A Saucy Murder: A Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mystery (24 page)

The oysters were delicious. The champagne even better. In fact, Emma had never tasted such delicious champagne. It was so good, Emma wondered if it really was the taste. Or just that she felt like celebrating her brilliant idea.

Before Emma knew it, it was time to rush across the street to the Opera House. In her excitement, she almost forgot. They needed to get to their seats early. Right before the curtain rose, Clare Blumberg, City Opera’s Director, would announce the creation of the Baxter and Alexandra Buchanon Russian Arts Archive in memory of Natasha Vasiliev.

Jack and Emma had just taken their seats when Clare, Barry and Lexie appeared on the Opera House stage. Then Clare announced the breathtaking donation.  Each year, the Baxter and Alexandra Buchanon Russian Arts Archive would fund a new production of one of the Russian opera classics. At the end of each cycle, the foundation would commission a new work by a contemporary Russian composer. All this, Clare announced, was dedicated to the memory of their dear friend and highly gifted soprano, the late Natasha Vasiliev.  

At that point an image of Natasha was projected onto a large screen behind Clare and the Buchanons. Then Barry took the microphone from Clare and invited Natasha’s twin sister, Vera Vasiliev, to join them on stage. Sitting in the third row of the orchestra section, Emma saw all that transpired in vivid detail.

Clare, the director, looked striking in a long black silk suit accessorized with humongous South Sea pearls. Barry looked OK, but old, in his black tuxedo. Lexie, in contrast, looked stunning and trendy in a shell pink taffeta floor length strapless gown. Its tight bodice shimmered with row upon row of cut glass crystal beads and seed pearls. The papers later reported that it was a Gaultier couture.

In the end, however, it was Vera who stole the show. Emma could not imagine how she’d done it. Was it the hair, the makeup?  Or just the jeweled choker hiding her fat ugly neck?  She looked gorgeous. She commanded the stage like a star. Not exactly her sister’s star. The twins simply weren’t
that
identical. But, once on stage, some form of magic transformed the horsey nose, the too large mouth, into a face that was handsome. Certainly remarkable. And on Vera’s great figure, Natasha’s green silk dress with the plunging neckline fit like a glove.

Barry’s speech about Vera’s selfless dedication to her sister’s career, brought tears to many eyes. And to Vera’s as well. It was her moment of glory after so much hard work in her sister’s beautiful shadow.

All in all, the entire ceremony lasted less than ten minutes. Then Massimo, the conductor strode to the podium amid loud applause. The orchestra began the overture. And the curtain rose on Verdi’s
Il Trovatore
. The story of a gypsy scapegoat, a mother’s deadly mistake, and star-crossed lovers who meet a tragic end.

Once the singing started however, Emma had to admit that Chiara, the understudy, simply could not fill Natasha Vasiliev’s big Russian boots as the heroine, Leonora. Most of the time Chiara’s singing was fine. But the understudy’s first act aria, delivered flat on her back in the middle of the stage, simply didn’t project. Massimo should have restaged it. Of course, Emma thought, Chiara probably sang the difficult aria perfectly in the maestro’s bed.

The mezzo soprano in the Roma role, however, stopped the show. At the intermission, the applause for Azucena, the gypsy, continued a full five minutes.

When they stopped clapping, Jack guided Emma into the aisle and upstairs to the Allegro lounge for more champagne. There they shook hands with the usual suspects. Mostly well-heeled seniors with a smattering of trophy wives.

And once or twice they even encountered a member of the young set. Like Julie and Piers. Piers looked handsome in his tux. To Emma’s delight, Julie looked adorable in a black velveteen beaded Prada gown.

Emma and Jack had just returned to their seats for the third act, when Emma caught sight of Vera Vasiliev hanging on Sacha Kuragin’s arm. Once again, the ugly twin looked radiant.

