Read Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery Online

Authors: Elaine Flinn

Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery (2 page)

BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
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Satisfied her lipstick was on straight and her hair was neat, Molly stepped into a cloudy mist of perfume, stole another glance in the mirror, and made a mental note to add some highlights to her hair soon. She would be forty this year and was pleased to note she didn’t look a day over thirty-nine. She’d been weaning herself off cigarettes and was down to four a day. But her weight was going up, and she wondered if she had the fortitude to control both of those demons at once. Now that summer was on the horizon, it was time to get back to a regime of beach walks. The twice-weekly dinners at Daria’s restaurant in her private back room with the gang weren’t helping her waistline either. But Daria DeMarco, whose heart was immense, insisted, and the family atmosphere for Molly and Emma was more important than a few pounds. Well, maybe ten?
Molly returned to the salesroom with a small Imari charger stacked with lemon cookies she’d bought at Tosca’s, the tiny coffee bar in the courtyard behind the shop. She set the plate on a lovely Edwardian center table. She wondered if placing a pricey set of eight Stourbridge wineglasses engraved with a grape-and-vine decoration on a nearby chest was a bit too obvious. She knew she was showing off for Todd Jessop, but the need to flaunt her expertise was too compelling. What the hell, she thought. They would stay out. It would be a pleasure to shove
something
in that arrogant face. Molly cautioned herself not to get carried away with her distaste for Carla’s husband. She wanted this job. And she wanted it badly. This would be her first venture into interior design, and creating another niche in the local market was her dream. Sales had been good the past few months, but as in any luxury business—and that was exactly what a first-rate antiques business was—one had to keep a cool head when dealing with the pompous
nouveau riche
such as Todd Jessop.
When Molly heard the bell over the door, she sucked in her stomach, mentally promised to mind her tongue, then turned with a smile. “Oh, it’s you.”
Kenneth Randall, Carmel’s chief of police, gave Molly one of his lopsided grins. “Yeah. Me. Got a problem with that?”
“Don’t get snarky, okay? I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
“So, I’m an hour early. Beat me up.”
Molly laughed. “I’m sorry. I thought it was Carla Jessop.”
Towering over Molly’s five-foot-ten, Randall had a presence that made body builders back off. Walking like a cat, he silently headed for the table Molly had set. After careful examination, he picked up a cookie, plopped it in his mouth and chewed, then said, “I know. That’s why I’m early.”
Molly brushed away a crumb from the gleaming table. “Uh, care to explain that? And how did you know she was coming?”
Reaching for another cookie, he said, “Guess you forgot you told me this morning at Tosca’s. Jessop was a problem last night at the banquet, remember? I want to make sure he’s over it. I wasn’t crazy about having to ask him to cool it, and I don’t want to have to do it again.” Tossing his hands in the air, he quickly added, “And don’t get huffy on me, okay? I know you’re a big girl and all that, but guys like Jessop are addicted to throwing their weight around.”
As much as she’d wanted to, Molly hadn’t forgotten Todd Jessop’s outrageous antics last night at the Highlands Inn. He’d insulted just about every grower in the region at the vintner’s banquet. “I’m touched. Really.”
“Yeah, sure.” Randall grinned, then pulled up a chair. “We’ve got a few minutes before they show up. Take a seat, Ms. Doyle, and let me fill you in on this guy.”
Molly pulled out a small footstool. “He may not be coming with Carla. She called earlier and said there was a problem.”
“He’s a problem, all right! Look, Molly, I know this is a big job, but you’d better know what you’re getting into.”
“I’ve done some homework. Carla Jessop is highly regarded around here. Her family has been in the Valley for two generations. The family winery, Bello Lago, is well established.”
Reaching for another cookie, Randall said, “I’m talking about the husband. He has a nasty rep. That dot-com business he ran into the ground up in San Jose lost a lot of stockholder dough, but he walked out with a big bundle. I hear her family isn’t too crazy about him either. Second husband, not Italian, not local, and he knows zilch about wine.”
