Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (11 page)

He gave Sabrina a long look, glanced up at me where I had stopped halfway down the stairs, then told Larry, “Move. I’ve got to get this in. Where does it go? Upstairs? Then she’ll have to move, too.”

I moved. Down the stairs and into the hallway, dragging Sabrina with me.

“We’ll let ourselves out, Larry. Thanks for the tour,” I said, heading for the kitchen.

“What’s the matter with you?” Sabrina asked, trotting to keep up with me. “You act like—oh. He came on to you.”

“Not really. Well, sort of. And I’m not waiting for a repeat performance. Let’s get out of here. I’ve seen all the kitchens and all the bedrooms I need for one day.”

“Who would have believed.” Sabrina followed me out the kitchen door, past the swimming pool, around the side of the house, and down the path to the street. “First Aunt Mary and dear old Frank, now you and Larry. And it’s not even spring.”

“It’s not funny,” I said.

“Sorry.” Sabrina kept on smiling. “I’d love to see Dan’s face when you tell him you’re going to the dinner, but he’s not invited.”

“A privilege you won’t have since I have no intention of going to that dinner,” I said somewhat sourly.

“Are you going to tell Dan about being invited?”

“And have him roll on the floor laughing along with you?” I asked. “I don’t think so.” This had to stop. I took a deep breath. “Look, Larry is nervous, probably lonely, and for some reason thinks we had something going in high school and that I still like him. I probably could like him, as a friend, of course, if he backed off a little. And if you’re thinking Dan would be jealous, forget it. He has other things on his mind.”

Sabrina’s face immediately lost its smile. “Like Otto’s murder.”

***

“Has he come any closer to finding out who did it?” Mark asked. We were all in his office, the police having opened up all of the winery except the cellar floor and the fermenting tank where Otto died. He was behind his desk; Sabrina and I were lounging in high-backed chairs, and Paris took up the remaining floor. They each had a glass of white wine. I had a glass of water.

“I haven’t seen him,” I replied. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“Hmmm,” he responded. I wasn’t sure he really heard my answer and was positive he hadn’t heard a word about my adventures with Larry. He looked exhausted and worried. Maybe a little more than worried.

The phone rang. Mark picked it up. It was on speaker, which he quickly clicked off. “Yeah. Okay, sure. I understand. Well, thanks for trying. Yeah, I will.” He hung up the phone, stared at it for a moment, then looked at Sabrina, and very slightly shook his head. She looked stricken.

“Who was that?” I probably shouldn’t have asked, but curiosity overcame me.

“An old friend.” It hadn’t sounded very friendly, and I wondered again about Mark and Sabrina, and what it was that they weren’t willing to talk about. They talked to each other, though. They were doing it now, Sabrina looking anxious, both eyebrows raised, eyes asking some kind of question, Mark responding with slight reassuring nods. Their closeness had never been more evident, and I envied it. Brian, my ex, equated closeness with sex. Talking to each other, being in tune with my feelings, sharing his, were not things that would ever have occurred to him. Nasty cracks, hurling them like tiny arrows, waiting for them to wound, hoping they would bring tears so he could feel he’d “won” again, were his specialty. I had never understood what kind of war he thought we were fighting, consequently had never been able to defend myself. Dan wasn’t like that. It mattered to him how I felt, and I would do anything to make him happy. We also were close. Of course we were. We were about to be closer. Much closer. But how would it end? Like Mark and Sabrina or like what I had with Brian? I shuddered. That I couldn’t go through again.

The door flung open, and a rather large girl with long blonde hair burst into the room. All thoughts of relationships fled as she furiously stated, “He’s doing it again. Mark, you have to come out here. You, too, Sabrina. He wants all this stuff, and I have no idea what to do.” Her face was blotchy red, her hair in disarray where she had run her fingers through it. She looked like she was going to burst into tears any moment.

“What?” Mark pushed his chair back hard. “Who?”

“I’ll bet it’s Frank,” Sabrina said grimly. “What’s he doing now?”

“It’s Carlton. Mr. Carpenter. He’s in the office, has been for an hour. It was bad enough having the police, but at least they were polite.”

Dan would be glad to hear that.

“What does he want this time?” Mark was on his feet, moving around his desk toward the door.