When the curtain dropped on the final act of
Il Trovatore
, Emma noted that the audience’s response was tepid. Emma wasn’t surprised. Even the rousing Anvil Chorus had sounded blah. Only the gypsy got a standing ovation, accompanied by shouts of “
bravo
” and “
bravissimo
” from those who didn’t speak Italian. And “
brava
” and “
bravissima
” from those who did like Jack. All this for the poor Roma who threw her own infant into a raging bonfire, instead of the Count’s kidnapped son.

Jack left the Opera House shaking his head.

“I’m tellin’ you,” he said as he and Emma walked to the restaurant. “The music moves me to tears, but the plots are just plain goofy. Like I’m gonna believe this loving mother
threw her own baby into a bonfire by mistake?  Gimme a break!”  He added, “It does, however, make me feel better about my own parenting. I may have worked too hard; but I didn’t toss my kid into a campfire by mistake, or even on purpose. And she turned out well, too.”

“Where does your daughter live?” Emma asked. Jack rarely mentioned her.

“In Palo Alto. She’s a hematologist. She runs her own lab at Stanford,” Jack added with pride, even though Emma hadn’t asked what his daughter did. “Cara is the reason I moved to California. After her mother died, she didn’t want me living so far away. She’s the one who suggested Blissburg. Close, but not too close. You know what I mean?  I spend one night a week with her and her family at their place in Palo Alto. To be with the grandsons. And they have a weekend place in Calistoga, not so far away from where I live. It’s worked out fine.”

He seemed to remember something. “By the way, what’s that little surprise you’re planning?  As I told you, Emma, I don’t like surprises.”

“Don’t worry,” Emma replied. “It’s not about you.”

They had reached the restaurant. Vince met them at the door and ushered them into the private room set up for the party. Jack found their table while Emma checked out the seating arrangements.

When she sat down, Jack repeated his question. “So, about that surprise?”

Emma leaned over and whispered something in Jack’s ear.

When she finished his eyes got big. “You’re crazy, Emma,” he said. “Besides, it must have cost a fortune.” 

Emma swatted his concerns away with her hand. “Don’t worry. If they didn’t do it, they’ll eat it. If they did, they won’t. And I will have found the killer.”

Jack shook his finger at her. “And if they
all
eat it, you just lost yourself a chunk of money and a big hunk of caviar.”

“Beluga caviar,” Emma corrected him.

“Tell ya what,” he added. “If this crazy plan of yours works, I’ll pick up the tab.”

“Deal.”  Emma stuck out her hand noting that, despite his well publicized hatred of gambling, Jack was clearly a betting man.

While they were talking, the room suddenly filled with people bumping into each other trying to find their chairs. When the commotion died down, Jack looked around their table. It had ten places. Julie and Piers sat to Jack’s right, next to Chiara, the understudy and Massimo, the conductor. Next to them sat Puss Carleton and her date, a distinguished white haired man with a southern drawl. Between them and Emma, seated to her left, was an older couple who introduced themselves as Friends of Barry. Emma sat next to Jack, on his left.

Emma studied the rest of the tables in the room. All of
her
suspects were seated at the next table.

Jack focused his eyes on Chiara. He leaned sideways to whisper in Emma’s ear. “I’ve sighted target number one. Over.”  

“Roger,” Emma answered. She stared over his shoulder at the adjoining table. “I have targets two, three and four clearly in view.”

Finally everyone was seated. Seconds later Emma saw Vince walk toward them carrying two small plates of food. He was followed by another waiter who also carried two plates in his hands. They wove their way around the tables. First, Vince stopped at Emma’s table and set one of the appetizer plates in front of Chiara. She stared at it. Something was written on a small card that Vince delivered along with the plate. She bent down to read it.

Meanwhile, Vince and the waiter delivered the three remaining plates of caviar blinis to Lexie, Barry and Vera at the adjoining table.

Emma held her breath, waiting to see what happened next.

Jack kept his eyes on Chiara.

As Jack later told Emma, Chiara giggled when she read the note. She showed it to Massimo. He shook his head. Then the two of them fed each other the blinis.

At the adjoining table, Lexie and Barry read their notes. They briefly looked around their table to see who their secret admirer was, looked at each other, and dove into the blinis.

