Murder at Redwood Cove (7 page)

I
desperately tried to take in air. My heart raced as my lungs cried out for oxygen.
Stop struggling. This feels like what happened when you fell off that crazy horse and had the wind knocked out of you.
I willed myself to be still. After a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, I could take in a shallow breath. Others followed. I sent a signal to my arm to move. It finally began to inch upward. A glance around the room showed it to be empty.

Grabbing the edge of the oak desk, I pulled myself up, using all the energy I could muster, and gingerly touched my scalp. A lump had started to form. I examined my finger, and there was a spot of blood. Pulling back my shirtsleeves, I realized there'd be bruises, but the skin wasn't broken. I opened the desk drawer. No BlackBerry.

I closed the drawer and sat in the chair, resting my head in my hands. What could be so important on the phone that someone would steal it? What had Bob entered that made someone feel so threatened?

Fluffing my bangs over the scrape and buttoning my shirtsleeves hid the damage. I walked back to the kitchen, taking small steps, collecting my thoughts and myself. I knew from ranch incidents that the shove made it an assault, a felony. Someone really wanted that mobile device.

Helen stood at the work counter, arranging pieces of blue-veined cheese on a crystal platter.

“Helen, did anyone come through this room just now?”

“No.” She placed a brick of golden-hued cheese on the cutting board, picked up a knife, and began slicing. “I've been here since you left, and there's been no one.”

“Who was in the same room with you when you called me about the BlackBerry?”

Helen glanced up, a questioning look on her face. She thought a moment. “I was here in the work area. Phil and Andy were planning the chocolate and wine event. Jason brought some pastries to help with the full house we have this weekend. Daniel was helping a couple of the produce deliverymen.” She shrugged her shoulders. “That's it.” A frown creased her forehead. “Why?”

“The BlackBerry isn't in the drawer.”

“That's impossible.” She put her knife down and headed for the hallway. “I put it there myself.”

“Wait. There's more.”

Helen stopped and turned.

I wanted to keep the attack to myself, but I knew Deputy Sheriff Stanton would be asking questions. She'd find out sooner or later.

“Someone shoved me to the floor. I didn't see who it was. They were hiding behind the door when I opened it.”

“Oh my gosh. Are you okay?” She hurried over to me.

“I have a few bruises. That's about it.”

“Who could've done such a thing?” Helen's face drained of color.

“Is the front door left unlocked?”

“During the day, yes. We've never had a problem, and it's easier for the guests.”

“I'm changing the policy. They'll need to take their keys with them from now on.”

“What will we tell people?”

“I'm not sure. I'll think about it.” I grabbed my bag. “I need to call the deputy sheriff and my boss, Michael Corrigan.”

“Can I get something for you? Is there anything I can help you with?” Helen hovered.

“No, I'll be fine. Thanks.”

I went back to my room and took some ice cubes out of the freezer, wrapped them in a towel, and gently held the pack against my head. I sank down on the window seat. Time to make my calls.
Maybe this will convince the sheriff something's wrong
. I put the ice down and dialed his number on the room phone.

“Deputy Sheriff Stanton.”

“Deputy, Kelly Jackson here.”

“Yes, Ms. Jackson, how can I help you?”

I explained what happened.

“Sorry, ma'am. There are a lot of people out of work in this area. It's a hand-to-mouth community in many ways. I expect someone saw an opportunity for a few extra bucks.”

I felt the sigh from him more than heard it.

“Tourist areas suffer when the economy struggles. People see the beautiful hotels and fancy shops.” The deputy paused. “There's a whole different layer wrapped in desperation. An ugly underbelly lies beneath some of those houses with gingerbread trim.”

“Deputy Sheriff, the office appears to have been searched. It looks like an attempt to break into the safe took place, and Bob's BlackBerry has been stolen. The shove makes it a felony. Don't you feel this incident is one more thing to point in the direction that maybe the Silver Sentinels are correct and Bob's death is suspicious?”

