A Saucy Murder: A Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mystery (22 page)

Emma’s head started pounding. Steve was right. It was
all
possible. So why was she so sure none of it was true?  Why was she so sure that Vera, for no reasonable reason she could think of, killed her twin sister whom she obviously loved. Was she crazy?

“Sure, Steve,” she nodded. “It’s all possible.”

Steve turned his back to her and walked to his desk. Like a lawyer who has just demolished a witness’s testimony on cross examination. She almost expected him to add, “No more questions, your honor.”

But that didn’t happen. Because they weren’t through questioning her. It was Dex’s turn. They were playing good cop, bad cop. Dexter resumed questioning her in a gentler tone.

“Now Emma,” he began with the kind of smile some male gynecologists use when they are about to begin an exam. “Even assuming the painting was worth killing someone for, it wasn’t Natasha’s painting. It was Alexandra Buchanon’s. So, what was the point of killing Natasha?  Where’s the connection between the painting and Natasha Vasiliev’s death?”

Emma said nothing. The fact was, she didn’t know. 

Dexter continued. “And didn’t you say that, despite the Buchanons’ united front the night of your visit with them, last night to be exact, when they discovered the painting was missing you sensed mistrust between them?  Mistrust with regard to the whereabouts of the painting?”

Emma kicked herself for mentioning that. She knew exactly where Dexter was going with the question. In fact, she’d thought of it herself.

She nodded. Then she said, “Yes,” even though there was no court reporter there to take it down.

“So,” Dexter continued in a very congenial voice. “It’s also possible that Baxter Buchanon, himself,
gave
the painting to Natasha. Just as you believe his wife, Alexandra Buchanon, suspected. Isn’t it?  Possible?”

Emma nodded. This time she didn’t bother to answer out loud.

“Isn’t it even possible,” Dexter added, “that Natasha loved the painting
so
much that Natasha, or Vera, purchased a small Thiebaud painting?  After all, Natasha was finally making a lot of money. It is possible – I’m just saying possible – that she had enough to purchase it. Or perhaps, as Steve suggested, one of them purchased a print of it at the museum store. So isn’t it possible that the painting in Vera’s bedroom wasn’t stolen at all?  All we’re saying is that all of this is possible, Emma,” he concluded. “Isn’t it?”

Emma nodded her head again. She was devastated. She decided it was time to go. But she added one more thing as she was leaving. “I agree that everything you said is possible.”  She looked at both Dexter and Steve when she said that. Then she turned to Dexter. “But I’ll tell you one thing. If what
you
said is true, then, more likely than not, Vera lied when she told me she bought the picture at the Blissburg Arts Fair. And,” she added, “if what you said was true, and Vera had nothing to hide, then why did she push me out of that bedroom so fast?”

Without waiting for an answer, Emma moved towards the door. As she opened it, Dexter called after her.

“Just for the record, Emma,” he asked, “what exactly did the painting you saw in Vera’s bedroom look like?” 

“It was a square painting,” Emma answered, closing her eyes to bring the memory back into focus. “It had a whipped creamy background and in the middle was one lone, solitary, cupcake. It looked like vanilla. Or maybe the cupcake was in a white paper holder. And it had pale pink frosting with a red cherry on top.”

Emma didn’t wait for him to reply before racing out the door.

Once inside her car, Emma burst into tears. She felt stupid. Humiliated! Steve and Dexter had torn her theory to shreds.

Was she right about Vera, she wondered? Emma didn’t know anymore. What Steve said was true. It was just a hunch. A hunch based on what, Emma asked herself? On how easily Vera flew into a rage? First at the restaurant when she attacked Lexie. Later, that morning with Sacha on the phone.

And what about the painting? Emma was
sure
Vera stole it because Vera lied to Emma about where she got the painting, and pushed Emma out the door after Emma noticed it. Nonetheless, Emma had to admit, there was no proof. Nothing that tied Vera and the stolen painting to her sister’s death. It was all just a hunch.

Why, she now asked herself, hadn’t she anticipated Steve’s arguments? Why hadn’t she simply reported the fact of the missing painting, along with the fact that she’d seen a similar one in Vera’s bedroom. Then Steve and Dexter, who were clearly so brilliant, could have connected the dots themselves. Or not. At least she wouldn’t have let them humiliate her.

Worst of all, Emma wondered why she completely forgot to ask Vera about her meeting with Carmen the morning after the murder.
That
had been the whole reason Emma arranged to visit Vera.

She started to change lanes and caught a glimpse of her face in the rear view mirror. Old was written all over it. Is that why she forgot, Emma asked herself as the Big D grinned back at her? Was she losing her memory? After all, she was sixty-five years
old
.

Emma glanced at the clock on the dashboard. There was just enough time to squeeze in the visit with Carmen in jail. Before going home to dress for the opera. Maybe, she consoled herself, she’d find some answers about Vera’s early morning visit to Carmen. Answers she forgot to get when she visited Vera earlier that day.

