Dead on the Vine: (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries #1 (A Cozy Mystery)) (24 page)

I played the light over the pictures arrayed on the dresser. Family photos, a work-group shot of Michelle and her peers crowded around a gondola of grapes. Michelle sitting with Laurel at some club, their heads together, grinning blearily. Michelle had her arm around Laurel’s shoulder. Next to that picture was a photo in a cheap metal frame that was wreathed in black crepe paper. A photo I recognized, because I was in it. I had a copy of it in my kitchen. Winter Harlan and me kneeling by a freshly planted willow tree, our hands covered in dirt. Kevin and Laurel were in the background grinning, looking suntanned and happy.

What was Michelle doing with that picture? I picked it up and that’s when I noticed that a smaller photo had been taped to the glass in the corner of the frame. It was a photo clipped from the paper. At first glance I thought it was Winter, but it wasn’t. I had seen the identical photo on the bulletin board at the Bishop Lynch daycare center. It was Jenna Valdez. Once again I was struck at how similar the two girls were. But what the hell was it doing here?  This was getting crazier and crazier. How did Michelle know Jenna? Or was Michelle so seriously messed up in the head that logic no longer applied?

A knock on the front door made me jerk to attention and I lost my grip on the flashlight. I grabbed for it as it fell, juggled it one-handed for a five-count, the beam jumping over the walls and rear window, and finally snatched it to my chest, gasping with fright. I turned the flashlight off, put down Winter’s picture and crossed to the bedroom door on jittery legs. I held my breath as I eased it open a crack.  Down a narrow hall I could see a broken-down sofa in dingy plaid and beyond it the front door. Someone aimed a flashlight through the door’s tiny window and I hopped back, clutching my flashlight like it might leap out of my hand again.

“Open up in there!” A voice drowned out my panting. “I see you back there! This is the police!” A hand rattled the doorknob as I tip-toed at top speed to the open window and clambered through. How long before the policeman circled the house? My breath was coming in gasps and that added to my panic. I tried to close the window but it jammed, cocked at an angle in the frame. The policeman pounded on the door again.

“Open up! Michelle Lawford!”

Forget the window! Tucking the flashlight into my jeans, I ran across the yard, hurdled the dead lawnmower and straddled the fence. In my haste, I lost my grip on the fence and fell in a heap on the concrete slope on the opposite side.  Before I could catch myself, I was sliding backward on my belly into the fetid darkness. My shirt went up over my head and the flashlight almost got away from me. I tried desperately to roll over, but that sent me into a blind spin that ended when I came to a jarring stop at the bottom of the slope, slamming my thigh into the corner of a rusted gas range. Clenching my teeth against the pain, I jerked my blouse down and frantically looked up slope. No one was there. Yet. 

I pushed myself up and started walking fast, covered with the slime of decomposing trash, my hair clotted with it. I didn’t dare go to the middle of the channel this time; I would be too easy to spot. Instead I navigated through the refuse at the edge. It was like wandering through a bombed out city at night. My shins and thighs took a beating as I hurriedly stumbled and bounced through the castoffs, afraid to turn the flashlight on. It would be only a matter of moments before the police circled the house and decided to check out the drainage channel. My heart was banging against my ribs and a pulse pounded in my temple.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” An angry voice asked from the shadows and I screamed and went down backward in a sack of lawn clippings. Green shreds bloomed up around me accompanied by the rich-sour smell of a compost heap. Ten feet away a shadowy form was standing beside a refrigerator without a door.

“I asked you if you found what you were looking for?” the shadow demanded.

“Who are you?” I whispered, eyes jumping around for an avenue of escape. How quickly I became like a hunted mouse. Fear feeds on itself. I had to beat it down like a brush fire.

“You just broke into
my
house, so why don’t you tell me who
you
are before I stick my boot up your ass? And don’t even think about running.” I heard the distinctive click-clack of a revolver being cocked. “You can’t run as fast as my friend.” She was trying to sound tough, but her voice held a tremor. That didn’t make me any calmer, I was afraid she might pull the trigger at the first movement I made.

“Michelle?” I said, recognizing the voice, ready to scream for help from the policeman I had just been fleeing. Breaking into Michelle’s had been a
really
rotten idea! It was too bad that it took staring down the barrel of her gun to make me realize that.

“Quit wasting my time. What did you take?” Michelle took a hesitant step toward me and the moonlight gleamed off her pistol. She was dirty and disheveled and her eyes were jumping around crazily.

“Nothing! I didn’t take anything,” I proclaimed my innocence as I gripped the flashlight tightly. “It’s me, Claire de Montagne.”

She stopped, gun aimed at my forehead. “Mrs. de Montagne?” She said. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t sound any less angry, just more frightened.