Which left Vera.

Emma watched the twin’s face. Unlike the other blini recipients, her face froze when she saw the blinis. Then she studied the message. Emma repeated its contents silently in her head.

“Hope you like the Beluga blinis. They’re just like the ones you served last Friday night. Enjoy!”

Emma held her breath wondering what Vera would do.

All around them, other party goers were getting restless. Wondering why their appetizers hadn’t come too. Somebody at the adjoining table yelled, “Why don’t I get caviar blinis?”

Emma continued to watch Vera. Her initial expression slowly dissolved. First in confusion. Then into panic. She looked down at the blinis. She looked back at the note.

Finally, Sacha, sitting next to her, reached over and grabbed one of the blinis off Vera’s plate.

“If you’re not going to eat this, darling, then I will,” he said, and started to put the blini into his mouth.

That’s when Vera came unstuck. With one strong stroke, she dashed the blini out of his hand. It flew across the table and landed in Lexie’s wine glass. Then Vera stood up.

“Stop her!” Emma cried. She was sure Vera would try to run away.

Jack rose from the table.

Vera looked up when she heard Emma’s voice. At the same time, Emma saw her remove something from her jeweled clutch. It wasn’t a blini.

That’s when Vera screamed.

“It’s you,” she cried, pointing at Emma. “I knew you knew. I saw it in your eyes this morning when you spotted the cupcake!” 

Vera’s face contorted in an obscene leer. She ran forward and lunged at Emma.

Still seated, Emma watched all this happen in what looked like slow motion. And she said to herself. Wow!  This
is
the Big D. This is what it looks like. Then she felt something prick her sweater followed by a sharp pain in her shoulder.

After that, the action sped up. Emma saw Jack slam into Vera, driving his shoulder, upper arm, hip and elbow smack into her and pinning her to the table. It was an awesome body check. Vera crumpled slowly to the floor, still holding the bloody stiletto.

“Mamma, Papa, forgive me,” she sobbed. “It was a mistake. It was all a terrible mistake. Please believe me. I meant for Lexie to eat the poisoned blini. So our beautiful songbird could marry her rich lover, Barry. And I,” she held her arms out and sobbed louder, “could finally have my beloved Sacha. But Natasha ate the poison instead.”

Seated to Emma’s right, the Friends of Barry watched stunned.

“My goodness, Harold,” the woman exclaimed. Her hand still clutched her chest. “It’s urban theater. A takeoff on the mix up when the gypsy in the opera threw her son into the bonfire by mistake. Wow!  They really had me going for a minute.” 

Then she saw blood dripping from under Emma’s torn cashmere sweater and let out a scream. “Oh my gosh, Harold. That woman’s bleeding. It’s not urban theater. It’s real. It’s real blood. And it’s dripping all over that beautiful Ralph Lauren skirt she’s wearing.” 

By then, five policemen had appeared out of nowhere. As they dragged Vera away, she cried, “Sacha. Say you’ll still love me. Please say you will.”

But Sacha didn’t answer. He had grabbed the rest of her blinis and crawled under the table.

A doctor, dressed in a tux, also materialized. “Let me through. Let me through,” he cried.

But before attending to Emma’s wound, he turned to Jack. “You’re Russo, the forward, aren’t you?  You were on the Olympic Hockey Team?  That was some body check!” he exclaimed. “Totally illegal, of course. But hey,” he pointed to Emma, “you just saved this lucky lady’s life. Another second and she’d have been done for.”  He reached out to shake Jack’s hand. “It’s a privilege.”

Emma figured she must have passed out then. The next thing she remembered she was lying in an ambulance. Julie hovered over her, holding her hand.