This time the sigh was more audible. “No. Petty crime isn't uncommon in this area. I think you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and whoever it was didn't want to get caught. The person saw a chance to shove and run.”

Stonewalled. “Okay, Deputy Sheriff Stanton.” I reined in the sarcasm and bit back the words struggling to come out. Alienating local law enforcement wasn't a good idea.

“Was anything else taken?”

Oops. I hadn't checked. “I don't know. I'll check.”

“I'll come by and get more details from you and make a report. I can be there in about half an hour.”

“I plan on being in the rest of the afternoon.”

“And, Ms. Jackson, don't hold your breath about getting the BlackBerry back. It's probably headed for Saturday's flea market in Santa Rosita.”

“Got it.”

“See you in a bit.” He ended the call.

No connection? Too many coincidences were just that. Too many to be happenstance. In addition, Bob had a group of friends who'd known him for years saying he was murdered. His death was looking less and less like an accident.

Now it was time for Corrigan. Having a robbery to deal with and a possible murder was not the plan for my first assignment. I picked the ice pack up, placed it on my forehead, and auto-dialed his number on my cell phone.

“Hi, Kelly, how's it going? I read your report. Well done.”

“Thanks. I want to give you an update. Deputy Sheriff Stanton left Bob's BlackBerry here . . . and someone stole it.”

“What happened?”

“Helen put it in the desk drawer. When I went to get it, it was gone.”

“What does Bill think?”

Oh great, he knows the deputy. “He thinks it was someone grabbing what they could to pick up a few bucks.”

“He's probably right. Bill's got a good finger on the pulse of the community.”

“This inn has an open-door policy. I made the decision to change that. Guests will need to carry their keys.” I held my breath. It was the first administrative decision I'd made.

“Good idea.”

I let my breath out. Approval.

“There's more.” I dreaded telling him about the attack. Michael had been very protective in the past. I didn't want to be taken off the job. “I surprised the robber. When I went into the office, I was shoved from behind.”

“What! Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I have a few bruises, but I used to get plenty of those working on the ranch.”

“There's been a theft, and you've been assaulted. I'm sending another manager out to help. Scott finished the job he's been on and can be there by tomorrow.”

Scott. A walking cliché—tall, dark, and handsome, looking like he walked off the cover of a romance novel. We'd worked together briefly in Colorado.

“No, not . . . not Scott,” I stammered. Clenching the phone, I made myself enunciate each word clearly. “Please don't send anyone. It wasn't about me. Deputy Sheriff Stanton feels the person just wanted to get away and saw an opportunity.”

“Why don't you want me to send someone?”

“If Scott was here instead of me, would you send a second person?”

Silence.

“I can handle this.”

The silence lengthened.

“I understand,” Michael finally said. “Okay.”

“Nothing else will happen. Everything will be fine from here on out.” At least, I hoped that was the case.

I
leaned back. Two wins—my first administrative decision and Corrigan not sending Scott. Michael's trust felt good. I was shaping a place for myself in the organization.

What didn't feel good was the sudden stabbing pain in my forehead. I reached for my bag and took out some aspirin. I shook two pills out of the bottle, went to the kitchen, and filled a glass with water. After taking the medicine, I went to lie on the bed.

Who shoved me? Who knew about the BlackBerry? Helen said Daniel, Andy, Jason, and Phil, as well as a couple of workers from the produce store, were present when she phoned me. Charlie Chan had been close enough to hear my conversation with Suzie. Helen and Suzie knew, of course. I doubted the deputy sheriff would mention it to anyone but staff. And two break-ins at the office. Someone wanted something. If it wasn't the BlackBerry, then whatever it was, I planned on finding it first.

My cell phone rang, and I checked who was calling. Scott! Had Corrigan called him? It rang again. Did this mean he was coming here after all?

“Hello.” My stomach churned.

“Hi, Kelly.”