My mouth went dry. “I, I wanted to talk to you about Laurel,” I croaked. “And Kevin.”

“Kevin? What? You think I killed him too?”

“I didn’t say that—“

“I didn’t kill him!” Michelle bellowed. “Why would I kill him?” She bit back what could have been a sob. “You! You told the police I tried to kill your daughter. Laurel told me all about you!”

“Laurel doesn’t deserve your friendship,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t about to wet my pants. “She’ll let you go to jail for her.” 

“I told you I didn’t kill anyone!” Michelle jabbed the gun in my direction to emphasize her point.

“We both know what you did,” I said and started to push myself up. “You’re covering for Laurel. For a murderer.”

“Stay right where you are! I haven’t killed anyone, but I will.”

I settled back in the bag of grass. “You can’t cover for her forever.”

Michelle took a step closer and I could see her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Her skin looked sooty and the hand that held the gun was trembling. “What are you talking about?” she demanded, lowering her voice.

“Tell me about Jenna Valdez and Winter Harlan,” I said and Michelle flinched. “Tell me why you have a shrine in your bedroom?”

“What do you know?” Michelle whispered, dark eyes digging into my face. “What do you think I did?”

“Murder,” I said simply and tears welled in her eyes. “Laurel’s not worth going to prison for.”

“How could you know?” Michelle’s hand clenched and unclenched around the butt of the revolver. “I kept her safe. I took care of her. I covered her.”

What the hell was she babbling about? She covered her? Covered for Laurel? “I know that Laurel’s going to let you go to prison for something she did.” I said, holding my ground, gripping the flashlight in case I had to smack her.

“She wouldn’t. Not after all I’ve done for her. No,” she shook her head jerkily, sending tears flying. “No.”

“You’ll go to prison for killing Kevin, unless you go to the police.”

“Kevin?” Michelle said, eyes narrowing on my face. “Kevin?” She took a step back. “You think I killed
him?”

“Or helped Laurel,” I said, starting to wonder if she might really shoot me after all.

She stared hard at me, lips squeezed tight. She stooped and picked up a two-foot long piece of rusty metal pipe. “Laurel was right about you. You’ll do anything to cover for Jessica. I’m not going to jail for your little Princess,” her voice had gone up a few octaves. She was on the ragged edge of panic. 

“Is that why you tried to run her off the road?” I asked, fingers tightening on the cold steel of the flashlight. “I know you’re not the type to do something like that on your own.”

“You don’t know me! I didn’t try to run her off the road! Why would I?”

“Because Laurel asked you to. Because Kevin was having an affair with Jessica.”

She took a step toward me, lifting the pipe, and for a second the gun wasn’t aimed at me. I took that second, rolled left and swung the flashlight at Michelle’s kneecap. It connected with a solid ‘thunk!’ and Michelle yelped. I hit her again in the other kneecap and rolled away, trailing green clippings.

The pipe clanged on the ground. But she still had the gun. I leapt up and ran into the dark tangle of trash and scrap. I was twenty feet from Michelle, draped in darkness, safe in darkness, when the drainage canal was flooded by the light of a spotlight mounted on a patrol car parked in front of the barricade I had circled twenty minutes ago. A shot boomed behind me and a bullet whipped past my ear. Michelle was shooting at me! She fired again! The bullet slammed into a pile of trash bags just ahead of me. Sludge leaked from the wound. I dove for the ground as a volley of shots from the top of the canal ripped the night apart.

I hit the concrete with my shoulder and pain froze my right side. I grabbed my shoulder, stifling a scream, and rolled against a mound of trash bags, head tucked, knees drawn up, laying in a puddle of something cold and sticky.

I heard Michelle scream, “You shot me!” And then the police were barking orders and sirens were wailing.

I stayed where I was until a sheriff’s deputy kicked me with the toe of his shoe and told me I was under arrest.

“Could ya sit kinda forward on the seat?” The skinny, acne-scarred deputy asked me, covering his nose against the stench rolling off me in waves. “I gotta ride in that thing every night.”

“Sorry,” I said and tried to scoot forward, not easy with my hands cuffed behind my back. I was covered in spots and smears, grass clippings and beer drippings. It felt like insects were crawling over my arms and thighs, and I knew that if I didn’t get a bath soon I was going to start screaming. The deputy shook his head in disgust and joined a dozen of his peers who were crowded around the cruiser with Michelle in the back. She was cursing and spitting and kicking the door while the deputies laughed. They stopped laughing when a car pulled up behind me. I tried to look over my shoulder and slid back in the seat like it was greased. So much for keeping the deputy’s car clean.

