Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (16 page)

“Well?” he demanded of Dan.

“Seems there has been a robbery.” Dan’s tone was mild, but I knew better. Carlton had better watch out.

“Robbery. What kind of robbery? What was stolen?”

“Wine,” Mark said. “Someone drained that tank.”

Now it was Carlton’s turn to stare at the tank. It didn’t tell him any more than it had told the rest of us.

“How much wine?” he asked, turning to Mark. “How much was in there?”

“About five thousand gallons.”

“Five—Good God. How much money is that worth?”

“A lot. But maybe we can get it back. Hector saw the tanker leave.”

“Hector? Who is Hector?” Jolene asked, but she didn’t sound very interested. She shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing her bare toes on the leg she was standing on, then she shivered.

“He’s my assistant,” Mark told her.

“What was he doing here at this hour?” Carlton demanded. “He must have been up to something.”

“He was doing his job,” Mark said through clenched teeth.

“Well, I think he needs to be questioned,” Carlton went on. The man had no eyes. Both Dan and Mark looked like steam engines ready to blow.

“You’ll find this Hector had something to do with this,” he told Dan, “and you’d better have a long talk with Mark also. This is the second time he’s been involved with stolen wine.”

I think Mark would have gone after him, but Sabrina grabbed his arm, and Sergeant Riker stepped quickly in front of him.

“Carlton, go home.” Dan’s tone was a bit strangulated. “Now.”

“I’m a partner in this winery and I have a right to be here. Especially in a time like this.” Carlton drew himself up and glared at Dan, who glared right back.

“I don’t care if you are the President of the United States, the Queen of England and the Pope, you’re leaving. Sabrina, so are you. Ellie’s taking you. Now. Mark, go get this Hector, and let’s figure out just what went on here tonight.”

We left. Jolene gratefully, her feet by now a rather interesting shade of blue, Carlton sputtering. Sabrina and I followed, but not until Dan had promised to drop Mark off. When that would be was anybody’s guess.

We didn’t say much until we got home. The sun was working its way over the eastern hills, the paper was on the walk, Paris was standing by the back door begging to go out, and bed was out of the question.

“Want some coffee?” I asked, filling the pot.

“Why not?” Sabrina sighed. “Life has turned out to be one nightmare after another. I can’t decide if I should go to bed and hope I don’t have a new one or stay awake and battle through the ones I know about.”

“Stay awake,” I advised her. “Better the nightmare you know—or is that devil? Anyway, you’re going to have to face them sooner or later, and later always seems to make them worse. Now. What do you think happened tonight?”

“I can’t imagine.” Sabrina reached out for the coffee mug I had filled. “But it had to be someone who knew the gate code and how to turn off the alarm.”

“Who knows those things?”

“Anyone who works there. Or has worked there in the past, oh, I don’t know, couple of years. Nothing has been changed since we got there, and I have no idea how long those codes have been in existence.”

“Which opens up a lot of possibilities.”

“You don’t think Dan suspects Mark, do you?” Sabrina’s face was pinched and white. I didn’t blame her. First murder, now this. Dan had better figure this out fast before we all had nervous breakdowns.

“He couldn’t possibly,” I told her, in my most positive voice.

“Right. Just like he couldn’t possibly suspect me of doing in Otto. I wish I had your optimism.”

She put down her empty mug and announced that she was going up to take a shower. I watched her go, ignored Paris scratching at the back door, and thought about everything that had happened. First Otto’s murder, Frank taking over the bed and breakfast—Frank. He’d been looking for Otto that night. Had he found him? Was Frank’s sudden appearance in Santa Louisa, his “availability” to step into Otto’s empty shoes, just coincidence? Why did he sell his beloved restaurant? And why was he, too, letting Jolene stay on? For free!

Dan was suspicious of Sabrina. Did Frank know that, and would he let Sabrina take the blame? He didn’t seem like that kind of person, but then, he evidently hadn’t been a candidate for father of the year. Or father-in-law. Would Frank have any reason to steal wine? He had to know Mark would be the leading suspect. Would he put his son in that kind of position? It didn’t seem possible.

But Jolene might. Only, why? She was there to write up the dinner and the grand opening. The only thing she could be guilty of was getting a few freebies. I had to admit, reluctantly, that because I didn’t like her didn’t automatically make her a thief and a murderer. My every fiber told me the murder and the wine theft were connected. But how? I couldn’t see it. Maybe I would ask Dan…right. There was one relationship that appeared to be dead, and I was the one who had killed it. Nice analogy, I thought, and shuddered. Nope, I thought. I don’t think so. I love Dan, and he loves me. I’m still not sure about the married part, but damn it, I’m not letting this relationship die. How I’m going to bring it back to life, I have no idea, but I’ll think of something. I know I will.

