A Saucy Murder: A Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mystery (19 page)

Barry looked at his watch. “I’m warning you. We’re going to be late.”

“It won’t take a minute,” Lexie persisted. She looked at Barry and pouted. “I just know that if
I
lost a ring my sweet dear mother gave me, I’d be sick. No matter how little it cost.”

They walked quickly back into the kitchen and Barry dutifully checked all the top shelves. Of course, no ring was found.

“Darn!” Lexie looked genuinely crestfallen. “I really hoped we’d find it,” she said.

They were walking from the kitchen through a small breakfast room that led to the front hall, when Lexie suddenly stopped like she had noticed something. She turned around, walked back a couple of steps, and stared at the breakfast room wall for a full minute, her arms crossed on her chest. Then she glanced around the room before she asked, “Barry, where’s my cupcake?”

Emma and Julie traded confused looks.

By then, Barry had joined his wife staring at the wall. “Lexie,” he said. “You’re right. It
is
missing. Rasputin’s Cupcake.”  He stopped and seemed to correct himself. “I mean, the little cupcake. It’s missing.”

Lexie was already combing the room looking for it everywhere. On the walls, under napkins, behind furniture, on the floor. “Come on!” she shouted. “Where
is
it?” 

But hard as the couple searched, the cupcake simply was not there.

“Get Morena in here,” Barry ordered.

Lexie went to summon Morena. When she appeared in the doorway, Barry pointed to a space on the wall. “Morena, what happened to Rasputin’s Cupcake?” he shouted.

The poor girl blanched. “Raswho?  Raswhose cupcake?” she asked, clearly having no idea what the man was talking about.”

Lexie explained in a gentler voice. “The painting of the cupcake by Wayne Thiebaud, Morena.”  She glared at Barry and then continued. “You remember, Morena. The one I was so upset about. The one Barry gave me for Christmas and then wanted to give to Natasha Vasiliev for her birthday.”

“Oh. Jes.” Morena’s eyes got wide. She looked down at the floor and nodded, as though remembering something she would rather forget. “The leetle cupcake painting. The one jou say was so baluble. Ayayay!”

Emma watched Morena and wondered how many things Morena saw in that house and wanted to forget.  

Suddenly the girl looked frightened. Like visions of ICE enforcement operations were dancing in her head. “I don’t know Missy Lexie. I…I didn’t touch.” She shook her head. “I didn’t do…”

Julie and Emma exchanged more puzzled looks.

Barry glanced at them. He must have thought he needed to explain.

“It’s a little Wayne Thiebaud painting of a cupcake,” he said. “I bought it for Lexie for Christmas last year. She’d seen a similar one at the museum in San Francisco and liked it.”  He flashed Lexie a conciliatory smile. “It has a special meaning. I called Lexie cupcake when we were courting. I thought I’d surprise her with a cupcake of her own. Actually,” he noted unnecessarily, “it’s worth quite a bit.”

“I’ll say,” Lexie added.

“Well,” Barry continued. “Natasha saw it one night when she and Vera were here for dinner. For some reason, she loved it, too. Kept laughing and calling it Rasputin’s Cupcake. You know, because of that Russian. Lexie and I thought it was funny.”  He glanced warily at his wife. “Didn’t we, dear?”

“Sure. Until last month when you suggested giving the painting to Natasha
for her birthday.”

Emma thought she saw Morena shudder.

“I was
joking
,” Barry cried, his eyes darting from Lexie to Morena.

“Right,” Lexie replied. Then, as if by force of will, her demeanor resumed the composure Emma had noted when they arrived. Lexie forced a laugh. “I know. You were just joking, sweetie. And I got offended. It was silly of me.”  She paused. “But gosh. What do you suppose happened to it?  It’s worth a mint. It’s gotta be here somewhere. Unless.”

“Honey?” Barry cut in. “Are you
absolutely sure
you didn’t put it somewhere?  Up in your bedroom?”

Emma wondered if he really meant, in your Swiss bank vault.

Lexie assumed a very innocent look, shook her head and replied. “No, sweetie, did you do something with it?”

