Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery (24 page)

BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
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“Hey, knock that off,” Lucero said. “We’re not beat yet. I’m just saying, is all.”
Randall took his usual place at the table next to Molly. Loomis sat across from him, and Daria and Lucero sat at each end. “Tell Molly the good news,” Loomis said.
“What could possibly be good news after this?” Molly said glumly.
“You tell her, Randall,” Lucero grinned.
“No way. It’s your show,” Randall said.
“Stop this!” Daria yelled. “I hate these games. What?”
Lucero reached for a bottle of wine. “We need a full glass handy so you can toast me.” He handed Randall the open bottle. “Come on, pass it around! And make it quick before Daria throws something at me.”
When all the glasses were full, Lucero lifted his and said, “Here’s to me for personally taking Molly’s photo off Reynolds’s incident board.” He threw up his free hand and added, “Wait! There’s more. Reynolds is no longer in charge of the Jessop investigation. He’s, uh, on vacation as of this afternoon.”
Molly felt as if she’d been holding a balloon that suddenly burst. “Omigod, Dan! That really is fantastic news! I...I don’t know what to say. I really don’t.”
Daria was on her feet, running to the end of the table to hug Lucero. “You big lug, you finally did something grand! How the hell did you pull that off?”
Lucero grinned. “How? Hey. I’m the people’s choice around here. I work for justice, right? Besides, Reynolds didn’t have cause. Simple as that.”
Molly looked at Randall. “Did you know about Reynolds when you came in?”
“Yeah. But it was Dan’s doing, so it was his announcement, not mine.”
Molly’s eyes finally began shining. “Then you’re off the hook, too?”
Randall shrugged. “Hell, I never was on it. Reynolds knew that. He just wanted to see if he could make me squirm.”
Loomis reached for the wine. “Fat chance of that happening.”
“The truth of the matter,” Lucero said, “is that the sheriff knew Reynolds was off-kilter as well. Reynolds was working too hard looking for the easy way out. There is a list of suspects a mile long, and he was skimming over those prospects just to get back at Randall. Hell, any ten-year-old watching TV would know his reasoning was shaky. The new guy, Lieutenant Jack Stuart, is a recent transfer from San Jose, and one smart investigator. He’s already taken over. And he’ll be sharing with me on a daily basis.”
Suddenly, the baked eggplant with mozzarella looked promising to Molly. She helped herself, then passed it on to Randall. “Have you told Dan and Loomis about Susan Jessop, and that Dindo grows belladonna?”
“The man’s name is Dando. Yeah, Dan and Loomis are up to snuff, so is Stuart. Loomis is already checking out Susan Jessop, and Dan told Stuart about the herb garden.”
Daria passed the veal
alla Milanese
to Loomis. “Can you work independently on this case?”
“Oh, didn’t Dan mention that I’m working for his office now?” Loomis said.
Daria shook her head. “No. He only tells us how great he is.”
Lucero laughed. “That’s all anyone needs to know. It’s called BSP”
“Very funny,” Daria said. “I don’t even want to know what that means. It sounds like a nasty disease. But I would like to know who the hell Susan Jessop is, and what’s this with Dando and belladonna?” When she encountered silence, Daria knocked a fork against a glass. “Hello? I’ve come to think of this room as a sub-rosa command center. Don’t start with the silent treatment now. Just because we’re not personally involved any longer, that doesn’t mean we can’t contribute.”
Randall asked Molly to pass the sautéed zucchini. He helped himself to a large portion, then said, “I forgot to mention, Wilkins picked up two kids last night keying a car. They had a raccoon they were about to shove in the window. Guess that leaves Jessop in the clear.”
Molly said, “Well, at least that’s one mystery solved. But Daria’s question hasn’t been answered.”
“Okay, Lucero. You’re on. You fill Daria in while the rest of us dig into the
grigliata di pesce.”
“The what?” Loomis asked.
“The fish,” Randall said. “Breaded sea bass baked with garlic, parsley, and lemon.”