I filled my cup again and went upstairs to wait for my own turn in the shower.

Chapter Seventeen

Over the next several days, not one blasted thing happened. Oh, ordinary things happened. I went to work, and so did Mark and Sabrina. They made arrangements to have their furniture delivered to their new house on Saturday. Aunt Mary bustled around helping them haul boxes out of my garage. Frank appeared on a regular basis, brought food, and offered advice. There was no sign of Jolene, but Larry called me twice a day. Dan didn’t appear. No one got arrested for murder. The truck with the stolen wine wasn’t found. And we were all left, waiting, wondering what would happen next.

By Saturday afternoon, I was sick of the thought of Otto, murder, bed and breakfasts, restaurants, wineries, Mark, Sabrina, and Larry. Thinking about Dan just made me sick.

“If you don’t watch out, every glass Sabrina has will end up in pieces,” Aunt Mary told me.

I was pulling them out of boxes as fast as I could, unwrapping them, and stacking them on the counter of Mark and Sabrina’s new house. Aunt Mary neatly filled the cupboards.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” she continued. “You’ve been smashing around here all day, acting like a she bear that’s misplaced her cubs.”

“Have I?” I paused to lean against the sink. “Maybe I have. I feel, oh, I don’t know how I feel. I should be happy. Mark and Sabrina have this cute house, I have mine back, business is good, but I feel…I’d like to kick something.”

“Or someone?”

“Maybe a couple of someones,” I said, a little more sourly than I had intended.

“Is Larry still calling you?” Aunt Mary pulled her head out of a cupboard and surveyed what was left to put away. “I think we’re almost done. I hope Sabrina will be able to find all this stuff. Is he?”

“Yes. And he’s driving me nuts. I’ve done everything but drive him off with an ax, only it doesn’t do any good. He seems to have some idea that we dated a lot in high school, keeps talking about all the good times we had and how wonderful it is to pick back up again. We went to one movie before his father swooped him up and took him out of the country. That doesn’t qualify as any times, good or bad, and I don’t want any now.”

“Has Dan called?”

“No.” She didn’t ask anything more.

“Watch it.” Mark’s voice made me jump. He backed into the kitchen, balancing a refrigerator on a dolly. “It’s going to slide off. That strap…”

“Got it.” Only Hector’s face and hand appeared as he grabbed a canvas strap and pulled. “Put it down gently. Right. That does it. Wait, let me get this plug in.”

The refrigerator slid into place, and Mark and Hector pulled the dolly out from under it and disappeared out the door. Sabrina took their place.

“Now all we need to do is set up the bed, and we’re in.” She wiped hair out of her eyes. “Wow. Look at this. I can’t believe you’ve done all this.”

The kitchen did look good. Most of the cupboards were full. I had removed all of the empty boxes but one, and Aunt Mary had even hung some bright yellow curtains. Their dinette set was in place, and Paris’ dog dish was on the floor.

“All I need to do is stock the refrigerator with beer,” Sabrina said.

“A little food wouldn’t hurt.” Frank appeared in the doorway, loaded down with sacks and covered bowls. “Look what I brought.”

Paper plates appeared, followed by thick sandwiches, two salads, Greek olives, cheese, and, of course, wine.

“I brought beer, too, and some waters. Although I don’t know who would want them,” Frank said, lavishly filling plates and handing them around. “Where’s Mark?”

“Right here.” Mark stood in the doorway watching his father, evidently trying to make up his mind how he was going to react. Finally he smiled.

“Thanks.” He took a plate. “This was real nice of you.”

Sabrina was having a harder time being generous.

“Shouldn’t you be at the restaurant?” she asked him, carefully cutting a sandwich in half. All of the ingredients fell out of one end. She tried stuffing them back in, gave up, scooped the whole thing onto a plate and started eating bites with her fingers.

“We aren’t open for lunch. Actually we aren’t open for anything, won’t be until the grand opening dinner one week from today. Anything that’s going on, Larry can handle. Mary, try this salad. It’s chicken Thai. A little hot, but worth the fire.”

Aunt Mary obediently held out her plate and let Frank pile it full. She took a forkful, smiled, and nodded, then quickly grabbed one of the waters.

“I hope you’re willing to part with the recipe for this, Frank,” she said after a long swallow. “It’s hot, all right, but wonderful!” She took another, much smaller, forkful. “And how nice you have so much time now. After you open, you won’t have time for anything but that restaurant, will you?”

Wishful thinking? I couldn’t resist grinning at her and got a slightly sheepish one back.

“But you have Larry, and I’m sure he’s a terrific help,” I said, with probably the same wistful note in my voice. “He won’t have any more free time than you will, I suppose.” I hoped I was right. That restaurant could be salvation for both Aunt Mary and me.

