Murder Alfresco #3 (30 page)

“I’ll drink to that,” said Monty, lifting his glass. “Now, can I get the lowdown on this whole Ronald Fetcher business, or are you going to keep it secret forever?”

“It’s hardly a secret,” said Sunny. “The
Napa Register
published everything I knew and more two days ago. What do you want to know?”

“Well, first of all, why on earth did you follow a murderer into the middle of nowhere and nearly get yourself killed? This new tendency of yours is getting chronic.”

“I wasn’t sure he was a murderer, for one thing, and for another, I couldn’t let him get away. Would you really want
Ronald Fetcher running around out there? And besides, I was in the truck. I never imagined he would be so good at getting me out of it before I even knew what happened. I always feel invincible in the truck.”

“And why did he kill Heidi Romero?”

“The most tragic reason. A mistake. Not that he probably wasn’t going to kill somebody someday, but he chose Heidi based on a misunderstanding. You have to go back to the beginning. Kim Knolls started the ball rolling when she met Ronald at the Flamingo Inn for an afternoon delight. Ronald basically fell for her in his psycho way. When he started hounding her to meet him again, she used her husband as a foil. She told Ronald she couldn’t see him anymore because she was married and couldn’t betray Bruce. Which was a line, of course. She’d had her fun with the creepy stranger and she was done with him, end of story. As far as I can tell, he started to believe that Bruce Knolls had stolen Kim away from him, or at the very least Bruce stood in the way of his relationship with Kim. Meanwhile, he moves into the Mendels’ houseboat on Liberty Dock and voilà, a new obsession presents itself in the form of Heidi Romero, which was natural enough since every man who crossed her path seemed to want her for himself.”

She left off. Monty gestured for her to keep going.

“Those houseboats are not very private, especially Heidi’s. He could look in her windows if he walked by the dock. He could even catch a glimpse of her taking a shower. From a canoe, he could watch her sunbathe on the back deck. And if the French doors were open or if she was on the back deck, he could hear practically every word of her phone conversations.”

“Thus the iPod,” said Monty.

“Exactly. He started recording her conversations, presumably for later personal enjoyment. Somewhere along the line he heard her mention something about
Vedana.
That put him over the edge. Here he’d gone to the trouble of finding himself a new obsession, and that bastard Bruce Knolls was messing it up again. Either he never actually heard Mark’s name, or he was too far gone to realize his mistake. It was the wrong Vedana too, but he never knew that.

“After that it’s pretty much a standard abduction scenario. He chooses a night when she’s home alone. He’s already established a habit of fiddling around with the trash at odd hours. He either breaks in or gets her to let him in, incapacitates her somehow, and puts her in a big trash bag. Then all he has to do is carry her out to the dock, toss her in the big rubber trash can, and take her back to his place. Later, he just takes the container out to the bins in the parking lot like always.”

“Why didn’t she scream?” said Rivka.

“Probably he drugged her. Steve Harvey is being mum about the details. He doesn’t want to do anything that could mess up the trial.”

“Will you have to testify?” said Monty.

“Steve says I’ll probably have to. I’m going to have to give testimony at the courthouse with Fetcher staring at me.”

“Not fun.”

“It’s Kim Knolls who’s going to have a tough time. That whole scene is going to set every tabloid on fire from here to New Jersey.”

“When all that dirt comes out, it’s going to destroy their marriage and their business,” said Wade. “There’s not going to be anything left of Vedana Vineyards but a
FOR SALE
sign.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Annabelle. “It depends on how they handle their scandal. Kim Knolls could come out of it a pop culture icon. She could become some kind of S&M diva.”

Monty stared at the paella. “So he brought the body up here to rub Bruce Knolls’s nose in it.”

“Right.”

“And he used the harbormaster’s truck to do it.”

“Right. He broke in and took the keys to the truck and Dean Blodger’s work shoes. That way, if anybody traced the truck or the footprints, they’d lead to the harbormaster. When he got back, he put the keys and the shoes back, and took some petty cash to make it look like a robbery.”

Rivka poked at the paella. “Wade, I think it’s time to take this bad boy off the fire.”

“Exactly when did you figure all this out?” said Andre.

“Not until it was almost too late. The recordings were the big breakthrough. But I should have figured it out before then. I should have known the day we heard the neighbor playing the piano and I saw Ronald Fetcher watching anime. I was so fixated on Heidi’s secret lover, it took me a long time to see the obvious. Then even when I figured it out, I still thought maybe I was wrong. What Fetcher really was didn’t sink in until we were up there on the mountain and I realized he was going to kill me. If he hadn’t dropped his iPod, he would have gotten away.”