When Emma woke up the next morning, there was a party going on in her hospital room. Julie entered bearing a huge bouquet of flowers. Emma noted that her room was already full of them. Piers, Jack and Barry talked to Sergio while stuffing their mouths from a large platter of food on her nightstand. Barbara, the receptionist, stood in a corner deep in conversation with the police chief’s wife and one of the Walkie-Talkies. Andy, her ex, flirted with Lexie over what looked like a glass of champagne. Steve from the free legal services clinic and Dexter, the
pro bono
lawyer, were there with Carmen and Tonio.

Carmen was the first to notice that Emma had awakened. She slipped over to stand by Emma’s bed.

“Emma,” she said taking Emma’s hand and squeezing it. “Why did I ever doubt you?  I said to Tonio, what kind of psychic am I who didn’t even recognize a saint when I saw one?”  She nodded her head vigorously. “It’s a crisis for me, you know. Of confidence. I need counseling. I hope it’s covered on that Obamacare you guys got for me.” She laughed. “Emma, I couldn’t believe it. Last night, when the guard came to my cell and said I could go home. Steve…”

She turned to look at him. He’d also seen that Emma was awake and approached the bed.

“Steve,” she continued. “He came to the jail late at night. To get us out right away. I am so grateful.” She took Steve’s hand too. “Grateful to both of you.”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. It’s Emma’s doing. She gets
all
the credit for this one. Emma,” he addressed her directly now. “I owe you an apology. Vera Vasiliev confessed everything last night in a signed statement at the police station after her arrest.” 

Carmen smiled at Emma. “That’s how we got out so fast.” 

Steve continued, “It turns out she was obsessed with Sacha Kuragin, her twin sister’s lover. Vera believed that if Natasha married Buchanon, then Sacha would take her as his lover instead. Because she and Natasha were identical. Identical twins.” 

Emma nodded. “Poor Vera. She never understood why everyone, probably including her parents, loved Natasha more.” 

“But Vera had to kill Lexie Buchanon so Natasha could marry Barry,” Steve explained. “She figured out how to do it the night she and Natasha dined at the Buchanons’ home. Natasha saw the Thiebaud painting and called it Rasputin’s Cupcake. That’s what gave Vera the idea to poison Lexie with the Beluga caviar Lexie loved.”

“Instead of with a poisoned cupcake,” Emma added. “Because cooking the cupcake vaporized the poison, and that wouldn’t happen with the caviar blini.”

“Exactly,” Steve continued. “So Vera bought some poison, mixed it with some Beluga caviar and stuffed the caviar in some blinis. Then she gave Lexie a plate of the poisoned blinis as an hors d’oeuvre at the party.”

Emma nodded. She remembered that. “But Lexie put the plate down,” she added.

“Right,” Steve continued. “Kuragin bumped into Lexie who spilled red wine on her dress.”

“And Lexie went back to the house to try to get the stains out.” Emma continued. “Leaving the blinis on the auction table. I’m sure glad I didn’t eat those blinis.”

Steve nodded. “But Natasha did.”

“Then Barry found Natasha dead out in the vineyard where the poor girl probably went to get some air,” Emma concluded.

Steve nodded again. “Vera said in her confession that she suggested hiring the fortune teller for the party so she could frame the ‘gypsy’ for Lexie’s murder. She stated that in Russia it’s done all the time. So when she found Natasha’s body in the vineyard she removed the ring, before she announced over the microphone that Natasha was missing. Later she snuck into the Buchanons’ house and stole a few more items to frame the Roma with. She planted the ring in Carmen’s tarot basket the morning after the murder. When she visited Carmen and asked her to tell her fortune.”

“Stealing the painting of the cupcake was her big mistake,” Emma said.

Steve agreed. “As often happens, the killer went too far. See, Vera took Rasputin’s Cupcake for herself. Or, as she put it, in honor of Natasha. Vera claimed Barry Buchanon promised the painting to Natasha, but reneged when his wife threw a fit. So Vera stole the painting to avenge the sister she’d killed. And that’s what tipped you off. Rasputin’s Cupcake was Vera’s undoing.”  Steve pointed to Emma. “And you figured it out. Good going!”  Steve gave her a painful high five. “Your hunch was right on the money. And I was too focused on details to see it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma said, looking up at him from where her head still rested on a pillow. “You were only doing what you were trained to do. You were being a lawyer.”

