make the introductions. She didn’t relish sitting in Daria’s back room twiddling her thumbs, but she knew she had to stay. She had no idea what the girl’s mood might be after lunch, and she wouldn’t think of letting a confused Emma walk home alone. The thought of it tore at her heart. She knew she had to stop dwelling on tomorrow. God willing, Macomber would realize that Emma was happy here, and would leave.
On her way back into the garage, Molly paused. She couldn’t help but grin when she took in the scene before her. Amid tables filled with antique objets d’art, china, lamps, old books, and odds-and-ends of flatware, Carmel’s chief of police, a sheriffs homicide detective, the district attorney, and his private investigator sat on folding chairs eating stale cookies as they analyzed and dissected the murder of Todd Jessop. She wondered what the villagers would think if they knew what was going on here.
Molly’s thoughts moved in another direction. She made a quick vow to be more careful in the future when taking on outside commissions. Her last one with Frances O’Brien had been nothing but trouble. And now she was in the middle of another mess. Maybe, she thought, it would be better to avoid freelance work, period. She didn’t need the grief. Frances had been bad enough, and now she had Carla and Susan messing up her life. As Armand, her cousin Angela’s husband, always said when the shit hit the fan,
“Cherchez la femme!”
Look for the woman!
Molly was about to offer fresh coffee to Loomis when her hand halted in midair. “Wait a minute, a crazy thought just skittered through my brain. As in
cherchez la femme? ”
She handed Loomis the pot, then said to Randall, “Remember me telling you about the day Susan Jessop came in the shop? And how she wanted to hire me to find out about Carla?”
Stuart broke in, “Hire you? Sorry, Molly, but I don’t get the connection.”
“I know, I know!” Molly said. She quickly filled him in and then added, “So in comes Susan pretending not to know Carla, then add Carla giving me hell for not telling her about Susan.” She looked around the room. “We all know now that Susan had a PI following Todd for at least a year and obviously knew about Carla. I’m convinced now this whole thing is an elaborate ruse to cover up the fact that they’re in this together. I still think they were
both
poisoning Todd.” Molly saw thoughtful faces. No one said a word. “Maybe the reason Carla has been in a hurry to get the tasting room ready is because the poison wasn’t working fast enough. He probably wasn’t experiencing any symptoms, so they hired a killer. And her excuse for taking over running the winery isn’t because of her father’s health. I think she expected Todd to keep interfering, and
wanted
him to so there would be other suspects for the cops to look at.” Molly took a breath. She looked at Randall. “If, like she reminds us, her father ‘hasn’t much time,’ why the hell is she going to Peru for a vintner’s conference? Why not send someone else? Something stinks.”
When no one replied, she held up her hand. “Try this on for size. Peru is just a hop, skip, and a jump to Brazil. They don’t extradite, right?”
“Generally, you’re right,” Lucero said. “Brazil won’t extradite a U.S. citizen facing a murder charge if that citizen lives in a state that has a death penalty. But the death penalty is only used if the crime is attached to special circumstances: more than one murder or in conjunction with a robbery or sex crime. In this case, we’ve got only one homicide. So unless Carla doesn’t fully know the law, her trip won’t do her any good.”
“Hmm. I wonder if Susan Jessop knows she’s going?” Molly asked.
Randall laughed. “Maybe not. Like you said, Molly,
cherchez la femme.
”
It was near midnight by the time everyone left. Molly gathered the mugs in the garage and took them upstairs to wash. Her weary brain was filled with umpteen snatches of the thoughts and theories tossed around earlier. On her way to bed, she checked on Emma. The light next to her bed was still on. Tiger and both kittens were snuggled against her back. Molly turned off the light and watched her for a moment. She didn’t look forward to tomorrow. She almost wished she could make time stand still. She also knew she had to stop putting off telling Bitsy about Marshall Macomber, and best do it tomorrow in case Emma... No, she quickly thought, erase that line of thinking.