Molly sighed. “I know. But I’m not working for him. I was sorry to see Carla take the brunt of his temper last night about market strategy. I couldn’t believe he’d talk to her like that in public. And when some of the other vintners got involved, it was a miracle you managed to cool them down.” Molly smiled. “I loved the way you stepped in front of Todd Jessop when he was inching toward Louis Valdotta from Château Monterey.”
Randall studied another cookie. “Chalk it up to experience. Most blowhards don’t like to have my big face in theirs. Anyway, I just thought I’d drop by and maybe browse around when they show up.”
“If I’ve learned anything about you, it’s not to argue with your logic. But how about maybe staying upstairs with Emma? No point in being too obvious. Seeing you here might set him off.”
“That could work. But leave the door open, okay?”
“Deal. You any good at math? She’s studying for a test.”
“As in all that I do, I’m a genius.”
Molly smiled as she watched Randall climb the stairs. She marveled again at how much difference Emma’s presence had made in all their lives. It had taken only a few days after her sister Carrie dumped the bright, engaging twelve-year-old on her doorstep last year to witness Randall’s seemingly gruff façade melt when Emma was around. Daria DeMarco’s maternal instincts, sadly buried since children were no longer an option, revived in full bloom. Bitsy Morgan, the doyenne of busybodies and Molly’s self-appointed fairy godmother, was putty in Emma’s hands. Even Dan Lucero, the district attorney, and Bevin Loomis, Randall’s former Homicide partner from Los Angeles, had become doting surrogate uncles.
Thankful that Randall had agreed to make himself scarce, Molly was genuinely touched that he’d been concerned for her and had gone to the trouble to do a background check on Todd Jessop. But Molly had done her homework as well. Bitsy, a walking dictionary of local gossip, had bent her ear. But it was Daria who really knew the Mattucci family and its rise from ranchers to producers of a premier boutique winery.
Molly made a quick tour of the shop, fluffing decorative pillows with lush fringes and pinching off dead blossoms from the fresh flower arrangements on tables and chests. She reached for the small crucifix under her sweater, gave it a good-luck pat, and promised to behave if Carla’s husband showed up. She also promised to keep a smile on her face. No matter what. Whether she ended up with the job or not, Emma had at least made a new friend in Carla Jessop’s daughter, Michelle Giordano.
They had met at Santa Catalina, the private girl’s school in Monterey, and clicked right away. Emma had been having a problem making friends when she had started there a few months ago. Both girls were string-bean skinny and taller than most girls a year older. Worse, Emma’s counselor had reported she was considered too brainy to be popular. And, she’d told Molly that some of the girls resented Emma’s near-perfect recall of what she read. The counselor had laughed when she’d added that their major problem, however, was they were not boy-crazy yet.
The ringing of the telephone broke into Molly’s reverie. She rushed to her desk just as she saw Carla Jessop pass the display window facing Ocean Avenue. Molly waved her in, then quickly told Daria on the phone that Carla had arrived and she would talk to her at dinner. She felt like doing a happy dance when she saw Carla was alone. When Molly turned to greet her, she caught her breath when she saw the flaming welt on Carla’s cheek. “Oh, my God! What happened?”
Not quite as tall as Molly and smaller-boned, Carla Jessop was almost ethereally thin. Her short blond hair flared back from a prominent widow’s peak, and her eyes were the smokiest gray Molly had ever seen. Carla looked at Molly, paused briefly, then said, “Todd hit me.”
“Oh, my God!” Molly sputtered again.
“You said that already.”
Molly touched Carla’s arm, then gently led her to the chair Randall had recently vacated. “I’ve got some Jack Daniel’s in the storage room. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t bother, but thanks. Coffee is fine. I’m not ready to hit the bottle yet. I need to keep my mind clear.”
Molly hesitated, then sat with her. “Look, we can do this another time. You’ve obviously got some issues that are more important.”
“Screw Todd. My personal problems can wait. Nothing is more important now than getting the tasting room done. My father is living on borrowed time. His latest stroke was devastating. He’s confined to a wheelchair now, and it’s just killing him to lose his mobility. I want him to leave this world knowing I can handle the winery.”