“Everything.” The girl threw her arms out dramatically. “Inventory lists, reports, he wants to go through files, and to know who works here and how much they get paid. He even wanted to know how much we pay you two. Right now he’s trying to break into my computer!”

“All right, Nikki, calm down,” Mark said soothingly, but his face had a red tinge under his deep tan. “I have no idea what Carlton thinks he’s up to, but I’ll take care of it.”

“Tell him to get lost,” Sabrina said. “What right does he have poking his nose into everything?”

“He’s a partner.” Mark’s voice was still mild, but the lines around his mouth were hard.

“None of the other partners ever come in here messing up the office.” Sabrina’s voice was tinged with hysteria. Then she turned to Nikki. “Do they?”

“No, never. We hand out quarterly reports, they ask questions at the partners’ meetings, and that’s it. Why is he doing this?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Mark’s stride as he left the office was a little faster and a little longer than usual. Sabrina was right behind him, Nikki practically on Sabrina’s heels. I brought up the rear.

“Can we help you?” Mark stopped in the middle of the main office, towering over Carlton, who sat in a desk chair, flicking the mouse at anything on the screen. “You’re going to freeze the whole thing if you keep doing that. If you want something, I’ll have Nikki or one of the other girls get it for you.”

Carlton got to his feet. He took a step toward Mark, who didn’t back up. Carlton looked a little surprised, then ran a hand over his Ken-doll perfect hair and thrust his chin into the air. “I want the inventory records and then I want someone to take me downstairs so we can check everything off.”

“Why, Carlton?” Mark asked, his voice much too quiet. “Do you think I’ve been stealing wine?”

“I didn’t say that,” Carlton stated belligerently. He took a good look at Mark’s face and took a step back. “As a partner, I have a right to check up if I want to. Besides, I’m the only partner that lives around here. It’s my responsibility.”

Ah, Carlton had learned a new word. I wondered if he’d figured out what it means.

“The partners are all very important people,” he went on, seeming to gain confidence from the thought of associating with celebrities. “Someone has to look out for their interests.”

I could hear Sabrina sputter. I put my hand on her arm, hoping to remind her to keep her mouth shut.

Mark didn’t say anything for a moment. He didn’t have to. The rigid shoulders, the tight lips said it all. Finally he spun around and told Nikki, “Print out a complete inventory list for Mr. Carpenter, and then take him down to the cellar. Tell Hector he wants to count cartons and wine bottles. Make sure he gets a gallon count on the wine stored in the tanks and in the barrels. However, Hector doesn’t have to stay with him, only show him where things are. I’m sure Mr. Carpenter will be glad to report back to you with the results of his inventory. Then I want you to write a report of his findings for the other partners.” He turned back to Carlton. “This could take some time. Better plan on coming back tomorrow. We close at five thirty.”

Carlton’s mouth was open, and he was stammering. “You don’t have to—I don’t think we have to bother the other partners—I’m sure everything is fine, just wanted—”

“Give him the inventory.” Mark turned on his heel and stomped out. Sabrina and I followed, but not before I took a quick peek back at a very red-faced Carlton. Embarrassed or outmaneuvered, I wasn’t sure. Either way, Carlton clearly wasn’t sure what to do next. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Why was he trying so hard to make Mark into a thief? And, if he really had any information, why didn’t he share it with someone? Like, for instance, Dan. Or had he? I wondered if Dan would tell me. I wondered if he was coming for dinner tonight. If he showed, maybe we’d have a little talk about Carlton Carpenter.

Back in Mark’s office, Sabrina threw herself into a chair. She got up, grabbed the tissue box, blew her nose noisily, and collapsed into the chair again.

“Why, oh why, did we ever come to this miserable town? I’m about to be arrested for murder, and now Carlton the schmuck Carpenter is going to ruin your reputation. You’ll never work again as a winemaker. You’ll be branded!”

“Sabrina.” Mark bent down, his hand pushed the hair out of her eyes, and he tried to draw her to him, but she pushed him away.

“We can always look on the bright side,” she said bitterly. “They don’t charge you rent on a jail cell.”

“For heaven’s sake,” I said. “No one believes anything Carlton says. Mark’s not going to lose his job and you’re not going to jail.”

“Yeah?” she asked as she mopped at her eyes.

