A Saucy Murder: A Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mystery (18 page)

By the time Emma wrote the report for Steve and drove home, it was well past 4:00. She checked her messages.

There was a text from Julie. “Pick u up @ 6:30. Mtg @ BB’s home. LB’ll b there. U o me.”

Emma blessed the day she’d learned how to text. It was the only way, now, to communicate with her busy daughter. She answered, “1 + favor. Need meeting with Vera V. Same xuse – dnation.”

Julie texted back, “Sched massge.”

“NO! Mtg. High importance!”  Emma spelled that out.

“I’ll let u no.”

Emma assumed Julie meant ‘know’ not ‘no.”  She texted back, “VVHI.”

She looked at her watch. There was just enough time to schedule the pedicure before the spa closed. She dialed the Honorage Spa’s number and crossed her fingers that someone would be available.

When Emma explained to the voice on the phone that she needed an appointment that very afternoon, the girl sounded skeptical.

“Wow,” she sighed. “We close at six. It’s been a madhouse here all day. Lotta people going to Opening Night tomorrow. Can I put you on hold?”

There was a long pause. Emma heard laughter and something about a birthday party after work. Then the girl’s voice was back on the line. “You’re in luck. I found you an opening at 5:15. Dolores had a cancellation.”

Emma thought for a moment. Five fifteen. That was barely enough time for her toes to dry before she had to meet Julie. But she had no choice. “OK. I’ll take it,” she said.

“Did you say just pedi, or mani-pedi?” the girl asked. “Pedi’s $35. Mani-pedi’s a better deal. It’s only $50.”

“Make it a mani-pedi,” Emma replied. “A deal’s a deal.”

“OK.”  The girl reviewed the order. “That’s a mani-pedi with Dolores at 5:15. You know where we are?” 

Apparently, she didn’t sound like a regular, Emma thought to herself. “Yeah,” she answered. “I know how to get there.”

“Don’t be late,” the girl cautioned. “It’s Dolores’ last appointment for the day. She likes to be out of here at 6:00.”

“I’ll be on time,” Emma assured her.

In fact, when Emma checked her watch again, it was later than she thought. She dashed out the door and into her car. Traffic was backed up heading north in the direction of the spa. And that day, Honorage’s main parking lot was full. She had to park in overflow.

By the time the greeter opened the glass doors giving entry to the posh spa’s serene, air conditioned, marble foyer, Emma was sweating, out of breath, and two minutes late. The relaxing sound of the foyer’s drop-from-the-ceiling water sculpture, however, immediately put her at ease. She wiped the sweat off her brow and approached the front desk.

“I have an appointment for a mani-pedi with Dolores at 5:15,” she said.

The tall, blond, poker faced receptionist – surely not the same girl Emma had just spoken with on the phone – glanced quickly at the clock behind her, then back at Emma. It was 5:18. Emma couldn’t subdue a surge of gratitude when the woman actually nodded and motioned her into the mani-pedi room.

There she was offered lemon water from a chilled pitcher and a green apple while she waited for Dolores.

Dolores turned out to be a short, dark haired woman who was about Emma’s age, somewhere in her sixties. Emma guessed that, unfortunately, Lexie Buchanon probably hadn’t hung out much with Dolores during her employment at the spa. So it was unlikely that Dolores would have information regarding the murder case. For some reason, however, Emma was relieved to find a contemporary to assist her at the spa that day.

That’s why, when Dolores took Emma to choose a color for her nails, Emma didn’t expect a lot of push back regarding her selections: a pale Pearl Blush for her fingernails and, after lengthy consideration, Flamenco Red for her toes.

Dolores offered Emma a weak smile when Emma handed her the bottles of polish.

“Are you sure?  Dis is so
bor
ing,” Dolores sighed. “Wouldn’t you like something more fun?  More
young
?”  She glanced at Emma’s nails.

They’d grown alarmingly long, Emma noticed with surprise. Except for two she’d bitten down almost to the cuticle.

“If you don’t mind my saying,” Dolores suggested, “it looks like you don’t treat yourself often.”  She added, “Is dis for a special occasion?”

Emma nodded and smiled back, reminding herself that the woman was only trying to be helpful.

“So, if I may ask, what are you wearing?” Dolores continued.

Emma checked her watch. Time was awasting. She had to leave the spa by 6:15 to be home when Julie picked her up for the Buchanon meeting. Emma quickly described the paisley skirt and gold top.

