Deadly Offer (19 page)

The widest archway appeared to be the main entrance. She paused on the cracked terra cotta tiles to read a bronze plaque announcing she was about to enter one of California’s northernmost missions. A sign below the plaque implored visitors to donate funds to help restore the structure to its original glory. Darby fished a twenty dollar bill out of her pocketbook and stuffed it into a locked box marked “Thank you.”
Vaya con Dios
, she thought.

Quiet voices approached. A young couple, their arms linked, strolled by her, headed toward the only other car in the lot. Darby watched them wistfully, wondering whether they’d come to meditate or had enjoyed another form of spiritual awakening. Judging from the girl’s tousled hair and smudged lipstick, it had been the latter.
The place is certainly private enough to do either,
she thought, heading through the arch and into the covered hallway.

Under the shelter of the old adobe overhang the temperature was much cooler. Darby gazed down the long corridor, enjoying once more the total silence of the place. Most missions she had visited were in the center of bustling towns and cities; many still operated as active parishes with regularly scheduled services. For some reason this one had yet to enjoy the restoration efforts so lovingly lavished on its more fortunate brothers and sisters farther down the California coast.

She came back into the sunlight and approached the attached chapel. A large wooden door with huge iron rings was the entrance, and Darby felt sure it would be locked. She pushed on it gingerly and to her surprise it swung open with a load groan. She stepped into a dimly lit space.

This had been the heart of the mission, the place where the missionaries and their converts had gathered to worship. Once sacred space, the chapel was now free of ornamentation, as if it had been stripped years earlier of its artifacts. The back wall bore a gaping hole out of which Darby could see the darkening sky.

She glanced at her watch. Margo was running very late. Perhaps whatever appointment she had mentioned had thrown off her schedule. Darby wondered if she should continue to wait.
Even though I called Detective Nardone, I’m here all alone, in an isolated spot. Not exactly a wise move.

She fingered her cell phone and checked to be sure there were no messages.
I’ll give Margo another five minutes, and then I’m out of here.

Darby continued to the back of the chapel where another wooden door awaited.
I’ll see the back of the property and then head back to the vineyard.

The creak of the second door’s metal hinges made a shiver run down Darby’s spine. It was a sound from countless horror movies, the kind she and her father used to watch on the rare nights Jada Farr wasn’t home. No matter how scary the movie, Darby had never felt frightened wrapped in her father’s strong arms.

Unlike now. There was a strange feeling in the mission’s back garden, or maybe it was just that the abandoned site was starting to wear on her nerves. Here, piles of adobe bricks were scattered in what looked like an old foundation, creating troughs that looked as if they could hold water. Around the edges of the adobe rectangles were narrow canals with weeds sprouting through the cracked bricks.

“Know what it is?” A voice cut through the silence, making Darby shiver. She turned toward the sound, momentarily blinded by the sun.

Margo Contento strode across the parched ground and tilted her head at the ruins. “It’s a
lavanderia
, Spanish for what we would call an open-air laundry. This is where the missionaries as well as people from the village gathered to wash clothes and bathe their bodies.” She pointed into the distance. “Years ago, water from the Wyatt River was diverted here. It filled up these basins, as well as irrigating the surrounding fields.” She pointed at a mound of curved stone that looked as if it had been carved. “See that thing right there? Believe it or not, that was a gargoyle. Water used to spurt from its mouth, back in the day.”

Darby looked at the
lavanderia
with new eyes, picturing the tiled rectangles filled with refreshing water. She imagined the monks scrubbing their robes against the adobe, talking quietly or praying as they did so. “For a place that was so lively, it has a melancholy feeling.” She looked up at Margo, who nodded somberly.

“I’m amazed that you sense that, Darby. You see, this place was also the site of a horrific massacre. Twenty monks and a dozen or so villagers were slain here, surprised as they bathed by a group of disgruntled natives. It was said that the water ran red for years after the slaughter.”

“That’s a terrible story.”

“I agree. Terrible, and yet true.” She shook her blonde hair away from her face. “I’m sorry to be so late. Dr. Yang was running behind, and I didn’t have your number to call. Please accept my apology.”