Emma figured
she
really meant, did you give it to your Russian mistress anyway?

“OK,” Barry looked around the room. “When’s the last time anyone saw the thing?”

Emma and Julie both put their hands up, palms forward.

“I’ve
never
seen it,” Julie answered.

“Me either,” Emma agreed.

Lexie’s tone turned matter of fact. “Barry, the truth is, I
wouldn’t
have seen it. I never use the breakfast room. The last time I was in here was when Howard and Lilah spent the night. But that was almost three weeks ago. We had breakfast in here. Wouldn’t we have noticed if it wasn’t on the wall?”

“You’re right,” Barry agreed. “Of course we saw it. Howard pointed to it and said that prices on Thiebaud oils have gone through the roof. But after that, I don’t recall.”

All of a sudden, Barry seemed to remember that Emma and Julie were still standing there. He smiled. “Look, you two don’t need to hear all this. I’m sure the painting will turn up.”  He looked at his wife. “And we’re going to be late.”

Julie shook her finger at him. “In light of all that’s happened, my advice is to file a police report if you don’t find the painting tonight. So you can collect some insurance money if it doesn’t show up.”

Barry nodded. “Yes. Of course. You’re right.”  Then he showed Julie and Emma out the door.

“What was that all about?” Julie asked as she started the car.

Emma shrugged. “I guess somebody stole their expensive painting.”

“Yeah, but what was all that about Rasputin’s Cupcake?”

“Oh.”  Emma swatted the air with her hand. “Natasha was talking about Rasputin, that Russian mystic who was councilor to the last tsar. He got so powerful, his enemies tried to kill him with cupcakes poisoned with cyanide.”

“Tried to?  What happened?”  Julie asked. “Didn’t he die?”

“No,” Emma explained. “Legend has it he ate the cupcakes but didn’t die. Finally his assassins shot him in the head and dumped his body into the Neva River.”

Julie wrinkled her nose. “Ewww!  Why didn’t the cupcakes kill him?”

Emma threw up her hands. “Probably because they cooked the cupcakes and the poison vaporized at high temperature. They should have mixed the poison with some caviar and served it with blinis instead.”

Emma laughed at her own joke. Then she noticed the alarmed look on Julie’s face.

“What?  I heard that in the Russian history course I took last year at the Foundation for Senior Studies. Don’t worry. I’m not the murderer.”

Julie and Emma stopped at Zah’s for a pizza before Julie dropped Emma home.

“By the way,” Julie asked after the waiter had brought them each a glass of Zin, “did Lexie say anything that actually s
upports
your poisoned blini theory?” 

Emma shook her head. “No. Not really. In fact she acted surprised about the caviar. Even though she’s the one Vera gave the Beluga blini to. Lexie says that Barry must have given Vera the Beluga. She says that she and Barry were the only people eating caviar that night. Lexie said she brought him a plate of special hors d’oeuvres. Including Beluga from their private stash. And a glass of their special reserve wine. Not the junk they were serving at the fundraiser. Her words. Lexie confirmed exactly what Sergio said. Barry would not spring for caviar, even though a couple of people apparently suggested it.”

“Except that you said Vera gave Lexie some,” Julie added.

“Or thought she did,” Emma shrugged. “Yes. From Barry, according to Lexie.”

“Could Lexie be covering her tracks?” Julie asked.

Emma shrugged. “If Barry gave Vera the caviar, maybe he’s
the killer. Has anyone focused on him?  I surely haven’t.” 

Julie covered her face with her hands. “I feel like we’re back where we started.”

The television over the bar caught Emma’s attention. One of the news shows was playing a clip of Steve, from the free legal services clinic, standing outside the jail with a crowd of Roma Rights advocates. They looked angry.

“I hope the Roma Rights confrontation doesn’t get ugly,” Emma commented. “The Roma have been living in California for years. Despite what Piers said, they’re very peaceful. They do their thing. Fly under the radar. There’s never been any trouble; but this kind of publicity could change that.” She shuddered. “Julie, we have to figure out who really killed Natasha. It’s the only way the police are going to let Carmen and Tonio go.” 