“Opening Night. Right?”  Dolores’ eyes lit up. “A lot of my customers today are going.”  She paused. “Let me make you a little suggestion.”  She lightly touched Emma’s arm. “No pressure, honey. Just see if you like it.” 

Dolores walked back to the case full of polish and selected a turquoise blue. It was, in fact, one of the colors of the new skirt’s paisley print. She handed it to Emma in exchange for the red.

“Keep the finger nails conservative. Pearl Blush is more you,” Dolores explained. “But the toes?”  She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “You gonna take a risk. Go a little
crazy
!”

By then, it was 5:30. Emma just didn’t think she had time to argue about it. “Fine,” she agreed. “Great. I’ll go with the turquoise toes. Thanks.”  But her heart sank. Turquoise toes?  What was she doing?

A few minutes later, however, after a soothing warm cuticle soak, Dolores’ complimentary foot and calf massage began to dispel Emma’s unease. Then, Dolores motioned for a gorgeous young woman named Bing to scoot over on her wheelie stool, to help with the mani.

“Do you mind, Bing?” Dolores asked the willowy, dark haired girl. “Otherwise, I’m gonna be late getting out of here.”

Bing shook her head. “Can you believe it?  My 5:00 arrived early.”  She giggled about that behind her latex-gloved hand.  

The two worked quietly and efficiently. Emma began to relax believing that the timing all might work out. She quickly forgot about Lexie Buchanon.

They were almost done when Bing turned to Dolores. “Did you see Lexie today?  Flower cut her hair. For Opening Night. She and Barry will be up on the stage. They are giving the City Opera a big donation.”

Dolores nodded. “I saw her. It’s in honor of that dead singer. Vera’s sister.”

“The one Barry was bonking?” Bing asked, giggling behind her glove again. “If he were
my
husband,” she continued. Then she made a chopping motion with her right hand aimed somewhere south of her navel. “I’d have cut it off. Like that…what was her name?  The lady who did that?” 

“Bobbitt,” Emma heard herself blurt out the answer. And wondered why that name had stuck in her brain all these years. Sometimes she couldn’t even remember what she’d had for breakfast. “At least, I think her name was Bobbitt,” she added, embarrassed. “Or something like that.”

“Bobbitt?” Bing repeated. She looked up at Emma and giggled behind her glove.

Dolores shook her head. “But not our little Lexie. She would never do that.” She tapped her heart a few times, rapidly. “Alexita’s a saint. I mean it. I wish she was my daughter. I feel like she is. We’ve known each other a
long
time.”

“How long?” Emma asked, more embarrassed at having interjected herself twice into the two women’s conversation.

“Since she first started working here,” Dolores replied. Then she looked up at Emma from her wheelie stool. “I’m sorry. Maybe you think we shouldn’t talk like this. About another customer. But, it’s all good. What we’re saying. I mean, about Lexie Buchanon. She’s had some hard times, poor girl. But she has a heart of gold. I’m gonna tell you something. Maybe, I shouldn’t. What’s your name again?”

“Emma,” Emma answered.

“Well, Emma, when my little daughter, Teresita, was in the hospital for an operation, this rotten sp…,” she bit her lip. “Let’s just say the health insurance plan I had here wouldn’t pay. Dolores nodded grimly. “You know who gave me the money? It was Lexie Buchanon. No questions asked. No strings attached. That’s the kind of person she is. And if I can’t say something good about a customer like that?”  She shook her head. “Well, I don’t care what I can’t say. I’m gonna say it anyway. Alexita’s a saint.”  Then she looked up at Emma again. “Honey, I’m all done. Now come over here and I’ll put the blowers on you.”

Dolores ushered Emma to a different seat where she arranged Emma’s hands on a clean white towel on the counter and her toes on the floor. Both in front of little white heaters that she clicked on to blow hot air onto her nails.

“You sit here for at least half an hour,” she explained. “You hear that, honey?  I gotta go at 6:00. Bing will bring you the bill, so you can pay up now before I leave. But don’t
you
leave before 6:30. Otherwise your nails not gonna be dry. And you know what that means.”  She wrinkled her nose. “Smudge!  By the way, where’re your flip flops?  Over there in your purse?”

“Flip flops?” Emma asked. She shook her head. “I…I didn’t bring any.”

“Sandals?” Bing suggested. She had returned with the bill and handed it to Emma.

“No flip flops. No sandals?”  Dolores said, giving Emma a stern look.

Bing giggled behind her hand.