As for the opera, Emma realized that she really didn’t want to go to Opening Night anymore. Just about everyone at Opening Night was old. She’d call Jack and cancel. One of the Walkie/Talkies would be thrilled to take her place. She even assured herself she could return the new skirt and top. For an enormous store credit at the Ralph Lauren outlet. Enough to keep her in sweatpants and T-shirts for rest of her life.

Emma knew that the sooner she called Jack the better. She pulled her car off the road, located his number on her phone, and hit the talk button. Her call went straight into his voice mail. Bailing on a recording sounded rude. She decided to call him back later.

Meanwhile, she also realized that she was hungry. She hadn’t had breakfast. And she certainly wasn’t touching Vera’s cookie that she’d slipped into her purse. There was nothing to eat at home. When Emma saw the Claud’s Bakery sign up ahead, she pulled into a parking space, got out of her car and went in. It was still pouring rain. After
her
morning, she deserved some good food.

Emma had barely stepped in the door, when someone called her name. It was Jack, seated at a table reading the paper.

“Hi. Come join me,” he said loud enough for a few patrons to stare at him.

Under the circumstances, she could not refuse.

She walked over to his table and sat down. It would be harder to blow him off in person; but it was what she had to do. She decided to get it over with quickly.

“Jack, I got something to tell you,” she began after ordering a bowl of tomato soup and some whole grain bread.

He interrupted her. His face looked genuinely concerned. “Something wrong, Emma?  You looked down when you walked in. Otherwise, I might not even have bothered you. Everything OK?”

Tears suddenly sprang into Emma’s eyes. She couldn’t stop them. All she could do was root in her purse for a tissue.

Jack squirmed in his chair. Clearly, Emma thought, women’s tears made this man nervous.

“Please don’t cry, Emma.”  He pleaded. “I hate it when women cry. It reminds me of my mother. Whatever it is, can you talk about it, maybe? 
Instead
of crying?  I’m a good listener. I promise.”

That’s when Emma started talking. Her soup had arrived. She talked between spoonfuls of the delicious creamy bisque. She told Jack about the legal clinic, about Sergio, about her conversations with Julie, about meeting with the Buchanons, about seeing Vera that morning, and finally about her cross-examination by Dexter and Steve.

When she finally finished her story, Jack shook his head. He hadn’t interrupted her once the whole time she was speaking.

“First of all, Emma,” he said. “You know I hate lawyers. They’re parasites, going all the way back to the Canterbury Tales.”

Suddenly Emma wondered what this guy read for fun. First it was Greek Choruses. Now the Canterbury Tales.

But Jack had covered his face with his hands. “Oh no!  I’m sorry, Emma.” 

Emma looked at him puzzled.

“Your son-in-law’s a lawyer,” Jack exclaimed. “And he’s no parasite. He’s terrific. He does great work.” Jack leaned back in his chair and continued. “That said, however, it is a fact. Lawyers
are
parasites, vultures living off other people’s financial and emotional wreckage. Road kill. My point is, talking to Steve-whoever-he-is and Dexter Dershowitz, what did you expect?  Lawyers are trained to tear other people to shreds. At least,” he smiled, “that’s what I pay
my
lawyers to do, when I can’t be bothered doing it myself. So, these two jerks did what they do. That doesn’t mean they’re right about everything they said.”

Here Jack paused. He bit his bottom lip, and tilted his head slowly from side to side as though considering something.

“See, Emma,” he shrugged. “The problem is,
you
know they got a point. A point that, in all honesty, they have to point out. Or they wouldn’t be doin’ their job. There just
are
a lotta reasons that Vera Vasiliev could have that painting in her bedroom. You know that. And, face it, there are a lotta reasons you could be wrong about what you saw. You never actually saw Barry’s painting, did you?  You can’t say for sure that it’s even the same one.”

Emma’s face fell. Another jerk was ripping her to shreds.

“Moreover,” Jack continued. “You know and I know. Even if Vera Vasiliev
did
steal Barry’s painting, one stolen cupcake doth not a murderess make.”

Emma nodded.

“That said,” Jack shrugged, “
you
seem to know in your gut that it’s the same painting. Right?”  He didn’t wait for her to reply. “And for whatever reason,
you
believe in your gut that Vera killed her sister. You don’t know why she did it, but
you know
she did. Well,” he shook a hairy finger at her, “here’s what I’d do. You’re a smart lady. Go with your gut!  Let the lawyers worry about the details. It’s what they get paid to do.” 

Then, without skipping a beat, he added, “Now, what time can I pick you up tonight?  Is 5:00 OK?  I made us a reservation. Same deal. Appetizers and wine at Jardin. Dinner after the opera at that donors thing.”  He nodded encouragingly. “Sound good?

In spite of herself, Emma nodded. “OK.” 

When Emma left Claud’s, it was 2:00 p.m. She realized there wasn’t much time to squeeze in a visit to Carmen. But she’d promised herself. She would visit Carmen in jail and find out what happened during Vera’s early morning call.

The women’s prison was a good half hour drive from Blissburg. Longer in the pouring rain. Emma stepped on the gas, but it was almost 3:00 by the time she arrived at the jail.