Steve nodded. “Right. I was being a jerk.” He squeezed her hand and said goodbye.

Emma tried to sit up. She felt good except for the sharp pain when she moved her shoulder. “Can someone help me raise this bed?” she asked.

Six people rushed to her bedside, but Julie got to the control panel first.

“Thanks,” Emma said. She motioned Julie closer. “By the way, am I OK?” she asked. “What actually happened last night?”

Julie smiled and kissed her mother’s forehead. “You’re fine, Mom. We’re bringing you home this afternoon. You got a puncture wound in your shoulder. From Vera’s stiletto. It’s small. We just need to make sure it doesn’t get infected. The doctor called you a tough old bird.”

“Thanks!” Emma sighed.

Julie laughed. “He meant it in a good way,” she said.

Emma wondered what that was.

“The stiletto didn’t penetrate your shoulder very far,” Julie explained. “Because of Jack. He knocked Vera down before she could get close enough to you to do real damage.”  She nodded solemnly. “Jack Russo saved your life, Mom.” 

Then she thought of something and laughed. “The doctor also said something about that sweater you were wearing. The cashmere and chain mail blend? At least, I think that’s what the tag said.”

Thank you, Ralph Lauren, Emma thought to herself. Expensive but worth every penny.

Julie frowned. “I’m afraid the sweater’s ruined. They cut you out of it in the ER. And the skirt, too. Blood stains are hard to get out of silk chiffon. But, I have to say, the photos of you in the papers are gorgeous. There’s a big one of you being carried to the ambulance on the front page of the Chronicle. The reporter who writes the social column actually tracked down the designer of your outfit and mentioned it in the column.”

“Not exactly the way I wanted to make the society column,” Emma shrugged. “But as they say, no publicity is bad publicity”

A puzzled look crossed Julie’s face. “What was going on with your toenails, Mom?” she asked. “Did Jackson Pollock have a blue phase?  Your toenails looked gross. Thank goodness you could hardly see them in the photograph.”

Just then, Andy, her ex, interrupted them with a big, painful hug. Emma finally realized the poor man just couldn’t help himself. He was like an Act of God.

“Emma, you look great,” he said before turning to Julie. “Doesn’t your mother look great?  Even in a hospital gown. I told her the same thing the day she gave birth to you. Right after I saw your little hairy head come out of your mother’s…”

“TMI, Dad!  TMI!” Julie interrupted him, cringing.

“What?”  Andy threw his hands up. “What did I say?”

In what could only be termed an intervention, Sergio made his way to the bedside. He looked over his shoulder and started to whisper.

What? Emma thought. Is he
still
paranoid?

“Em-ma,” he said. “You won’t believe what’s happened. I started talking to Jack Russo, a few minutes ago, while you were asleep.”

Emma nodded. “You mean that arrogant Sicilian
cafone
boor who probably saved my life?”

Sergio’s face fell. He slapped his open hands on his cheeks. “Em-ma,” he said. “Don’t talk that way. He’s
simpatico
, nice-
issimo
. He’s a wonderful man. While we were talking, it slipped out that my father’s Sicilian. Actually he recognized the southern surname. Anyway, Jack is willing to come in as a new investor. To pay off my debts, in return for a share in the restaurant.”  Sergio waved his upturned palms in tight circles. “Of course, I have to agree to do a Sicily night. Once a month.”  He sighed. “Not such a big deal. Right?”

Emma nodded. “Sounds like fun.”

“Anyway,” Sergio continued. “I have more good news. Little Pete’s wants to sell your frozen
salsa di pomodoro
. And, you’re really gonna like this, I got a call from the Chronicle early this morning. They saw that blog I wrote about your cooking. When I was promoting your cookbook at my restaurant. By the way,” he added hurriedly, “I still am. Promoting it. Well, they want to do an article on you in their cooking section. On your book. They think it’ll be a best seller after all this publicity.”  Sergio shook his head. “What you did was amazing, Em-ma.”

