Dead on the Vine: (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries #1 (A Cozy Mystery)) (12 page)

I was running out of things to do by the time the toilet flushed and Jessica came out, her hair plastered to her cheeks. She pushed her hair behind her ears and smiled wanly at me. She was about to speak when Midge Tidwell stuck her head through the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her eyes jumping from me to a disheveled Jessica.

Jessica nodded quickly, flushing with embarrassment and swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hands.

“It’s okay,” I said to Midge, trying for a reassuring smile that probably came out looking like I was chewing aspirin. “We’ll be right there.”

“Are you sure?” Midge asked me Midge asked me without taking her eyes of Jessica.

“Yes, thank you,” I said firmly enough for her to get the point. “We’ll be right out.”

With an uncertain nod, Midge disappeared.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked, taking Jessica’s hand and squeezing it. Her palm was clammy. She nodded and pulled her hand away. I handed her some Kleenex. She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror, wiped her red and swollen eyes and straightened her dress. She still looked awful.

“Let’s get it over with.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and gave me a look of such despair that I almost decided to spirit her out of the jail, and to hell with Priest and this whole rotten business. But that would needlessly complicate a formality that would soon be over. What was wrong with Jess? I was past being mystified, I was growing annoyed.

Midge was waiting with Victor. Victor took in Jessica’s appearance and looked a question at me. I shook my head and Victor looked away.

“Are we ready?” Midge asked.

“As ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Okay,” Midge said, looking at Jessica. “I’ll break a rule and walk you to Doug’s office. This way.”

We followed Midge down the hall and around a corner into another corridor lined with closed doors. Priest’s office was the third door on the right. A cheap brass nameplate with black lettering was on the door.

Midge banged on the door like an overzealous process server, throwing me a grin.

“Come in!” Priest shouted.

“We’re finished, Dougie.”

“You done the comparisons? Priest shuffled papers and didn’t bother looking up.

“Not yet, I was playing tour guide. Maybe I’ll go to work for the zoo.” She turned to us and smiled. “One jackass in its natural environment,” she announced making a broad gesture at Priest whose head popped up, lips forming an angry reply. His eyes hit Jessica and his expression changed. I could see him reign in his anger, swallow it back. He almost smiled.

“How long is it going to take, Officer Tidwell?”

“Twenty minutes tops for a preliminary match.” Priest nodded.

As Midge turned to go, she leaned in close to Jessica. “Don’t let him get to you,” she said, then gave her arm a squeeze.

Priest’s office looked more like someone’s den than an office in a police station. His desk was a massive antique made of hand rubbed oak with a matching file cabinet and bookcase. The walls were cluttered with framed diplomas and photographs of Priest with some of California’s leading politicians and sports celebrities. A pair of oil paintings of hunt scenes in antique frames took up the largest part of the far wall. The office had a clubby and contrived feel to me. I believe a person’s office tells you more about who they want to be than who they are. I gathered that Priest aspired to blueblood elitism, though he pretended to despise it. Mainly, I wondered where his money came from. The furnishings in this office probably cost many times his yearly income. My eyes and my thoughts eventually stopped on a pair of mud stained tennis shoes sitting on the corner of Priest’s desk.

Jessica saw the tennis shoes and stopped dead in her tracks. She even stopped breathing for a moment. Priest took in her reaction and smiled, rocking back in his red leather chair.

“Close the door, please.” He said genially to Victor. “And have a seat,” Priest nodded at a row of three metal chairs facing his desk, obviously placed there for this purpose. If he had been a cat he would have been licking his lips. Whatever was making Priest so affable was making me nervous as hell. Victor sat down on my left. Jessica remained standing, eyes glued to the tennis shoes.

“Where did you find those?” she asked.

“I think you know the answer to that question, Ms. de Montagne,” Priest mockingly replied. “Now, take a seat.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, looking from Jessica to Priest. “Do those have something to do with Kevin’s murder?”

“Ask your daughter,” Priest said, still watching Jessica.

“I’m asking you,” I snapped, my nervousness flaring into angry impatience. “Sit down, Jessica,” I told my daughter. She complied, moving like she was underwater.

Priest rocked in his chair, smoothed the front of his pink shirt and adjusted the lay of his blue tie. He was enjoying himself.

“You could say that they do. That’s Kevin Harlan’s blood smeared all over them.”

I remembered the brown paper bag that Priest had brought up from the wine cellar. Just about the size of a pair of tennis shoes. “Is that what you found in my cellar the other morning?”

Priest nodded smugly. “Just got the lab results back.”

“And what does that have to do with my daughter?” I asked. “The killer was
in
the cellar, he probably dumped them there.”