“Ellen,” Mark said, never taking his eyes off Sabrina, “could we meet you at home later?”

I got the hint, loud and clear. He’d been through these upheavals with Sabrina before, probably lots of times, and he wanted to handle it his way. And alone.

“Right.” I grabbed my purse and fled.

Home, I wanted to go home. No one was there, not Mark and Sabrina, not Carlton, not Jolene, not the exuberant Frank or the uncomfortable Larry, not even Dan. I was suddenly bone tired, and I wanted more than anything to sit on my front porch, all by myself, sipping a glass of wine, and forget all of them. Not Dan, of course. Well, maybe for a while. I’d coped with houseguests for a month, I was getting married almost before I knew it; we had a murder that seemed to involve people close to me, and to top it all off, someone I barely remembered wanted to take me on a tour down memory lane. I’d had it. If Dan showed up, we’d order in. If not, a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich was going to be dinner, followed by a large cup of hot chocolate and a long bath. I wouldn’t even call in for my messages. Yes, I would. But, for the first time ever, I hoped I didn’t have any.

Chapter Ten

I had decided that Tuesday morning was mine. Mark, who hadn’t been fired, was at the winery. So was Sabrina, who hadn’t been arrested, and they had Paris with them. Jake and I were going to clean house. Monday, I had taken two listings, written one offer, and then spent the evening alone with Jake, sitting on the front porch. I wondered what had happened at Lighthouse Winery that had Mark and Sabrina so upset, why Frank had sold his restaurant, why Otto had let Jolene stay at his place for free, and why she wanted to. Mostly I wondered what Dan was doing.

I was to hear this morning if yesterday’s offer was accepted, so I turned on the answering machine, meaning to monitor my calls. Larry had called three times the day before, each time asking me to come to the grand opening dinner. Each time I’d said no, and I had no intention of repeating that performance today. It never occurred to me he might just show up.

“Hi, Ellen.” There he was, standing on my front porch at nine thirty in the morning. “Hope you don’t mind me stopping by like this.”

Mind! I certainly did, but years of conditioning by my mother and Aunt Mary took over and instead of slamming the door in his face, I heard myself say, “Larry. Of course not. Would, ah…”

“Thanks. I’d love to come in. Boy, this place looks wonderful.” He followed me through the living room, into the dining room, and stepped into the kitchen, looking around avidly. “Better than when your folks lived here.”

How could he know that? He had, to my knowledge, never been in my house.

“Would you like some coffee?” Why was I being so damn polite? “I think there’s some left.”

“I would love some.” He pulled out a chair, sat himself down at the table, leaned back, and looked around. “I love your hutch. Is it built in? And the little hanging rack for wineglasses, that’s a great touch. You need a wine rack, though.”

I didn’t say a thing, just took two mugs off of the hutch and walked over to the coffeepot. There were very few outlets in this old kitchen, so it sat beside the sink. I looked out the window, not seeing the yard, just willed myself to be patient, poured coffee into both mugs, and set one of them in front of Larry.

“You certainly were lucky your folks decided to move to Scottsdale, and that you got to come back and live in this house. I’ve always loved this house. It’s so much nicer than my grandmother’s old one. You remember it, don’t you? The little blue one down on Fourth Street?”

If he kept this up, the stranglehold I had on my patience would give. Of course I didn’t remember his grandmother’s house. I barely remembered Larry. But we were sure making up for that. “Cream and sugar?”

“No. Just black. You know, I didn’t just stop by. I wanted to talk to you.”

You have been, I said silently. Over and over. Aloud I said, “I really can’t come to that dinner with you.” I turned to face him and leaned back against the sink, holding my mug in both hands. If I didn’t sit down again, maybe he’d get the hint and leave. “Ah—clients, you know. We have an offer pending and—ah—Sabrina. And Mark. They’re getting ready to move, and I’m helping them and…”

“Actually, Sabrina’s why I’m here.” His eye was going a mile a minute; so was the spoon he was twisting through his fingers. “I wanted to apologize.”

“You want to—what?” I was so surprised, I pulled out a chair and sat down without thinking.

“Apologize. You know. About Sabrina.”

I didn’t know. “You’ve lost me. What about Sabrina. Why are you apologizing to me?”

“Because of what Jolene told the police, and, of course, I had to back her up. And because she’s your niece.”

