Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery (36 page)

Read Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery Online

Authors: Elaine Flinn

Chapter 31
 
MOLLY JERKED so violently when she heard the shot, she almost choked herself with the seat belt. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel. It could have been several seconds, or minutes, she wasn’t sure, when she saw Randall and Lieutenant Stuart roar up in an unmarked car next to her.
Randall was out of the car and at her open window. “You even try to leave this car, I’ll cuff you, understand? Go home!”
Molly barely moved. She blinked twice, hoping he’d take that for her answer.
Randall turned to Stuart. He withdrew his weapon. “I’m right behind you.”
When Molly heard the sound of the safety on Randall’s gun being released, she winced. She started the car, then backed down the road until she could turn around. She was shaking as she pulled back into the visitor’s parking lot. Her hands were ice cold as she fumbled in her tote for a cigarette. She tore one out, and had to use two hands to hold the Zippo as she lit the cigarette wobbling between her trembling lips.
A fearful silence surrounded her. It was as if the world had stopped, waiting breathlessly with her, praying another gun shot would not be heard. Finally, after a succession of rapid Hail Marys, Molly saw the car Randall and Stuart had been in drive slowly toward her.
Randall parked next to her and got out. He climbed into the passenger seat. “I knew you wouldn’t go home. Damn it, Molly, why won’t you listen to me?” He reached for the pack of cigarettes she’d thrown on the dash. “I’m out of cigars.” He lit it, then exhaled slowly, and stared out the window.
“What happened?” she finally managed. “Who is that man?”
Randall didn’t answer right away. He took another drag, then said, “Dando Osa. Mattucci’s cook. He’s our shooter. He killed Todd Jessop.”
“Oh, my God. But, the shot I heard?”
“He blew his head off. The pact was complete.”
“The
what?”
Randall turned to look at Molly “Mattucci and Osa had a pact. It’s all laid out in a letter. It’s even notarized! The old man knew he was dying. He had a month or two at the most. It wasn’t the stroke. It was inoperable cancer. The family was coming apart. Carla’s kid, Nicky, was on the outs with him because of Testino Giordano. Jessop was using Carla as a punching bag and threatening to ruin Bello Lago. The old man had to get things clear for his daughter, Carla. So, he and Osa worked up the plan to ace Jessop, and then Mattucci was going to kill himself and leave a confession. Osa was supposed to leave the country, but things got out of hand when Susan showed up at Mattucci’s ranch.”
Randall stubbed out the cigarette. He reached for the pack again, then put it back. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned back to Molly. “Susan Jessop is dead. Mattucci shot her, then turned the gun on himself.”
Molly slumped. “No! Oh, no!”
Randall reached out for her. “It’s not your fault. It...it just played out that way.”
Molly threw off his hand. “Don’t! Don’t try to...oh, God! If only I hadn’t told her about Carla leaving.”
“Molly, listen to me. Susan would have found out anyway. Who knows it still wouldn’t have gone down that way.”
Molly was having a hard time breathing. She forced herself to take in gulps of air. “How...how do you know all of this?”
“Carla was at the ranch. Susan showed up with the photos right after she left you. She confronted Carla and the old man. She accused Carla of running out on her. She threatened to give the photos to the press if Carla took off. Carla said her father offered Susan money to keep quiet, but she wasn’t having any of that. She had a chance, she’d said, to be somebody on her own. Apparently, she’d already set things in motion. She had an agent and a book deal, and was ready to hit the talk shows.
“Carla said the old man went crazy. It was one thing to have a little notoriety about the murder, but that would eventually die down. But to have his daughter’s picture at a lap dancing club in a gossip rag was more than he would stand for. The shame to the family would have been too much to bear. Mattucci went ballistic, Carla said, when Susan laughed in his face and said what a hypocrite he was. He didn’t mind murder, but a sexy dance was shameful? That’s when he shot her, then turned the gun on himself. Carla claims she tried to stop him, but it happened too fast.”
“I was right about her,” Molly finally managed. “Wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, you nailed her pretty damn good.”
“But why would that poor man, Mr. Osa, kill himself, too? Why didn’t he run?”
Randall shook his head. “I guess he realized there wasn’t time.” Randall pulled out another cigarette, then lit it. “I think memories of jail, when he was a kid, never left him. Maybe he figured really dead was better than the living dead.”
Molly thought about that. “I’d never have guessed he was the killer.”
Randall gave Molly one of his lopsided grins. “Yeah? Well, that’s a first. Seems like you’ve beaten me to the punch more than I like.”
“Are you saying you knew it was Osa?”
“I had my eye on him early on. Don’t ask, okay? Call it gut instinct. But you cinched it when you found the climbing gear. When Lucero’s father told Dan that Osa always set up the shooting blinds on the hunting trips, I knew I was right. I just wasn’t sure how to smoke him out. Stuart wanted to bring him in for questioning, but we knew the guy wouldn’t cave. Hell, he’d lived through a Spanish jail. This was no amateur. By the way, his tongue was never cut out. That was baloney. And he spoke pretty good English. Dan’s father told us that, too. Osa had heard the rumors. Him and the old man and a few close friends thought they were funny and played along. I knew all of this already. I had already checked with a rancher friend in Nevada. He’s Basque, and knew Osa.”
“What about Carla now? I mean the poison, the belladonna?”
“Osa copped to that in the letter. He claims he was the one feeding it to Jessop. They ate at the ranch most of the time.”
“Do you believe that?” Molly asked.
“Not for a minute. But we can’t prove it now.”
“So, Mr. Mattucci got his wish. Carla is free and clear.”
“Looks that way.”
“And Susan”
“Don’t. Molly. Remember, she was guilty, too. You have to let it go, understand?”
Molly looked at him. “I don’t think I can do that, but I’ll try.”
They heard the sirens before they saw the sheriff’s patrol cars and an ambulance pull up the long drive. “Gotta go,” Randall said. He took hold of her hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see you later. Call Daria, maybe we can switch nights.”
“I’m okay. Stop worrying. Go do what you need to do. I’ll call her.”
 