“And Dean Blodger would be in hot water,” said Wade. “Or Mark Weisman. Some kind of warrant would have been waiting for that guy at the airport.”

“Absolutely,” said Sunny. “Do you know what Steve Harvey was doing while Fetcher was leaving his blood all over Mount
Tam? He was driving down to Pelican Point to question Dean Blodger for the fourth time.”

“I just hope they convict that guy and put him away for good,” said Annabelle.

“You’re telling me,” said Sunny. “I wouldn’t sleep too easy if I knew he was out roaming around. People tend to hold a grudge for that kind of experience, even if they brought it on themselves.”

“Knife fights do have a way of sowing enmity,” said Rivka. “Everyone to the table, it’s time to eat before the paella gets too thick.”

They sat at benches and upturned sections of logs arranged around the rough table in back of Wade’s house, and Rivka filled everyone’s bowls while Monty filled their glasses. From his place at the head of the table, Wade raised his glass. “To peace in the valley,” he said, “and to bud break.”

“To spring,” said Sunny.

They stood to chime glasses, then settled in to devour the savory paella. Andre Morales leaned close and placed a warm kiss on Sunny’s nape. “My samurai.”

Monty turned to Annabelle. “My testa rossa.”

The board rose up
with the cresting green wave, nose pointed skyward, then tipped over the other side. Sunny paddled with single-minded vigor, worried the next wave would break before she made it over the top. She’d already had enough icy salt water forced down the back of her wetsuit and up her nose that morning to encourage her to paddle harder. The next wave was less steep. With a dozen more strokes, the water flattened and she made good progress. When she paused to look around, she saw the others were sitting their boards nearby, gazing toward the horizon. She was outside.

She sat up and caught her breath. Joel Hyder gave her an ear-to-ear grin. Rivka flashed her a smile laced with terror. Rivka’s hands were white with cold and gripped the sides of the surfboard as though it was about to be ripped out from under her. Beyond them, a pod of seasoned surfers waited in stern silence for the next set. The water sparkled with a hundred thousand flashes of sunlight on ripple. Sunny looked back toward the shore. The hills to either side framed the sandy beach with lush grasses and wildflowers. Overhead, seagulls cruised a sky blue like a marble. Sunny’s feet dangled to either side of the board,
snugly wrapped in thick neoprene. She took in the fresh morning, then judiciously scanned the water for fins. A wave rolled toward them, mounting as it neared. It lifted up her board and passed under her. She turned to watch its back swell and finally roll over with a crash. Another ridge followed.

“Get ready,” said Joel. “This one’s ours. Ready? Turn around now and start paddling.”

Sunny and Rivka wiggled their boards around and stretched out flat on them, dipping their arms in the cold water.

“Paddle harder. Harder!” Joel called from farther down the swell. “Paddle!” Sunny felt the wave raise her up, growing under the board. The beach seemed far below. It was like riding at the top of a ladder hurtling toward the sand at reckless speed. “Stand up now. Now!” came Joel’s voice.

She put her hands on the rails and held her breath, pulling her feet underneath her in one gesture. Slowly, she stood up. The board held steady as she raced toward the shore. She threw a glance at Rivka and saw her standing on the wide deck of her longboard, braced like a dog on a horse’s back. Beyond her, Joel Hyder and his enormous grin egged them on. Rivka rode steady and flashed her a look she’d never seen on her face before. It was the uncalculated, spontaneous expression of pure, wordless delight. No wonder Heidi had loved surfing so much. To be lifted up by a force of such grace and power and carried along for a few exhilarating seconds was pure magic. Sunny had never felt anything like it. She looked at the green valley ahead and the blue sky above, and felt the rush of wave speed. The journey was over. Heidi Romero was free.

Quite a number of people contributed to this book in one way or another, whether by reading early drafts, sharing insights and experiences, offering their expertise, or, in the best cases, opening a bottle of something juicy over a good meal and great conversation. These include but certainly are not limited to Rebecca Harrach, Jonathan Waters, Randy Brown, Michal and Iran Venera, Suzanne Groth Jones, Becky Buol, David Tellman, Giulio at Ferrari, Katherine Rochlin, David Pierce, Elise Proulx, Dale C., Randy S., Gary B., Doug and Sue Antonick, Tom and Gretchen Worthington, Norm, Fred Mills, Sue Antonick, Andrew Stern, and David Polinsky. Regardless of whom I may have consulted during the research of this book, any errors in the final text are entirely my own. I would also like to thank the incomparable Mr. Ewers for his steady supply of amusing commentary and inspiration, and Judy Balmain, whose wisdom and companionship make everything possible. Finally, more thanks and gratitude to Jay Schaefer and the staff at Chronicle Books for their ongoing good cheer, intelligence, and generous support.

—NG