“You are a patient of Dr. Yang’s?”

“That’s right. Me and most of the female population of the county, it seems.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I needed to see you because I felt when we spoke earlier that you have some doubts about Fritz Kohler’s arrest. I sensed that you seemed to feel as if he could be innocent.”

“I do think the evidence against him is pretty flimsy, but I guess that will be for a jury to decide.”

“Sure. There’s another piece of evidence that they’ll know about, something I’m prepared to tell Detective Nardone in the morning.” She hesitated. “My father told me something just before he died.” She stopped and took a deep, steadying breath. “Dad saw a stranger by the cabana next to Selena’s hot tub. It was Fritz Kohler.”

Darby exhaled, blowing air through her mouth. “Wow. That changes everything. Why didn’t your father tell the authorities?”

“He didn’t think it mattered. Dad figured Kohler had been at Carson Creek to see Selena before her accident occurred. We all thought Selena had died naturally, remember?”

Darby nodded. Margo had a point. There would have been no reason for Michael Contento to tell anyone about seeing Kohler, and since no one had asked, he’d said nothing.

Except to his daughter.

“Why did he tell you, Margo?”

She lifted her hands in a gesture of incomprehension. “He was annoyed with me for not coming home that night, more to the point, for being out with Christophe Barton. He said if word got out that I was linked to him, there would be a scandal. I told him that he didn’t know everything that went on, that he was an old man, and he countered with telling me about seeing plenty. That’s when Dad said that he’d seen Fritz Kohler at Carson Creek.”

Darby looked down into the troughs where the missionaries had once cleaned their clothes. Was it her imagination, or did she see a ring of dried red blood around the tiles? She looked back up at Margo. “Detective Nardone will welcome that information. It perfectly corroborates her theory that Fritz Kohler is the murderer.”

“That’s because he is, Darby. You must see that now.” She looked down at her watch and swore softly. “I’ve got to get back to the vineyard. Listen, we still want to purchase Carson Creek, despite all that has happened over there. I hope you’ll be in touch about that soon.”

Darby followed Margo as they walked around the chapel and back to the parking lot. She still had not heard from Carlos and was not going to proceed until he called. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I promise I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

She climbed into her car, first texting Detective Nardone that she was on her way back to Carson Creek. A few seconds later, she received a reply.

IN THE MIDDLE OF A MEETING. YOU OKAY?

FINE, Darby texted back.
Just fine.

———

On the drive from Ventano back to Carson Creek, Darby pondered Margo’s assertion that her father had seen Fritz Kohler at Selena’s hot tub. She claimed Michael had been taking one of his walks along the perimeter of Contento Vineyards, and from the vantage point he had once described to Darby, seen the yoga guru on Carson Creek’s property. Fritz Kohler was certainly distinctive looking. Even from a distance, his unique shape and sheer size would have been easy for Michael to discern.

But why had Kohler been at the hot tub? He would have added the metoprolol to the wine in the kitchen, and by the placement of the drugstore receipt, they knew he’d been in the old barn. But why the hot tub?

The answer came to Darby in a rush.

He wanted to make sure Selena was dead.

The chilling sentence caused goose bumps to rise on her arms. Michael Contento had been a witness to the murder. If what he’d told Margo was true, Michael had seen Fritz as he crouched by the hot tub, watching Selena Thompson take her last breaths.

———

“Whew!” Dan Stewart took a long drink of water and placed the glass on the kitchen counter. “That was a very long, but productive, day.” He glanced at his watch. “Think I’ll go and collect my daughter—wherever she is—and call it a night.” He glanced up at Darby. “What time are you taking off in the morning?”

“Probably around ten. I’ll see you, but I won’t see Sophie, so please say goodbye for me.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Now you and I can save our goodbyes for the morning, right?”

Darby nodded, knowing she would not be at her most coherent if she and Dan began a conversation. For some reason she was feeling the strange sensation that she was underwater, struggling to rise to the surface and gulp air.