Now I was really confused. The only thing clear to me in that garbled sentence was that Sabrina was my niece, not Jolene. And getting Larry to explain was beginning to look like an all-day job.

“Exactly what did Jolene tell the police? What did you tell them?”

“About Sabrina’s fight with Otto, you know, before she dragged Jolene out of the kitchen.” He carefully put down the spoon, lining it up neatly in front of the sugar bowl. His eyes were on it, not on me. “Last Saturday night. And what she said. I’m really sorry, but I was there and could hardly lie. Could I?”

“What fight?” Damn. This didn’t sound one bit good.

“The one they had right after the break.” He finally looked up at me, leaning a little forward in his eagerness to tell his story. “Otto threatened to walk out. He did that, you know. Jolene had come into the kitchen. He ordered her out, and he was being pretty awful about everything. He said Jolene was of no use, and she had to leave his house as well as his kitchen, and if she didn’t, he was going to walk out on the dinner. Sabrina told him if he did anything to spoil the dinner, anything more, she would kill him. She said Mark’s future depended on this dinner going well, and then she told Otto what she would do to him.” Larry paused, his eyes dropped back down to the table. I could have sworn he blushed. “It involved portions of his personal anatomy.”

It didn’t take much imagination to know what Sabrina had said. Any other time I would have been amused at Larry’s prissy description of Sabrina’s threats. “Jolene told that to the police?”

“Yes. I backed her up. I had to.”

“What happened after Sabrina said all that?”

“She grabbed Jolene by the arm, and they both left the kitchen. Otto stormed around for a while, mostly getting in the way, and I finally suggested that he go up onto the deck and cool off. Only I put it more politely. He never came back.”

I thought about it for a moment. It didn’t seem like much. “Was there anything else? Did Sabrina have a wine bottle in her hand? Did she come back into the kitchen for any reason?”

“No, no, she didn’t. And I would have known. I never left the kitchen until I saw you in the hall, right before we served the dessert.”

I really didn’t see how dragging Jolene out of the kitchen and threatening Otto with bodily harm could propel Sabrina into the role of chief suspect, but something else Larry had said…

“Otto told Jolene she had to leave? Without doing her article on his grand opening?”

“That’s what he said that night.” His eye started to twitch again, and he looked away from me. He picked up the spoon, and it started going round and round in his fingers. I had an almost overpowering desire to snatch it out of his hand. “He probably would have changed his mind.”

“You seem to have been the only one who got along with Otto. How did you stand it?”

“He was going to make me a partner.” Larry seemed to think that said it all. Maybe it did.

“And now? What happens now?”

“You mean now that Frank has wormed his way in? I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Larry pushed his chair back, stood up, and reached over the table for my hand. He crushed it between both of his and said, “I’m sorry you can’t come to the dinner. I know you’d enjoy it. I’m going to do most of the cooking, at least that’s the plan right now.” His smile faded. “Like everything else, it’s subject to change at any moment.” His thumb started roaming over the back of my hand again. “But I want to cook for you anyway. Next week for sure, after Mark and Sabrina move out. I’ll call you.” He gave me another of those intimate smiles, my hand another hard squeeze, and walked out of the kitchen toward the front door. I didn’t move until I heard it close.

Damn! This was getting out of hand. I slumped back in my chair and thought about getting a headache. How did I go about getting rid of Larry? At least convince him that I had no feelings for him, amorous, lecherous, or anything close. I was engaged. In love. Going to be married. Married. I got a mental picture of myself walking down the aisle of St. Anthony’s, holding my father’s arm, feeling the smiles of everyone in this blasted town, and shuddered. I shook the vision out of my head and pushed back my own chair, gathered up the coffee mugs, stopped, looked at the spoon and added that to what was going in the dishwasher. Why was life so complicated anyway? Then I thought about what Larry had told me and reached for the phone, meaning to call Sabrina and find out about that fight. But that wasn’t happening right then. The agent who had the listing on the house my clients had offered on was on the line.

“That was fast,” she stated, laughing. “Anxious, or what?”

I didn’t think her joke very funny, but, since my offer had been accepted, I forgave her. The next hour was spent talking to my lucky buyers, congratulating them, explaining what would happen next, and opening the escrow. It was close to noon before I finally remembered Sabrina.