Molly’s knees felt as if they had been glued to the Moor of the Carmel Mission. She could have slipped into a pew and taken advantage of the kneeler, but she didn’t feel she had the right to such comfort. At least not for Susan Jessop’s rosary. She had walked up the center aisle and knelt before the altar. Her head was bowed so low it almost reached her chest. The remorse she felt in playing a role in Susan’s death deserved nothing less in her mind. When it came time to offer rosaries for Domenico Mattucci and Dando Osa, she felt almost as much guilt. Her actions had accelerated their plans, and in some way, she felt she had been responsible for Osa’s death as well. Others, she knew, might argue that point, but nonetheless, it was what she felt, and that was all that mattered.
Molly’s legs were stiff and her knees were sore when she walked back down the aisle. She paused at the last pew, then turned back to look at the altar. Her eyes fixed on the crucifix. She knew she wasn’t ready to leave. She felt compelled to stay in the quiet serenity of the church. The lingering seent of incense and burned candles offered a sense of peace she so badly needed. She took a seat and closed her eyes. She paid little attention to the sound of footsteps behind her, thinking it was a tourist or another local slipping in. When she felt, rather than heard someone moving down the empty pew toward her, she opened her eyes.
Marshall Macomber stood next to her. “I hope I’m not intruding. I passed you on Rio Road and had an idea you were headed here. When I saw you at the altar, I waited outside.”
“You’re not intruding. I was about to leave anyway.”
Macomber sat next to her. He nodded toward the altar. “I hope I’m not the cause of your lengthy stay.”
Molly’s smile was weaker than she’d meant it to be. “No, not at all.”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me. It’s not as if we’re close friends, but, well, I hope that will change. We
are
related, somewhat.”
When Molly didn’t answer, he said, “I was hoping to catch you before I leave. I wanted to let you know that I’ve made the travel plans, and I’ll be flying back on Friday to fetch Emma. I’ve hired a car to take us to San Francisco. From there, we’ll fly direct to London.”
“You’ll keep in touch, won’t you? Not just postcards...but a call every now and then?”
“How does once a week sound? We’ll set a day. Maybe Friday?”
Molly felt her throat tighten. She forced her voice to sound happy. “Friday is good. It’s just that I’d want to know—”
Macomber saw how hard this was for Molly, and how much she would miss Emma. “She’ll be fine. I promise. And I’ll have her back to you in plenty of time for the fall semester.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a travel agent’s brochure. “I thought you’d like to see our itinerary.”
Somehow, Molly wasn’t surprised when she saw the list of hotels. She had a feeling Marshall Macomber traveled well and that her earlier demand wasn’t necessary. She had just wanted to be on record as to what she expected for Emma. He’d booked the Dorchester in London, the Crillon in Paris, in Venice the Gritti Palace, and in Rome, the Majestic. She handed the brochure back to him. Her eyes were bright, with a hint of amusement. “I think these will do.”
 
Molly called Daria when she got back to the shop. She told her what had happened at Bello Lago. “I know,” Daria said. “It’s already on the news. I didn’t know you were there. And Carla is getting away with murder? I can’t believe this. Look, Molly, take a nap, read a good book, or better yet, go see a movie. Just don’t dwell on what you can’t change. I should know, huh?”
“You’re right, as usual. It’s still hard not to think about it though. But I’ll try. Honest. See you tonight.”
Molly left the CLOSED sign in the window. She wasn’t in the mood to face people. Treasures was open seven days a week. A day or two without a sale wouldn’t make a blip on Max’s bottom line. Besides, he’d given her the option, from day one, to set the shop’s schedule. He’d been surprised that Molly had opted to be open each day. But then, she’d been hungry when she had first landed in Carmel. Every dollar earned from her commissions and personal sales made the chance to leave and to open her own shop someday less a dream and more a reality. That was then. Now, leaving Carmel was no longer in her game plan. She knew she could stay here until she was old, creaky, and gray. Even if Emma decided to live with her father, Molly knew she would still see her. And then, of course, she had wonderful friends here. What more could she possibly want?
Molly spent the rest of the day updating her inventory database, catching up on e-mail queries from the shop’s website, sending e-mail notices to out-of-town clients about new merchandise, and then, finally, an e-mail to Cleo in London. She told her about Marshall Macomber and that he and Emma would be in London next week. She gave her the hotel information and asked her to give them a call, hoping they might meet for lunch or dinner. Molly went on to tell Cleo how much she would adore Emma, and hint-hint, she might find Macomber interesting as well.
At a quarter to six, Molly left for Daria’s. She walked slowly, enjoying the early evening chill. The scent of wood fires from homes, older shops with fireplaces, and new restaurants with open wood-burning ovens vied with the tangy salt air blowing up Ocean Avenue from Carmel Beach. It was June, but not yet summer for Carmel. Warm days and balmy nights would have to wait a couple of months. Molly pulled up the shawl collar of her sweater and filled her lungs with the heady perfume of Carmel.
Randall, Loomis, and Lucero were already in the back room. Daria was at the far end of the room on the telephone. Molly put her hand up, “No, don’t get up, please. I insist. I can find my way.”

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