“Honey,” Dolores said. “You gotta wear flip flops home. Otherwise you gonna ruin all my work.”  Then she smiled. “It’s OK. I’ll bring you some flip flops from the sauna room. They’re gonna be big; but you gotta wear them.”

Dolores returned shortly carrying a pair of flip flops the size of snow shoes. There was no way Emma could drive home in them.

Dolores must have caught Emma’s look of dismay. She stared down at Emma’s turquoise toes.

To Emma, they looked like a set of ten miniature Easter eggs.

Dolores pointed to the flip flops again. “You gotta wear them, honey.”

By then, Bing had processed Emma’s credit card with a fancy mobile credit machine.

Bing handed Emma back her card and thanked her for the generous tip. In seconds the two mani-pedi women were packing up to leave.

Dolores pointed a finger at Emma when she left. “Don’t forget the flip flops.”

It was 6:05. Emma decided that the best she could do was give her toes until 6:15. But waiting the full ten minutes seemed endless. At 6:12 she tested her right big toe with her forefinger.

Big mistake, she realized.

She should have tested the pinky toe. Her finger left a half inch wide smudge smack in the center of her toenail. Emma groaned. The woman sitting beside her looked over and raised her eyebrows in horror.

It was going to be a mess. But Emma knew she couldn’t wait any more. She had to leave.

To the shock of her blow dry companion, Emma gingerly lifted her dinosaur socks over her bright turquoise toes and pulled them on her feet. She stuffed her feet into her Nikes, and tied the laces. Then she stood up, waved goodbye and ran out of the spa.

Traffic was slow. When Emma pulled into her driveway, she noted Julie’s BMW was already parked there. She braced herself and got out of her Prius.

“Nice goin’, Mom. We’re late,” Julie greeted her when she opened the door of her daughter’s car and started to get in. Julie’s eyes shifted from her mother’s face, down to her faded striped T-shirt, blue jeans, and finally to the dinosaur socks. “Frankly, Mom, and I say this lovingly. The whole outfit is scary, but are you really wearing
those
to a business meeting with the Buchanons?  I know they’re from Harry but, a business meeting?”  She pointed to the socks.

Emma tried to defend herself. “It’s not exactly a business meeting, is it?  I mean it’s about PR not an IPO, right?”

“It’s
my
business,” Julie reminded her angrily. “No matter how superficial and pointless you think my work is for a bunch of spoiled, socially useless parasites.”

“Your words not mine, Julie,” Emma interrupted.

“Oh forget it,” Julie sighed. “Just tell me this. What possible reason can I give for your even being at this meeting?  Much less dressed like
that
?”

Emma had to admit.
That
was a good point. Her initial response, that since moving to Blissburg she pretty much went
everywhere
with her daughter, wasn’t going to fly. She thought for a moment while Julie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

“I think I’ve got it,” Emma finally said. “We’ll tell them I’ve lost a ring. That after days of searching for it, I remembered taking it off while I was cooking the pasta sauce on Friday, and putting it on a shelf in their kitchen. I happened to hear you were meeting them tonight and suggested I might come along to see if I’d left the ring where I thought I had. Of course we’ll add that we’re terribly, terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Julie started the engine. “That’s good,” she said, sounding surprised. “I’m impressed. Do you always lie that well?”

“Whatever works,” Emma replied.

When they were on the highway, heading out of town, Julie resumed the conversation about the Buchanons.

“Funny thing is, Mom,” she said, “Barry was glad I called. He said that he and Lexie had wanted to clarify a few things about the press announcement I was drafting. Before its release tomorrow night. Specifically, Barry wanted to explain that Lexie was back on board with the gift. That I could forget everything that happened at Jardin. The gift was from the Buchanons, plural. In fact, the official designation for the Russian opera series will now be ‘Produced with Funds from The Baxter and Alexandra Buchanon Russian Arts Archive.’”

“Is it an archive?” Emma asked.

Julie shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess it is.
Now.
Apparently both Baxter and Alexandra love the name. It sounds so, I don’t know, presidential or something. Less crass than: the Buchanons are giving a ton of money to City Opera to ensure their social salvation.”  She paused. “My guess is, the name change was all Lexie’s idea.”

“Why?” Emma asked.

“It takes away the sting of donating a lot of money in memory of her husband’s dead mistress. Personally, I think that after the scene at Jardin, Lexie and Barry reached some sort of well-insulated, rich couple, breakfast table agreement. Barry can do whatever he wants with whomever he pleases, in return for a separate Swiss bank account for Lexie and her promise never to embarrass him like that again. And the donation becomes an archive so that Lexie can chair its board for credibility. You know,” Julie took her hand off the steering wheel and swatted the air with it. “One of
those
deals.”