“They’re a lady’s size nine,” Priest said. “What size do you wear, Ms. de Montagne?”

“They’re my shoes, mom,” Jessica whispered, eyes in her lap. “They were in my gym bag when it was stolen.”

Priest rocked forward, and laid his hands on a loose stack of notebook paper with fold-creases. He picked them up and thumbed through them. “Stolen?” He asked. “How original. Did you report this theft?”

“I thought it was Stanley. My boyfr—ex-boyfriend.” Jessica explained, looking at me, avoiding Priest’s stare, strangling her purse strap. “I didn’t want to get him in trouble.”

“That would be Stanley Kostyol? The man who says he saw you and Kevin alone in the vineyard the night Kevin was killed.”

“Stanley Kostyol is a liar and a criminal!” I blurted. “If you believe anything he says, you’re crazier than I think.”

“I’m speaking to Jessica,” Priest replied calmly, savoring the moment.

“I was with him, but I didn’t kill him!” She shot to her feet.  “I would never hurt Kevin!”

My head snapped around fast enough to break my neck. “What? You said Stanley was lying!”

“Somebody’s lying, and it isn’t Kostyol,” Priest interrupted. “Sit down, Ms. de Montagne,” Priest pointed one manicured finger at Jessica’s chair. She shrank into it, a slow trickle of tears starting.

“What was the nature of your relationship with Kevin?”

“She barely knew Kevin Harlan,” I said before Jessica could answer. “She certainly had no reason to kill him.”

“I was speaking to your daughter,” Priest said, eyes narrowed. “But since you brought it up…” Priest picked up a page of the notebook paper and read.

“I miss you so much, Kevin,” he read. “I can’t stand being without you. It makes me crazy knowing that you’re with her. It’s signed, Jessica. Enough?” He smiled at me.

I didn’t say anything. I looked at Jessica. Jessica stared at the rug, hair hanging in strings around her face, tears dripping into her lap.

“Sounds like motive to me. The bitter fruit of tainted love,” Priest prodded, leaning across his desk.

“I was in love with Kevin,” Jessica said so softly I could barely hear. “I would never have hurt him. I’m so sorry mom, I wanted to tell you. I just couldn’t. I knew you wouldn’t approve. I can’t change the way I feel.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Oh, no,” Victor groaned, the first words he had spoken since we entered Priest’s office. He put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. “Not like this.”

I looked at Priest, still trying to recover from my shock. “You don’t really think Jessica killed Kevin? Look at her, she’s crushed. Where did you get those letters?”

“That’s confidential information—“

“Give me a break! Any good attorney would be able to find out in a couple of hours. But I’m pretty sure I already know: Laurel Harlan, wicked witch of the Mayacamas mountains.”

Priest’s smirk dissolved. “Mrs. Harlan isn’t the person I’m concerned with. I’m looking for Kevin Harlan’s killer.”

“You’re looking for a piece of ass!” I roared, wanting to lunge across the desk and knock Priest’s teeth out. “And judging by the time you left the Harlan’s this morning I’d say you found it.” I had stepped over the line, cursing and planning physical violence. And in the police station! But I’m a fighter by nature. When confronted with a problem my first instinct is to throw up my fists and start punching.

“That’s way out of line,” Priest came half out of his chair and stuck his finger in my face. “Mrs. Harlan is a very nic—“

I cut him off. “I
know
the woman. What size shoe does
she
wear? Has
she
been fingerprinted?”

“Mrs. Harlan was fingerprinted, and she is not a suspect. She-” Priest’s angry response was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Enter,” he bellowed, face flushed. I had definitely struck a nerve, and I was petty enough to relish it.

Midge stuck her head in. “Doug,” she said, her tone professional. She cast a worried look over the three of us sitting in the folding chairs. “We have a match.”

“Ah,” Priest sighed and his grin reappeared. He steepled his fingers. “Who’s the lucky contestant?”

Midge glanced at Jessica. “Jessica de Montagne,” she said. “Her prints match the partial at 16-points. No doubt about it. I’m sorry,” she added, looking from me to Jess.

“Close the door,” Priest snapped. “Don’t apologize to a murderer.”

Midge closed the door without another word, but with a long sad glance at Jessica.

“You lily-white little prick—” Victor growled, rising and taking a step toward Priest. I grabbed hold of his wrist, restraining him before he did something stupid.

“That doesn’t mean anything. The shovel was on my property, and those prints could have been there for months,” I said, scrambling for answers. But I couldn’t even convince myself.

“Motive, opportunity, murder weapon,” Priest said, ticking them off on the fingers of his right hand. “We
definitely
have a winner.”