“Quit playing around and take her downtown,” a familiar voice snapped and the deputies broke it up. Ben walked up to the car where I was sitting, ducked down, looked at me, sniffed twice and grimaced. “What the hell are you thinking, Claire?” he said and stood before I could reply.

“What’s she doing in there?” Ben bellowed at the deputy who wanted to keep his seats clean.

“She was with Michelle Lawford,” the deputy said as he trotted over. “Greg told me to cuff her until we worked out what’s what. Lawford took a shot at her.”

Ben ducked back down. “She shot at you?”

“Yes. Ben, I really need a bath and—“ I began, but he was standing again.

“So you got a crime victim handcuffed in your car? A novel way of handling things,” Ben snarled. “Tell Greg to get his ass over here.”

The deputy trotted off and returned a few seconds later with another skinny deputy with a shock of tangled black hair and a prominent Adam’s apple.

“What’s up, chief?” Greg asked, eyeing me.

“What’s she doing in cuffs?” Ben hooked a thumb in my direction.

“Breaking and entering,” Greg said. “Caught her coming out the back of Lawford’s. Don’t smell too good, does she?” Greg grinned.

“Smells like crap,” the acne faced deputy opined. “Sorry Ma’am,” he added to me, blushing.

“The truth hurts,” I said and Greg laughed. Ben gave him a look and Greg swallowed it, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You break and enter?” Ben leaned down and asked.

“The window was open. I entered,” I tried to shrug, not easy in handcuffs. “I didn’t
break
in.”

“Mind telling me what the hell you were doing in there? No, never mind. I don’t wanna know,” Ben straightened and pointed at me. “Un-cuff her,” he said. He walked away with the acne-faced deputy.

“Out ya go,” Greg said as he guided my head through the door and helped me stand. “God, you are ripe!” He said, unlocking the handcuffs.

“Compliments, compliments,” I replied. I was still jittery from my altercation with Michelle, but I felt better as I watched her being driven away under police power. Maybe Jessica would be safe now.

Half the neighborhood was in their back yards or on the street behind the orange and white barricade. People were drinking and talking like it was a block-party. The crowd parted for a white van with County markings that pulled up as I was chafing my wrists and sniffing myself, trying to identify the strongest of many odors. Something smelled dead. I had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up.

Midge stepped out of the van and crossed to where Ben was standing with Greg. The three of them talked for several minutes before Ben came back to me.

“Do you have a cigarette?” I asked. He patted his pockets fruitlessly, turned and yelled. “Greg! Give me a square!”

Greg trotted over and handed Ben a crumpled pack, then trotted back to where Midge was working her way down the littered concrete slope, a flashlight in her hand. Ben shook out a cigarette for both of us and lit them. I inhaled greedily, closing my eyes with the pure pleasure of it. I had almost died down there, I thought, watching Midge cross to the spot where Michelle was shot. Grazed, actually. I took another shaky drag on the cigarette.

“Doing a little amateur detecting?” Ben asked.

“I just wanted to see if she had left for good. You said you couldn’t search the place…” I shrugged.

“So you decided to help me out?” Ben leaned against the patrol car.

“You make it sound so foolish,” I said, staring at the ground.

“Just foolish?” Ben said. “I was thinking plain stupid,” he shrugged and looked at the stars, “I figure you should make wine and I should catch criminals, but maybe I got it wrong. Maybe I should be crushing grapes and you should be cuffing creeps.”

“I need a bath and a drink,” I said sourly. “At least I found her,” I added.

Ben nodded. “Or, she found you.” He flicked his cigarette over the side of the channel and turned to face me. “All joking aside, Claire, I asked you to keep out of this and let me do my job. You could be dead down there right now, you thought of that?”

I dropped my cigarette, hugged myself and nodded. “Maybe, but I can take care of myself,” I told him.

“You need to be worrying about Jessica,” Ben tried another tack. “She doesn’t need any more tragedy.”

I didn’t say anything. Ben sighed in exasperation. “All right. Where’s your car?”

Ben walked me back to the Mustang, past the curious stares of the neighbors. He opened the door for me and watched as I took the floor mats and lined the seat with them. I sat down and he closed the door.

“Get a bath and I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said through the open window. “Gonna need a statement, so be dreaming up an explanation for why you broke into Lawford’s house.”

“I didn’t break—“

He waved a dismissive hand. “Save it for tomorrow. She’s gonna have enough problems without worrying about pressing charges against you. Go home.”

Ben stepped back and I left American Canyon, watching Ben in the rearview, thinking about what a wonderfully feminine side of myself I had shown him tonight. “A bath,” I said out loud. “And a drink.” All else could wait until I had washed the smell of dead cat off me.