Julie nodded. Then she thought of something. “Oh, I almost forgot. I talked to Vera. I told her we wanted her to review the press release. She agreed to, but…,” Julie hesitated.

“What?” Emma asked.

“Well,” Julie continued, “the only time she can get together tomorrow is at her house at 9:00 a.m. The problem is, I have a parent teacher meeting at Harry’s preschool at 9:00. And Piers has a court appearance in Santa Rosa. Barry told me tonight that he
really
wants Vera to review the press release
and
his remarks at the ceremony. Given the bad blood there’s been lately between Vera and Lexie, Barry wants to make sure there’s no trouble on Opening Night. He’s added some complimentary language about Vera to his speech to try to smooth things over. About what a big support she was to Natasha since their parents died.”

“Both of their parents died?” Emma asked.

“Yeah,” Julie nodded. “I guess poor Vera really was Natasha’s sole support for years. Until Barry Buchanon came along.”

“Wow,” Emma sighed. “They had tough lives.”

Julie nodded. “Barry is putting Vera on the archive board. Assuming
she can patch things up with Lexie, of course. Barry thinks she can. He said Lexie and Vera were friends when they worked together at the Honorage Spa. Before Barry Buchanon entered their lives. He says he’d like to make things right for Vera. Of course, she’ll get Natasha’s estate. Recording rights, etc. But Barry says he wants to give her something she can do, now that Natasha’s gone. Something to remember her sister by.”

“Hope it works,” Emma mused.

“The point is, Mom, I can’t go see Vera with you at 9:00 a.m. And Barry’s asked me to make sure she reviews his written remarks and the graphics for the commemorative program. So,” Julie shot her mother a pleading look. “Do you mind going alone? Just drop off the stuff. Then you can ask her whatever it was you wanted to know. Tell her to call me on my cell with any revisions to Barry’s remarks.” 

Emma felt her shoulders tense. She’d promised Steve she’d ask Vera about her visit with Carmen the morning after the fundraiser. Now, for some reason, she didn’t want to go alone.

“I don’t know…” She hesitated. “I guess something about how she grabbed Lexie by the throat at Jardin scared me,” she explained. “I mean, what if she doesn’t like the remarks. Is she gonna fly into a rage and grab
me
by the throat?” 

The minute Emma said it, she knew how silly she sounded.

“Not exactly the same as throttling someone who trashed the memory of your dead twin sister and only living relative,” Julie said. “After all, that’s what Lexie did. It was really out of line.”

“You’re right,” Emma agreed. “Sure. I can go by myself. Where does Vera live?”

“I’ll text you the address,” Julie said.

They’d finished the pizza. A few minutes later, Julie dropped her mother off at home.

Emma climbed the stairs to her front porch. By the time she’d opened the door, Julie had texted her Vera’s address: “362 Morningside Drive”. It was close by. One of the luxury townhouses in the brand new complex next to the post office. Emma wondered if Barry Buchanon had bought that for Natasha as well.

Emma was changing into her fleece muumuu to get into bed when she remembered her pedicure. She glanced down at her hands. The manicure looked OK, she noted. So far, she’d only chipped the Pearl Blush polish off the tip of her right index finger opening the door to Julie’s car. But the toes?  She winced. That would be another matter.

Emma took off her shirt and underwear, and pulled the fleece muumuu down over her head. Then she sat down on her bed and unlaced her Nikes. The minute she pulled off her shoes, she realized that her turquoise toenails were stuck to her dinosaur socks. If she pulled the socks off, most of the polish would surely come with them.

She closed her eyes, pulled off the first sock, opened her eyes, looked at her toes and thought, maybe not so bad. The smudged turquoise blue and white pattern looked kind of Pollock. Assuming he had a turquoise blue phase. She pulled off the second sock. The toes looked the same. She looked again and shook her head. Who was she fooling?  Her toenails looked ridiculous. She’d stop at CVS the next morning, pick up more polish, and touch up her toes.