Molly poured their coffee, then said, “We can still do this later. Why don’t you take the portfolio home and look it over? We can get together tomorrow night after I close.”
“I’ve already seen most of what you’ve put together,
Molly.
I’m sold. I may not be good at picking husbands, but I know a good woman when I meet her. Todd will get his when the time is right.”
Sitting with their backs to the staircase, Molly and Carla hadn’t heard Randall come down. “You sound like a devoted daughter, but a foolish wife,” Randall said. Standing before them, he looked at Carla’s face. “That looks nasty.”
Carla smiled. “Isn’t, though.”
“If your husband did that, I’m obliged to arrest him. Domestic violence laws are very clear these days.”
Carla darted a look at Molly. “I ran into a door.”
“Not very creative,” Randall said. “I saw his act last night. Remember?”
Carla’s laugh was grim. “Hell, that was nothing. You should have seen him this morning.”
Randall’s eyes tightened. “Like I said, I can have him arrested right now, and I can get you protective services. What’s it going to be?”
Carla rose. “I’ll call you when and if I need you.”
Molly rose, too, and placed her hand on Carla’s shoulder. “Maybe you should stay at the ranch tonight?”
“And let my father see my face?” Carla shook her head. “No way. He’d kill Todd.”
Before Molly could say more, Todd Jessop stormed into the shop. Not much taller than Carla, he was lean and built for speed. His custom sport coat failed to hide a wiry body just aching to jump the starting gun. His longish hair, almost too black to be real, was artfully styled to allow the sides to casually rustle each time he moved his head. Molly was convinced his too-green eyes were contact lenses and would bet he was a tanning salon addict with weekly facials. Halting in front of his wife, he said, “What the hell is going on here? I thought we agreed that—”
“We agreed to nothing. I’m here to hire Molly. It’s my decision, so stay out of it.”
Molly held her breath. She decided the best thing to do was keep her trap shut. Her instincts were on the mark. Todd Jessop exploded. “Goddammit, Carla!” He grabbed his wife’s arm. “I don’t want her! I told you that!”
“That’s about it, pal,” Randall cautioned. “Let her go.”
“Stay out of this,” Jessop shot back as he shoved Carla away. “I’m talking to my wife.”
Molly gestured to Carla to step back. Jessop was out of his mind in taking Randall on, and she wasn’t surprised when Randall said, “I’m gonna say this just once, so listen up. Back off, or I’ll be forced to arrest you.”
“For what? Yelling at my wife? Since when is that a crime?”
“You’re manhandling her. You just bodily forced her against her will. That’s a misdemeanor. Will that do?”
“That’s bullshit,” Jessop snarled.
“Where have you been lately? It’s the law.”
“Screw you,” Jessop said. “You can’t make that stick. I barely touched her.”
Randall’s laugh was hardly audible. “I have a low tolerance for men who get tough with women. Don’t push me too far. You might not see daylight tomorrow.”
While Molly had discovered Todd Jessop to be aggressive and arrogant, she didn’t think he was foolhardy enough to push Randall much further. As she moved out of the line of fire towards Carla, she saw that two women had entered the shop and were standing near the door.
Damn it!
That was all they needed, an audience. She hadn’t heard the bell over the door, and realized Carla must have left the door open when she arrived. No wonder her husband managed to surprise them. She had little doubt the women heard the angry exchange between Randall and Jessop. Molly quickly moved to them and said, “I’m so sorry, but we’re closed.”
One of the women asked, “Is there a problem? I see our chief is here and he’s not smiling.”
Molly forced a laugh. “Everything is just dandy. You must have misunderstood. We’re just about to leave for dinner. Would you mind coming back tomorrow?”
The woman who had been doing the talking looked at her friend, then shrugged. “Sure. I’m looking for ruby glass. Do you have any?”
“Not at the moment,” Molly replied. “But I know a collector in Nashville who has a large collection and is downsizing.” Gently herding them closer to the door, she added, “Stop by tomorrow, and I’ll give her a call.”
BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
3.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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