Arranging for a visit with an inmate turned out not to be simple. First there was paperwork. Then a long wait while the administrator found Carmen and determined whether she agreed. He finally located her in the exercise room. Then Carmen had to sign some papers. It was after 4:00 by the time Emma sat down in front of a glass window facing Carmen on the other side. They talked using two black phones. Before she even started the interview, a guard informed Emma she had fifteen minutes. She’d better get to her point fast.

The first thing Emma noticed was that Carman had lost weight. To make matters worse, she began to cry the minute she saw Emma.

“Emma,” she said when she had composed herself and picked up the phone. “I’m so sorry.”  She shook her hanging head from side to side. “I know now I was wrong to blame you. You did nothing but try to help. Please, accept my deepest apology.”

Emma tried to stop her. Precious minutes were ticking away. But for some reason, Carmen only wanted to relive that terrible moment when she called a curse down on Emma’s head, and labeled her a traitor in front of a couple of dozen photographers and newsmen.

“How could I do that to you?” Carmen asked. “You, who are my friend. Steve explained everything to me. How you were so careful to keep my secret. How you never even told him.”  Then she added, “By the way, Emma. That curse I called down on you?  Don’t worry. I’ve made sure. It’s all reversed.” 

Carmen spoke as though reversing a curse were as easy as reversing duplicate charges on your MasterCard.

“Let me see your palm?” Carmen added. “Hold it up to the glass.”

Emma shook her head. “Everything’s fine, Carmen. Don’t worry about it.”  Once again she checked her watch. The fifteen minutes were already half gone. “There are just a few questions I want you to answer. As best as you can recall.” 

That’s when Emma asked Carmen about her visit from Vera.

Carmen began her story. She described how, early on the morning after Natasha’s death, Carmen and Tonio were awakened by a knock on the door of their trailer.

“We’d had a bad night,” Carmen explained. “Tonio and I had seen the old man holding the dead singer’s body under the olive tree.”

“You mean Tonio returned to the vineyard with you?” Emma interrupted. She didn’t remember Carmen telling her that before. “When you saw Barry with Natasha’s body, Tonio was there?”

“Yeah,” Carmen shrugged her shoulders. “He drove me. Back to the vineyard.”

Emma didn’t like the sound of that; but she motioned Carmen to continue.

“After we got back,” Carmen said, “we couldn’t get to sleep. Tonio was worried we’d get framed for the murder. The death or whatever it was. Just like my other husband was framed. Because I was at the party. Anyway, when we heard the knocking we were still in bed. I answered the door and it was the ugly twin. She said she needed help. I told her I was tired. All my psychic energy was gone. Then I tried to get her to leave, but the ugly twin wouldn’t go. Finally, I told her to come into the living room. Then, you know what she said?”

Emma shook her head.

“She said that whoever the killer was, he was after her next. She was the twin. They were identical. Interchangeable. Whoever wanted Natasha dead, wanted her dead too. That’s what she said. Which was strange. Because the ugly twin and the beautiful singer obviously aren’t identical. One so ugly; the other so beautiful. Then, she begged me to read her cards. So she’d know what her future was. I told her, honey, the cards don’t work that way. I wouldn’t be living in a trailer if they did.”  Carmen rolled her eyes at Emma.

“But in my office last Saturday, you did say the cards told you Natasha would be murdered, right?” Emma asked.

Carmen seemed to squirm. “Sure. Earlier that night, something gave me a bad feeling. What can I say?  When I held the beautiful singer’s hand and felt that big ring.”

“You noticed the ring?” Emma asked. This wasn’t good.

Carmen nodded. “Of course I noticed the ring. How could I not notice?  It was so big. And I’m a psychic. I get feelings about things. When I felt that ring, the feelings I got from it weren’t good. They were bad. But,” she shifted her eyes back and forth like a trapped animal. “I didn’t want to tell you this before, Emma. When I felt that ring, the bad feelings I had were not about Natasha. They were about me.”  She pointed to her chest. “Something bad was going to happen to
me
. That’s why I ran away from the party. And I was right. We got framed for stealing that ring.”

Emma felt her heart sink fast. “So, if you weren’t worried about Natasha, like you said before, why did you and Tonio return later to the vineyard?” Emma asked.

“Because once I got home, I realized that I’d left my basket of cards on the auction table,” Carmen explained. “Tonio and I went back to the party to find it. But we didn’t want to use the front drive. After all, they told me I was supposed to leave at 8:00 p.m. So we came up the back, through the vineyard, so nobody would see us. The garden where I left the basket was deserted. I don’t think anybody saw me. I grabbed the basket and met Tonio back in the vineyard. That’s when we saw the old man with the young singer’s body in his arms.” 

OK,” Emma said, wondering why Carmen’s new story sounded so much worse than before. “What happened next?  In the trailer, I mean. Back in the trailer, the morning after.”

Carmen continued. “The ugly twin insisted she wanted the cards. The cards I’d used the night before with Natasha. The ones Tonio and I went back to get. I got so sick of listening to her, I went to look for them.”