“I knew it was fish,” Loomis said. “You don’t have to get fancy on me. Right, Molly?”
Molly wasn’t sure what Loomis had said. Her thoughts were a million miles away. She figured a nod would work. The possibility of a judge being influenced by Molly’s past experiences brought on more eye-twitching. She had to get hold of her emotions. She knew everyone here would vouch for her, and they would be witnesses to Molly’s love for Emma. How many people, she wondered, could lay claim to having a chief of police and a district attorney as close friends? Daria was a pillar in the business community. Bitsy was one of the Monterey Peninsula’s biggest philanthropists. They had all played a big part in Emma’s being accepted at Santa Catalina School. And besides, she tried to convince herself, this newest problem, Todd Jessop’s murder, had nothing to do with her at all. But there was always Murphy’s Law, and that damn Irish plague seemed to crop up too much in her life.
Molly caught the tail end of something Loomis was saying. She faintly recalled him talking about a greenhouse. Everyone’s eyes seemed riveted to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I was drifting. Did I hear you mention a greenhouse?”
“I was talking about Susan Jessop. I’m checking her out for Dan. I looked over her home in Portola Valley. Big place, three or four acres.” He nodded towards Lucero. ”I was telling Dan, there’s a big greenhouse on her property. I, ah, well, I pretended to be lost and found her gardener.“ He gave Molly a wink. ”We got to talking about plants. Told him I was thinking about adding a greenhouse to my place. He kindly gave me a tour of Mrs. Jessop’s and showed me her herb and medicinal sections.”
Molly turned to Randall. “She didn’t look like a green-thumb person to me.”
“Like killers, huh? They have to have a look?” Randall said.
“The greenhouse is for show,” Loomis said. “It’s for some charity garden tour she takes a part in every year.”
“Don’t tell me,” Molly said, “she grows belladonna?”
“I don’t know a pansy from a rose,” Loomis said, “but the gardener pointed a few plants out when I asked. And yeah, she’s got a few nice specimens of belladonna.”
“Whoa,” Daria said. “That can be bad stuff. My grandmother used to make tea with it to help soothe her arthritis. A lot of the old-country women grew the plant and always had it on hand. What’s it got to do with Todd Jessop?”
Randall told Daria about the postmortem findings and what Emma had learned. “So this Dando character must have the same old-world recipe your grandmother had,” he added.
Molly pushed her plate away. “I can’t cat. My stomach is a mess. My head hurts, and I want to sleep for a few weeks.”
Daria said, “Maybe you might want to close for a few days or go up to the City and visit Max.”
Molly shook her head. “Max is out of town again. Not opening has some appeal, but I’ll stay open. Besides, I’ve got to tell Emma about her father.” She saw the surprised faces. “I have to. She has a right to know.”
The door opened, and Manuel said to Daria, “Excuse, but out in front there is a man who wishes to speak to you. The food he is not complaining.” He entered and handed Daria a business card.
Daria read it, then looked at Molly. “You were right. It’s Macomber.” She threw the card on the table, and said to Manuel. “Tell the gentleman I’m with a private party and am unable to meet with him.”
After Manuel left, Molly slapped her hand on the table. “Damn it! For once, I wish I’d been wrong.”
Randall pushed back from the table. “Being right is a bitch sometimes.”
Chapter 22
 
THE THOUGHT OF going back to the empty apartment after leaving Daria’s held little appeal. Instead, Molly retraced her alley route for a few blocks. She wasn’t worried about running into Macomber, or the media at ten in the evening. She finally headed up to Ocean Avenue and slowly wandered past the dozens of gift shops and art galleries. It only took her a few moments to realize how many shops had changed since she first arrived. She’d been so busy, she’d hardly noticed. Now that she desperately needed to clear her mind, to wonder how to tell Emma what faced them, the changes around her finally hit her in the eye.