By then, they had pulled up to the first gate of the Buchanon Estate at the Buchanon Vineyards.

Julie opened her window and punched some numbers into a keypad stationed well back from a huge metal barrier. A few seconds later the gate slowly swung open and they began the initial approach to Middle-earth. It was a well maintained, winding road surrounded by vineyards. Emma had marveled at the setting on the day of the fundraiser when she first visited the Buchanons’ home to make her sauce.

After what seemed like a mile, Julie stopped the car in front of another keypad, opened her window and punched in more numbers. An even more ornate iron gate swung open and the car continued for another mile up a much steeper, more winding stretch of road. This time bordered by a forest of sequoias and pine trees.

Finally, they arrived at what looked like a piece of sculpture. Layer upon layer of multicolored metal formed into clouds. Emma remembered loving the sculpture the first time she saw it the day of the party. This time, in the fading light, she noticed that the colors of the clouds looked completely different.   

Once Julie entered the right numbers into the nearby keypad, the clouds magically parted and the car entered a lush plateau. A midsummer night’s dream of gardens set amid ancient redwood groves. The other side of the plateau, the side opposite where they entered, sloped off into another vineyard. The one where Natasha Vasiliev died almost one week before.

The Buchanon’s house was situated beside a man-made bubbling brook. At first sight the old, two story brown shingle appeared deceptively modest. But as Emma had already discovered, the building had been completely redone. The living space almost doubled in back by the addition of a cluster of semi-attached guest houses surrounding the herb and flower garden where the silent auction had been held.

The Buchanons must have heard the car approaching. Or, more likely, they’d seen it on a surveillance screen inside the house. They stood on the front porch, hand in hand, when Julie pulled into one of several guest parking spots serving the main house and cottages. True to Julie’s prediction, waiting for them on the porch, the Buchanons looked the picture of marital bliss.

Barry even draped his arm around Lexie’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze before they descended the steps. Then he dropped his arm from his wife’s shoulder, smiled at Julie and stuck out his hand.

“Glad you could fit into our time slot,” he said, before cocking his head and staring at Emma.

Julie gave the explanation for Emma’s presence that they had rehearsed in the car.

That’s when Lexie leaned forward to give Emma a hug. “I’m
so
glad you’re here,” she whispered. “I was mortified when I heard all that cheesy gossip about your yummy spaghetti sauce.” She sighed. “Boy, I hope it didn’t hurt sales of your book. I’m ordering a copy for everybody I know for Christmas.” 

  Barry waved them through the open front door to their home. “C’mon in. Have you eaten?  Morena can fix you something. Lexie and I have a dinner engagement, or I’d have suggested you stay with us for a bite. You’ll at least have a glass of wine, I hope.”

Julie good-naturedly refused. “No thanks. We have work to do. And our time is short. Besides,” she laughed, “I have to drive home.”

“Let’s get started then.”  Barry ushered them through the living room into a study. It boasted a lovely view of the rear side of the house overlooking a swimming pool built to look like a series of natural springs flowing into enormous granite bowls.

“Sure you don’t want any wine?” Barry asked pouring himself and Lexie each a glass out of a magnum bottle labeled Reserve.

He handed Lexie her glass and motioned for Julie and Emma to sit down on one of two couches arranged facing each other across a narrow marble coffee table. “Now about the press release,” he began.

That’s when Lexie interrupted him. “Wait a minute, Barry.”  She turned to Emma, “I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear all this boring stuff, Emma. Do you want to go into the kitchen and look for your ring?”  She shook her head apologetically. “Honestly, I haven’t seen it. But then, I don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen.”  She and Barry exchanged amused smiles.

“And Morena didn’t mention it,” she continued. “Oh, don’t worry. Morena’s honest as the day is long. I mean,” she glanced at Barry for confirmation, “we leave all kinds of stuff around and she’s never taken a thing. Of course,” she snorted, “Barry pays her well enough.”  She linked her arm around Emma’s. “I’ll show you the way to the kitchen. I hope the ring’s there.”

While Barry and Julie reviewed the draft of the press release, Lexie led Emma into the kitchen where Emma began her charade.