“Too bad Larry isn’t more gifted,” Frank said. “Then I could leave more often. But we’ll see. Maybe he can be trained.”

“Trained?” I asked, surprised. “I thought he was trained. Didn’t he graduate from that school where Otto taught?”

“Actually, he went to Cordon Bleu in Paris. Maybe trained isn’t the right word.” Frank filled wineglasses and passed them around. “He has no flair, no, how shall I put it, no imagination. He follows instructions and can read a recipe. He can cook, but creating takes talent.”

I cringed for Larry, thinking how devastated he would be at Frank’s assessment. I wondered what Otto had thought of his abilities. “I thought Otto was going to make him a partner,” I said, accepting a glass.

“That I don’t know about. But Otto wasn’t creative either. If Larry had been good, Otto wouldn’t have kept him, and Larry wouldn’t have stayed. A toast. To my son, who is creative, my daughter-in-law, who is lovely and talented, and to their new home.”

We all raised our glasses, and then Paris barked. We heard the front door open, heels tap, and a voice call out, “Yoo-hoo. Where is everybody?”

“Oh, no,” said Sabrina softly.

“How did she know where we all were?” Mark asked. No one knew the answer, and it didn’t matter, for there she was. Jolene.

“I just knew I’d find you all here. Well now, isn’t this—cute. Cozy.”

She let her eyes travel slowly around the kitchen, taking in the new curtains, the old cabinets, the out-of-date wallpaper. Sabrina flushed but said nothing.

“A toast?” Jolene went on. “How nice. Are you celebrating moving into this house or something else?”

She picked up a full glass and leaned against the refrigerator, cocking one hip, giving us all a good view of her emerald green jumpsuit and her in it before she took a sip.

“What else would we be celebrating?” Mark asked her. “Nothing else’s happened recently worth drinking to.”

“I thought you’d gone back to Texas,” Sabrina said somewhat vaguely. What she left unsaid hung heavy on the air.

“Why, honey, of course not. I have to cover Frank’s grand opening, now don’t I? The one that should have been Otto’s. And, of course, I have to finish my research.”

“Research? On what?” I should have known better but the words were out before I could stop them.

“On dear little ol’ Otto himself, of course. I’m writing an article all about him, and I’m especially goin’ to tell how he came to this darlin’ little town. He was going to make this town famous. He told me so.”

“More like infamous,” Sabrina muttered.

“Otto? Humph.” Frank glowered. He pulled the cork out of another bottle and offered refills. Jolene held out her glass.

“Wasn’t that a little presumptuous?” Aunt Mary asked. “Silver Springs Winery is famous, so are several of our other wineries, and we have a lot of interesting history that brings in tourists without them.”

“Maybe.” Jolene moved away from the refrigerator, making sure all eyes followed her, then struck a pose by the sink. “Still, there’s lots to write about Otto.” She let that statement hang in the air while she smiled at Frank.

“I thought you were going to do a review of last Saturday night’s dinner,” Mark said.

Sabrina groaned. “Now there’s a good idea.”

“I already have, and my editors loved it. Just loved it,” Jolene gushed, removing her eyes from an obviously seething Frank.

Sabrina groaned again.

“What did you say about it?” I asked. Visions of ghoulish phrases, ones that had nothing to do with food, skipped through my mind.

“Nothing but good things. And Mark, honey, I praised your wines right up to the skies.”

The temptation to laugh almost got the better of me. Of course she had.

“And the food?” Frank asked. Good question. Not easy to review food you never touched.

“Now, how could I give a bad review to Otto’s very last dinner?”

How could she, indeed? None of us knew what to say, and the silence lay uncomfortably for a moment. Aunt Mary broke it.

“Where’s Carlton?” she asked, all innocence. “Ellen says you two have been seeing a lot of each other.”

“Why, I thought maybe that was why y’all were celebrating,” Jolene said, lengthening her drawl a bit. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?” Mark asked, sitting up straighter in his chair.

Aunt Mary stopped covering up the salad bowl, Sabrina quit dumping empty paper plates into a plastic trash sack, and Frank’s hand tightened on the wine bottle. I felt myself get rigid, bracing for something I could feel coming; what, I didn’t know.

“Something’s happened,” Sabrina said slowly. “What?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard,” Jolene went on, green eyes narrowing a bit, cinnamon-colored lips pursed in a small smile.

“Believe it.” Aunt Mary stood as tall as she could and glared straight at Jolene. “What’s happened?”

“Why, Carlton’s gone and gotten himself arrested. That’s what.”

Stunned, we all stared at her. I found my voice first.

“Arrested! For what?”

“For stealing Mark’s wine, of course.”