“I didn’t kill Kevin!” Jessica spoke up. “I never even—”

“Don’t say anything else, Jessica,” I told her, reaching for her hand. “We’re leaving right now.”

I stood, followed closely by Jessica and Victor. My foreman was as tense as a mongoose eyeing a cobra. If we didn’t leave immediately I was afraid Victor would beat the snot out of the detective.

“We’re not through,” Priest said, coming around his desk.

“The hell we aren’t,” Victor said and stepped between Priest and Jessica. “I’ve listened to all the crap I’m going to from you.”

“Out of the way,” Priest demanded, hand sliding under his jacket and behind his waist. He’s reaching for his gun! I thought, a trill of fear sounding in my head. The whole incident was spinning out of control, heading toward a violent confrontation.

“Move me, asshole,” Victor snarled. Behind him Jessica was trembling. I probably looked just as scared.

“Don’t, Victor,” I said, stepping in front of Victor who continued to stare daggers at Priest over my shoulder. “We’re leaving,” I said, looking back at Priest, my right hand flat on Victor’s chest. “If you have any other questions you can talk to my attorney.”

“Fine,” Priest said, flashing a quick grin. “You two can leave. But,” he pointed at Jessica, “she’s not going anywhere.” Priest stepped around me and Victor and drew something silver from under his coat. He grabbed Jessica’s right wrist and snapped a steel bracelet around it, clicking it down tight. Before I could even protest, he spun her around and snapped the other cuff in place. Jessica’s purse hit the floor and her eyes went to me, pleading for intervention. I was as stunned and helpless as she.

“Jessica de Montagne, you are under arrest for the murder of Kevin Harlan.” Priest pulled open the office door, revealing two Sheriff’s deputies in khaki uniforms waiting just outside. I knew then that Priest had intended to arrest Jessica all along. Why else would he have had the deputies waiting?

Priest pushed Jessica through the doorway as Victor and I watched in stunned silence.

“Read her her rights and book her for the Harlan murder,” Priest said, and they led my daughter away.

I watched them lead Jessica down the hall. She never looked back. Priest trailed the deputies escorting my daughter, and Victor and I were alone, staring at each other.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” I said, a tremor in my voice. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“We need to get her bailed out,” Victor said, speaking calmly, though I knew he had to be as shocked as I. “There’s a bondsman on Fourth Street I used when a bunch of us were arrested for picketing Dearborne. Jess’ll have to be arraigned first, though. That means she’ll probably be here overnight.”

Oh, no,” I shivered, repulsed by the thought. Jessica was troubled enough already, going through the pain of losing Kevin. A pain I had been blissfully unaware of until now. A night in the county jail would only do more harm.

“Where on Fourth?” I said, thoughts whirling in my head.

“Like I said, she’ll have to be arraigned. She’ll—”

“I heard you,” I snapped, then hurried to apologize. “I’m sorry, Victor. I’m upset. No I’m angry! Ready to
scream!
I just want to get her the hell out of here!”

“They’re in the 1400 block. An old blue Victorian,” he replied. “But until she’s arraigned there’s nothing they can do.”

“You have their number?”

“In my truck. Why don’t we go back to Violet and give them a call?”

What he suggested went against the grain. I didn’t want to leave Napa without Jessica! I couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that there was nothing I could do.

“Let’s go,” I said and strode briskly down the hallway, sandals slapping on the tile, anger fueling me. Victor trotted up, worry deepening the creases in his tanned face. We passed Midge’s office. She was behind the counter. Her head came up as we passed, and she started to say something, but I didn’t pause. At that moment I had nothing to say to her or anyone else at the sheriff’s office. Except to maybe stand on the steps outside and scream “Idiots!” at the top of my lungs.

When I burst through the courthouse’s front doors a cluster of Japanese tourists with video cameras were walking by, craning their necks and looking around like they were lost. They were a few blocks from the antique malls and restaurants. This part of Third Street is dedicated primarily to government offices, cut-rate lawyers and bail bondsmen.

We were halfway down the front steps when my cell phone rang, startling me. I stopped, muttering under my breath, angry at the distraction, and dug into my purse for the phone.

“Hello,” I yelled into the mouthpiece.

“De Montagne?” Samson asked, his voice crackling and fading. He didn’t give me time to reply. “What is going on? The sheriffs are searching the house. Bottling has stopped, all of the men are loafing, watching the damn show!”

“What?! They’re searching the house?” I yelled into the phone, and the Japanese tourists looked my way, video cameras panning over Victor and I. I turned my back on them and stuck a finger in my ear to hear better.