It was an upbeat voice I remembered well.

“Congratulations on your new position.”

“Thanks, Scott,” I said warily, wondering what was next.

“I wanted to let you know I'm familiar with that inn. I've been there numerous times. If you have any questions, please give me a call. I'm happy to help.”

Upbeat
and
helpful. This man must have a flaw, though I hadn't found it when we worked together before.

“Thanks for the offer. Everything at the inn is running smoothly so far.”
It isn't a lie
. The incidents in the office weren't connected with managing the day-to-day business of the B&B.

“I'm glad you're part of our administrative team. We have quarterly meetings. I look forward to seeing you at them.”

“I look forward to seeing you, too.” Did I? The turmoil I felt was a different one from when I answered the phone. I glanced at the clock. “I've gotta run. I have an appointment in a few minutes.” I didn't add that it was with a deputy sheriff.

“Keep in touch. 'Bye.”

“I will.”
I won't
. “Good-bye.”

I'm not ready for a relationship. I'm not ready for a relationship.
I muttered the phrase over and over as I went to the door.

The good news was that Corrigan had kept his word.

 

The phone's ringing startled me awake. I lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Kelly, how are you feeling?” Helen asked.

“I'm fine. Just a little sore.”

“Phil's here to meet about the wine. Should I tell him you'll reschedule?”

I paused for a moment. After-adrenaline-rush exhaustion consumed me after meeting with the deputy sheriff, and I'd crawled in bed. The short nap helped. My watch said three thirty. Still a lot of day to go.

“I'll see him. Please tell him I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

I peered at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bruises were covered by my sleeves. The lump didn't show under my bangs, and a few strokes of the brush put my hair back in place. I straightened my blouse and left to meet the wine merchant.

As I walked to the kitchen, I reflected on my meeting with Deputy Sheriff Stanton. He hadn't budged on his thoughts. He was like a mule that had decided it was done working for the day. It hadn't helped that Helen noticed some loose change had been swiped, as well.

Entering the work area, a man in loose black slacks, a white shirt open at the collar, and an unbuttoned vest patterned with intertwining green and gold vines was setting out a row of wineglasses. He bent over to arrange a napkin. His head was covered with tightly coiled springs of short, gray hair. Several uncorked bottles were on the table. He whistled a song, slow at first, then suddenly speeding up. He executed a swirling dance step and held a glass high.

He spun around and saw me. “Ah, welcome. I'm Philopoimen Xanthis. You must be Ms. Jackson.”

“Please call me Kelly. It's a pleasure to meet you.” We shook hands.

“Call me Phil for both our sakes. My mother got carried away when she went searching for a traditional Greek name.”

I eyed the table setting. “How many are we expecting for this tasting?”

Phil appeared puzzled. “I only planned on the two of us. Have others been invited?”

“I asked because of the number of glasses.”

“We're doing a flight of merlots. That's three glasses for each of us.”

“What is a flight of merlots?”

“We'll have small tastes of three wines from the same family, produced in different years.”

“It's only three thirty in the afternoon.”

“Yes?” Phil looked at me in confusion.

“Isn't it early to be tasting wine?”

“Early?” He appeared startled at the concept. “This is California wine country. And in the old country we . . .” He shook his head. “Early, no.”

I leaned down and examined the wine label. It displayed a slender, elegant-looking greyhound sitting upright with a flowing red scarf encircling its throat. A wing was folded along its side, reminding me of the winged horse, Pegasus. At the upper right corner of the label was a tiny gold emblem of a flying dog.

“Please sit.” He gestured toward a chair at the table.

He arranged three glasses in front of me, setting each down with careful precision.

“These wines are from a boutique estate winery, The Flying Dog, not far from here.”

“Phil, I know very little about wine. What kind of winery is that?”

“The estate part refers to the fact they do everything on site, including bottling and labeling. Boutique means they don't produce a lot. This winery does fifteen hundred to two thousand cases a year. All organic.”