Dan grabbed the keys to his jeep and regarded Darby with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay?

Again she nodded. “It’s this whole thing with Fritz Kohler—his arrest and now Margo’s information. He never seemed like the killer to me, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Maybe more evidence will come to light during his trial,” Dan
suggested. “After all, it does seem that he and Selena shared a pretty
violent past.”

“That’s true.” She took Dan’s glass and placed it in the dishwasher. “Go on home to Sophie, Dan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He grinned. “Good night.”

The crunch of his wheels on the driveway receded as the jeep eased down the hill. Darby prepared herself a simple salad and ate it, deep in thought. Finally she took her phone and called someone she knew would be a wise and sympathetic sounding board: Miles Porter.

“As always, I’m happy to aid you in your detection efforts,” Miles quipped once she’d described her doubts about Fritz Kohler. “Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what it was Margo said to you at the old mission?”

“Okay.” Darby thought back to the conversation, wanting to get the details straight. Had it been only an hour ago that she and Margo had spoken? She took a deep breath and began.

“Margo told me that Michael said he saw Kohler at Selena’s hot tub. I asked her why he did not tell anyone, and she said he figured Kohler had been at Carson Creek to visit Selena. She pointed out that everyone had assumed Selena’s death was an accident. The only reason he told Margo before he died was that he was trying to prove the point that he saw a lot that went on. I think it was his way of saying that he was still on top of his game.”

“Now, you spoke to Michael that same day, right? Isn’t that when he told you that he could see part of Carson Creek when he took his walks?”

“You are a good listener, Miles. I spoke to Michael and I met Fritz Kohler.” Again she had the sensation that she was trying to swim up to the surface for air. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Concern deepened Miles’ question.

Darby considered her answer. She felt like confessing that no, she was not alright, that in fact she was going certifiably crazy. Instead she hedged and said, “I’ll be better when I figure out why I think Margo is lying.”

“You actually think she is making the story up?”

“I do. That’s exactly what I think.” She thought back to her conversation with Michael Contento at his vineyard. He had grown upset with her, had told her to pack up her bags and go back to Mission Beach. His anger had flared because she had told him …

She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it Miles! Margo said Michael did not know Selena had been poisoned, but he did know. He knew because I told him. I told him exactly what I knew about the metoprolol. He was furious, and I had the distinct impression that he was scared as well.”

“Scared for whom, that’s the question? His children?”

“Certainly not Fritz Kohler! Miles, this is it. Michael told Margo something, but it wasn’t about Kohler, I just know it.” She rose and put her salad bowl in the sink. “I’m going over there right now to talk to Margo. I’m going to make her tell me the truth.”

Miles exhaled. “Listen to me, Darby. Don’t put yourself in danger.”

Darby didn’t reply. She was already headed out the door and into her sports car.

———

The sky was taking on a more somber note as Darby parked her Karmann Ghia in the Contento Vineyards’ lot and strode to the front door of the farmhouse. Calling Margo was out of the question. Darby needed to see her face to face and find out why she had lied.

“Come in!” A male voice rang out as Darby entered the farmhouse. She heard it call out again. “I’m in the kitchen!”

Darby crossed the hallway and walked through the vineyard’s spacious dining room. The scent of sage perfumed the air, mingled with a hint of garlic. Darby entered the Contentos’ gourmet kitchen.

The space was brightly lit, reflections shining off the copper bottomed pots and pans hanging over the island where Tim Contento worked. His back was to Darby but she could see a large pot simmering on the stove, the source of the delicious smells.

Tim turned slowly, his bald head shiny in the light, and smiled. In his hands were two gleaming butcher knives.

“What brings you here?” he asked. Methodically he began stroking
one knife against the other in a rhythmic motion.

“Margo,” she stammered. “I’m looking for Margo.”

The muscles in Tim’s arms bulged as he sharpened the knives.

“Huh. She’s feeling kind of nostalgic tonight. Off on a goodbye visit to the old cave. You know where it is? The one Vincenzo built a hundred years ago? She’s probably still there.”