“I remember taking it off so I wouldn’t get it covered with tomato sauce,” she began. “And I put it,” she glanced around the kitchen. Her eyes landed on a high shelf that held two decorative Provencal faience pitchers. “I think I put it up there on that shelf.” 

She walked over to the shelf, raised herself up on tippy toe and slid her fingers along the stainless steel surface. Then she turned to Lexie, “Darn!  It’s not there. The ring’s not very valuable,” she added. “But it was my mother’s so I hope I can find it.”

She and Lexie spent a few minutes searching the kitchen. Then Lexie said, “Wait a minute. Morena’s in the den watching television. She sleeps downstairs,” she explained. “Why don’t I go ask her if she saw the ring?”

“That’s so kind of you,” Emma answered, somewhat taken aback by the woman’s thoughtfulness.

“As I said,” Lexie repeated, “I know Morena wouldn’t
take
it. But she might have seen it and put it somewhere thinking it was mine.”

Lexie was about to leave the kitchen when Emma thought of something. This might be her only chance to ask Lexie about the blinis.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, “Before you go, I’ve been wondering something. What was that you served in the blinis on Friday?  It was delicious. Was it some sort of caviar?  I don’t think I’ve ever had it before.”

Lexie shrugged. “It was chicken. Don’t get me wrong. Personally, I love caviar. Beluga, I mean. The rest of it’s yucky. But Barry wouldn’t spring for caviar. Even when Sergio told him to be careful or the Russians might trash the place.”

“But I thought,” Emma hesitated. “Didn’t Vera hand you some caviar?”

Lexie seemed to think for a minute. She frowned as though she’d remembered something unpleasant.

“Oh, you mean right before that drunken bass singer dumped my wine all over my dress?” she said. “Yeah. You’re right. Vera did hand me something. Did she say it was caviar?”  Lexie shrugged. “Maybe she did. If so, Barry must have given it to her. I brought him out a really good glass of wine. Not that junk we served. And a little plate of special hors d’oeuvres for us to share. I put some of our own stash of Beluga on Sergio’s blinis. I hate those bacon things. Too much fat!  Anyway,” she swatted her hand at Emma. “Let me go down and ask Morena about your ring.”

The second Emma heard Lexie on the stairs, she raced to the refrigerator and opened it. There, way in the back, was a tin labeled what?  Yes!  Beluga caviar. Emma almost grabbed it and stuffed it in her purse.

But she stopped herself. Steve was right. What was the point?  The Buchanons had Beluga caviar in their refrigerator. So what?  Lexie said she loved Beluga. The Buchanons could afford it. What did that prove?  Nothing. Except that Lexie, who everyone knew hated her husband’s lover, Natasha, had the motive, opportunity and means to poison her.

The caviar was the one thing served at the party that, according to Sergio, was not on the menu. Lexie was the one suspect in the kitchen that night who had access to it. Along with Sergio. Emma thought about that. Wait a minute, she said to herself. What about Barry?  She shook her head. Why would Barry kill Natasha?

Emma heard a door close somewhere downstairs. She softly shut the refrigerator door and walked back into the living room. When Julie and Barry looked up, Emma shook her head at them.

“No luck,” she sighed. “I must have left the ring somewhere else. I hope I didn’t wrap it up in a paper towel or something, and put it in my purse.”  She assumed a worried look. “I did that once, and threw away a favorite earring.”

Julie rolled her eyes. Then she stood up. “I think we’re just about done.”

Barry motioned her to sit back down. “Wait, Julie. I want Lexie to look over the revisions to the press release. She’s practically adopted the Russian Arts Archive. It’s her baby. She’ll be president of the board.”

Julie shot Emma a knowing look. As if to say, what did I tell you? Then she sat back down just as Lexie entered the room.

Now Lexie
was shaking her head. “Sorry, Emma. Morena says she didn’t see it.”  She looked at her husband. “Barry, Emma can’t find her ring. She thinks she put it on a shelf in the kitchen. Could you come in there with us and check?  We couldn’t see up on the top shelves.”

“Sure,” Barry smiled benevolently at his wife. “But after you approve this, honey.”  He handed her the marked up draft of the press release.

Lexie took the press release from him. She read it over two or three times, making one minor change that Julie duly noted. Then she reread it. Smiled. And handed it back to Julie. “All done,” she said.

Whatever the Buchanons’ bargain was, Emma noted that Lexie took her part very seriously.

Emma and Julie were about to leave when Lexie reminded her husband of her request. “Just one last look.”  She motioned with a nod of her head towards the kitchen.