“Interesting.”

“This is a 2001 merlot. You'll notice rich flavors of red cherries and dark plums.” He poured a little into two glasses and handed me one. Picking his up, he swirled the glass and took a sniff.

I followed his lead.

Phil sipped and nodded his head. “No surprise it's a gold medal winner.”

It was a pleasant wine, but the subtle differences in flavors were lost on my untrained palette.

“Now we cleanse our taste buds with bread dipped in olive oil.” He poured gold liquid into two small bowls and took a piece of cubed bread from a plate in the middle of the table. “Handpicked organic olives are used for this oil. The winery makes this as well.” He pressed the bread into the oil and placed it in his mouth, seemed to roll the chunk around, and swallowed. I did the same.

He described and poured the second wine.

“Do you and Andy plan cheese and wine pairings for the inn?”

“Yes. We've worked together for years.” He swirled, sniffed, and sipped. “A number of inns and resorts follow our recommendations.”

I took a drink, then dutifully cleansed my taste buds. How could I find out where Phil was earlier this afternoon when the BlackBerry was taken?

“You have an interesting job. What's a typical day for you?” I reached for another piece of bread. “Like, what did you do today, for example?”

“Handled e-mails and phone calls first thing in the morning. I deal with vendors across the United States and Europe. I met with Andy about the festival. We were going to have lunch together, but one of his appointments got changed to one, and we had to cancel. Left some sample wines at several places, then back here to meet you.” He poured the third wine.

Andy and business stops. That didn't help much. Where was he at one thirty? Maybe I could find out.

“Do you like all the driving you have to do?”

“Love it. No sitting behind a desk. I have an office in Petaluma but spend very little time there. Travel around one of the most beautiful areas in the world, talk wine, taste wine.” He laughed. “What more could you ask for?”

“Sounds great. Where did you travel to this afternoon?”

It was the best I could come up with. I waited for him to ask me why I wanted to know. My sleuthing skills needed a lot of work.

“Only to Fort Paul.”

That didn't get me the specifics I wanted. Time to leave it alone and rethink my approach before he got suspicious. Maybe I could find out from Andy.

“What do you think?” Phil rubbed his hands together after the last pour. “Do you have a favorite?”

“I can taste differences, but I'm not a connoisseur, and I don't know enough about the clientele here to know what they expect.” I took a last sip and put my glass down. “How long had you worked with Bob?”

“About two years.”

“You have a much better idea about what he would choose. You pick.”

“He wasn't about playing it safe by going with the mildest wine. Bob wanted people to notice there was something special in what they tasted.” He surveyed the bottles. “These are all within the price range he requested.” He paused. “I think he would've gone with the second one. Distinct taste, but not as much oak as the last one.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

“Done. I'll order three cases.” He began to clean up, whistling once again.

I recognized the melody. “‘Never on Sunday,'” I blurted. Folk dancing had been a favorite of mine in high school.

Phil nodded and executed a few Greek line-dance steps.

“Hi, everyone.” Daniel came in, carrying a couple of grocery bags, which he placed on the counter. He walked over to me, concern in his eyes. “How are you feeling? Helen told me you were attacked.”

“I'm fine. Only a few bruises.”

“Attacked?” Phil's eyebrows almost caught up with his receding hairline. “What happened?”

“Shoved is more accurate.” I recounted the story. It was probably the highlight of afternoon community gossip by now.

“Heavens. We could certainly have postponed our tasting.” Phil tut-tutted as he put the wine bottles in a box.

“I'm glad we met. I learned a lot. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Phil carried glasses to the sink. “Any time.”

Daniel began unpacking the bags. “Helen asked if I saw anyone. I didn't. I was outside most of the time.”

“I'm going back to my room to read some of the files.” I left.

My cell phone rang as I reached my door.

“We solved it. We cracked the code!” an excited, rapid voice exclaimed.