“They have a piece of paper that says they can do this. I hear them in there moving things. I hope they break nothing. Bastards told me to stop the line! I have wine to bottle, wine that is oxidizing!” Samson raged on. Priest hadn’t wasted any time. The deputies must have been en route while we were being fingerprinted. Damn him!

“Stay out of their way,” I ordered Samson, trying to sound calm and in control while a wild pulse throbbed in my temples. “Begin bottling as soon as they leave, or shut it down until tomorrow. Whatever you think best.”

“I think I tell them to get the hell out, that is best! Morons! I can’t—”

I cut him off impatiently. “Samson, I’ve got to go now. They arrested Jessica for Kevin’s murder—”

“What?!” He spewed a mouthful of Greek curses. “They are crazy men! That little girl could kill no one! I’ll tell them-”

“I don’t have time for this, Samson!” I yelled, losing control. “I’ve got to get to a bondsman’s office and get Jessica the hell out of there.” Even though I believed what Victor had told me about arraignment and bail I couldn’t go home knowing Jessica was sitting in a cell somewhere. If nothing else, I could get the paperwork started. I had to
do
something or I’d go crazy!

“I’ll come there and—”

“No!” I screamed into the phone then caught myself. Stirring Samson up would only make matters worse. I shouldn’t have told him about Jessica. “Just get the line running if you can and try not to start any trouble.”

“They are the trouble, not me! Sons of bitches!”

I hung up.

“They can’t do anything until she’s arraigned,” Victor told me again.

“I know!” I shouted at him, gripping my phone so tightly the plastic cut into my fingers. “But I need to do something, and that’s all I can think of.”

Victor’s eyes jumped from my face to a point over my right shoulder. “Look who’s coming,” he said, “Ben Stoltze, commandant of the Gulag.” Victor can be melodramatic when he’s angry, but at that moment I felt exactly the same way. I whirled around, stuffing my phone back into my purse. Ben was coming up the sidewalk with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He was smiling, but the smile started to slip as I strode toward him.

“Hey, Claire, Victor,” Ben said, nodding at my foreman. “Something wrong?”

“Damn you, Ben Stoltze! You know what’s wrong!” I roared. “That cretin Priest just arrested my daughter, and your men are tearing apart my home right now!”

“What?” Ben fell back a step. The Japanese tourist’s video camera whirred as they stood in a flock, watching the show. I had the urge to go over and knock the camera out of their hands, but that was just misdirected anger. And I had someone to take my anger out on right in front of me.

“For what?” Ben sounded surprised and I knew instantly that Priest hadn’t informed Ben. That hardly mattered. Ben was the Sheriff and therefore responsible for everything that went on in his office. And there I was dressed up and even wearing lipstick, for this man who I now wanted to beat to his knees.

“I don’t know anything about it. I’ll look into—”

“You’ll look into it?!You’ll look into it?!Meanwhile my daughter sits in a cell for something she didn’t do! Why don’t you look into why Priest is spending his nights in Laurel Harlan’s bedroom!”

“Now, wait a minute Claire,” Ben said, getting red in the face, his tone on the edge of anger. He started to lift a finger to point at me, but thought better of it. Wise move - I would have bit it off. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Doug Priest is a fine detective, if he arrested—”

I didn’t let him finish. “Doug Priest is a creep! You should be ashamed he’s on the force!” I yelled at the top of my voice, unable to control my anger any longer. “Get the hell out of my way!” I brushed past, leaving him standing on the sidewalk staring. Victor followed somewhat more sheepishly.

The Japanese tourists scattered like pigeons as I plowed through the group. They pointed and babbled amongst themselves, enjoying the drama. They’d probably show the tape at home and marvel at the crazy lady ranting and raving in front of the police station, speculating all kinds of scenarios. Let them, I didn’t care!

Sally was parked in the lot beside the Sheriff’s office. Victor caught up to me just as I slammed the driver’s door and jammed the key in the ignition. He climbed in, but said nothing. That was probably a good thing. I wasn’t in the mood to chat. I was fuming, mentally calling Ben every name I could think of, names I would never say out loud. I couldn’t believe he had let that
creep
arrest my daughter! If he had so little control over his department, maybe it was time he retired. I’d be glad if I never saw him again!

“Where’s the bondsman’s office?” I barked at Victor.

“It’s on Fourth Street, right behind the—”

“Just tell me where to turn,” I cut him off.

“Okay,” he replied, looking straight ahead. “Take a right at the next block, Coombs Street, then a right on Fourth, the—”

“Tell me when I get there,” I said, jamming my foot on the accelerator, lunging the Mustang out of its spot. I whipped the steering wheel around and burned rubber out of the lot, swerving across the center of the street and punching the gas again. The Japanese had regrouped. Their camera recorded my departure. Ben was watching too, standing on the sidewalk, looking bewildered.