Her favorite Dansk store was already gone, and so was Saks Fifth Avenue, only to be replaced by a high-priced men’s store. And some of the small gift shops she’d remembered were also gone, no doubt having succumbed to the shocking rents. She wondered how long many of the new merchants would last. Carmel might have a ordinance against chain operations, but rents were reaching a point where only the chains could afford to be there. But then, what exactly constituted a chain? Some of the newer shops she passed had other locations besides Carmel. And while the village was still unique and well groomed, it was beginning to feel like a giant outdoor mall.
But then, Carmel was no longer the sleepy little village catering to a cadre of drop-outs,
avant-garde
artists, and starving poets. Property values had become so outrageous that only the deep-pocket merchants and semi-chains could survive. Except for patronizing the restaurants and small bistros, most locals didn’t shop in Carmel anymore. Only tourists could afford to shop here now. She was lucky with Treasures at least. Many of her customers were locals and the newly arrived groups of property-rich Central Valley farmers and Silicon Valley
nouveaux riches.
She remembered hearing a local person tell Bennie one morning at Tosca’s that all the characters were gone. Only Bill Bates, the local cartoonist, he’d said, seemed to be still hanging around. The recollection brought a small smile to Molly’s aching face. She recalled being at the post office a few weeks ago when she’d encountered a huge crowd outside protesting the removal of several of Bill’s framed poster-size cartoons that had hung inside the post office for twenty years. The excuse for removing them had been a new paint job. But they hadn’t been put back up because of a new standardization ruling for the interior of all post offices. That hadn’t sat right with over eleven hundred locals who’d signed a petition to hang them back immediately. Even the local state assembly representative had chimed in. As she crossed the meridian to the other side of Ocean Avenue and to the shop, Molly made a mental note to see if the posters were there again.
The brief smile over the village outrage soon faded as she walked under the arch and into the courtyard. She slowly headed up the back stairs to the apartment. It would be strange not to join Emma in a nightly cocoa. She shivered as she thought about life without Emma. She heard the telephone ringing as she unlocked the French door. Racing to the kitchen, she picked it up and heard Carla Jessop’s voice. “Molly? Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this woman who claims to be Todd’s wife?”
“Wait, hold on!” Molly said. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if she was telling me the truth.”
“What difference did that make? You could have at least warned me.”
Molly shrugged out of her jacket and threw her tote on the floor. “You’re right. I should have called you. But I did tell her to see the sheriffs deputy. I figured he’d call you.”
“That jackass never said a thing to me. Now another one has taken his place, and I was hauled in for questioning again today.”
“How did you find out about her?”
“The new cop told me, and he said you knew her.”
“I don’t
know
her. She came into the shop and that was the first time I’d laid eyes on her. Look, Carla, I’m sorry you had to hear this now. I mean, that Todd was...well, maybe it’s not true.” Molly knew Loomis had been to Susan Jessop’s home, but it still didn’t mean she was married to Todd. She could still be a sister. Or a mistress with a fake ID.
“Oh, it’s true all right. She had a marriage license to prove it. That bastard! If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.”
“Carla! For God’s sake! Don’t say things like that.”
Carla laughed. “Why not? I’m sure I’m already the prime suspect. And if you’re wondering if I
did
kill Todd, the answer is no.”
“It never crossed my mind,” Molly said.
“I’d love to believe that, but I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, we’ve still got lives to lead, and until the fuzz decides to throw some cuffs on me, I’ve got to get back to the project. The furniture you ordered has arrived. Can you make it out here this week to set things up
?

Molly hesitated. The thought of returning to the winery left her strangely uncomfortable. But still, she reasoned, it was her responsibility to complete the commission. “How’s Saturday? Bitsy will be in to work here.”
“Perfect. Oh, by the way, I’ve found that old stuff my father wants you to see. My grandmother spent two months in Italy after the war, and she brought back crates filled with dishes, urns, and all sorts of real old things she’d bought from some local families in need of cash. She got sick soon after and they were never unpacked. They’re in a storage area of one of the old wine caves.”
BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
9.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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