As if on cue, the police chief’s wife and Emma’s walking mate with the Walkie-Talkies rushed to Emma’s bedside.

“The chief sent me to convey his appreciation, Emma,” she said. “You were such a big help solving the case. Of course, he wanted me to assure you that the department was already closing in on Vera. They just didn’t have enough evidence yet to make an arrest.”

Closing in?  My eye, Emma thought. “Yeah,” she said. “That confession Vera made pinned to the table at the restaurant last night must have helped.”

“A little,” the police chief’s wife nodded. She laughed and swatted her hand at Emma. “Silly. Of course it did.”

Then Emma remembered something. “How
did
the police show up so fast?” she asked.

Dexter Young, the
pro bono
lawyer, stood beside the police chief’s wife. He was dressed, predictably, in his blue pin striped suit, starched custom shirt and Hermes tie. The one with the chickens and the eggs.

“
I
got them there,” he announced. “After you left the clinic yesterday, I decided to do some research on my own. About the missing Thiebaud. I got hold of Buchanons’ police report regarding the theft; and determined exactly which cupcake the Buchanons had purchased. Your description of what you saw in Vera’s bedroom fit the description in the police report perfectly. As you suspected Emma, that particular painting
was
unique. Thiebaud only did one, and it stayed in the hands of a private collector until Barry bought it. So there wasn’t any question of Vera finding a print, or museum reproduction. There simply weren’t any.” 

“When I called Barry,” he continued, “he confirmed that he bought the painting directly from the private collector. Barry also assured me that Lexie hadn’t hidden the painting. And he swore that he didn’t give it to Natasha himself. After that, I was pretty darned certain that the painting really was stolen. And based on your description, there was reasonable cause to believe that the stolen painting – which is worth
a frickin’ huge amount of money
I might add – was in the bedroom of Vera Vasiliev’s townhouse.”

“Based on Vera’s knowing you’d seen it, Emma,” he added, “I was also pretty sure the painting was in danger of disappearing if we delayed.  Judge Kennedy, my golf buddy, thought so. Turns out
he
has a Thiebaud too. The Boston Cremes lithograph from the ‘70s. I’d love to get my hands on one of those. He issued a search warrant and made sure the police got over to Vera Vasiliev’s townhouse double quick. The property manager let the police in.” Dex rocked his hand back and forth and winced. “Probably shouldn’t have done that but, since she voluntarily confessed to the murder, it probably doesn’t matter.” 

Boy, Emma thought. This guy really likes to hear himself talk.

“The point is,” Dexter concluded, “they found the stolen painting valued at I don’t know how many hundreds of thousands of dollars, and sent the police to arrest Vera for grand theft as soon as she left the restaurant last night. Of course, they didn’t have to wait because of you, Emma.” 

He smiled. “All of which is just a long way of saying thanks!”  Dexter checked his watch. “Whoops. Gonna be late for that settlement conference. In another matter, of course.”  That said, he turned and walked out the door.

The crowd in the room had started to thin. Emma had talked to almost everyone. Finally, it was Lexie and Barry Buchanon’s turn. They stood together at her bedside to convey their thanks, as well. Barry spoke first.

“Emma,” he said. “I can’t begin to thank you enough. Or to convey how much we owe you. Especially considering the way I behaved at first. The things I said about you, about your sauce.”  He shook his head. “I’m ashamed. So, first of all, though I doubt you will need more publicity, we have already ordered your book,
Dining with the Stars
, to sell in the Buchanon Vineyards’ gift store.” 

“And second,” he continued, “Lexie and I,” he reached out to grab his wife’s hand, “are commissioning a new cookbook from you that features food pairings with our wines.”  Barry smiled. Emma could almost see him buffing his fingernails on his chest. “I’ve already thought of a title.”  He paused for effect. “We’ll call it
What a Pair!
  Good, huh!  I talked to our winery’s publisher about it already. He thinks it’s brilliant.”