“Take a right here,” Victor said, white-knuckling the dash with one hand while hauling the seatbelt strap down with the other. I took the corner, tires screeching, and hit the gas again.

“Turn right at the next—hey, Claire! Slow down!” Victor yelped as I cranked the wheel into another hard right turn. “It’s right there in the middle of the block. Slow down or you’ll miss the turn!”

I didn’t miss the turn, but I did leave a smear of rubber in the driveway. We hit the sidewalk at the middle of the drive and Sally jumped a foot off the ground, slamming back down on the parking lot’s pot-holed asphalt. I slid Sally into a parking space, jammed on the brakes, jerked the keys out of the ignition, snatched my purse and was halfway across the parking lot before Victor got out of the car.

“Hold up, Claire!” Victor hollered as he jogged toward me.

“Hurry up!” I hollered back.

The bondsman’s office occupied a dilapidated, dingy baby-blue Victorian with a sagging front porch, dead plants in the window boxes and mirrored glass in the windows. The lawn had been paved over with lumpy asphalt and was littered with cigarette butts and bottle caps. A rotten wooden wheelchair ramp and a set of wobbly cinderblock steps led up to a narrow plate glass door with AAA Bail Bonds printed on it in faded gilt.

Victor caught up to me as I reached the front door. I jerked it open and stepped into a dingy office cluttered with grungy plastic chairs and folding tables. The room must have been the home’s parlor at one time, but now it looked more like a flophouse’s vestibule. A brand new Xerox copier, wanted flyers tacked to a corkboard above it, was the only clean thing in sight. And that included the startled-looking fat man with a greasy comb-over and sweaty face who was sitting behind a desk placed directly in front of the plate glass door. He was the only person in sight, though there were numerous closed doors covered in seventy layers of peeling paint.

“I thought you was gonna crash right into the place.” His eyes suddenly brightened with recognition as he spotted Victor behind me.

“Victor! What’s shaking? Y’all racing in the Napa 500?”

“Hey Solly,” Victor replied, looking askance at me. “We need to see about a bond.”

“I can tell that,” the fat man said, leaning back and locking his hands behind his head. The chair groaned pitifully and I thought it might snap in half. The bondsmen’s shirt’s underarms were soaked with sweat and stained brown. He grinned with teeth as yellow as canned corn. “You just commit a crime? That why y’all are driving like maniacs? If so, I can’t help y’all ‘til they bust ya.” He laughed at his own joke, fat jowls jiggling obscenely.

I didn’t have the patience for this! “My daughter was just arrested,” I butted in.

“Let me, Claire,” Victor said, stepping around me and drawing back one of two chairs that faced the desk. “Sit down,” Victor said, giving me a warning look. This was a man who helped Victor on occasion, maybe a friend, and Victor didn’t want me irritating him. I saw the logic in that and took a deep breath. It didn’t help.

I sank into the chair, purse on my knees, and Victor dropped into a chair beside me.

“Got a problem Solly,” he began. “Girl just got arrested—”

“My daughter, Jessica de Montagne,” I interjected and Solly nodded with sympathy as fake as the veneer on his desktop.

“When?” He asked, reaching for a form. He took up a pen, scratched his nose with it and then wrote Jessica’s name.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” Victor replied and Solly looked up with a frown, dropping his pen.

“Nothing I can do about it until she’s arraigned and bail is set. They won’t even have her records or booking report ready for a few hours. What’s the charge, anyway?”

“Murder,” I said. “Kevin Harlan.”

“Murder,” Solly repeated, relishing the sound, probably anticipating a high bond and a large check. “Read about the case. She do it?”

“Of course not,” I snapped.

“Hey, just asking,” he said, holding a hands up. “No offense. We’re all innocent until all the appeals are exhausted. Makes no difference to me either way. Anyway, I can’t do anything until bail is set.”

“I figured that,” Victor said, “But Claire wanted to get the paperwork started. What’s the drill on something like this?”

Solly leaned back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head. “She’ll be booked, printed, photographed, then put in a cell. Her case’ll be on the docket and she’ll be set up with an arraignment time. If she’s lucky that’ll be tonight and we’ll have her out by morning. As long as you got the money,” He added looking at me. “But since your name is de Montagne, I know you’ll come up with the cash. Worst case scenario she’ll see the judge tomorrow morning or afternoon, and we’ll have her out by 5:30.”

“Is there any way we can speed it up?” Victor asked.

“Not through me. Tomorrow morning’s best I can say. Bail will be high but not astronomical if it’s her first offense.”