Read Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery Online

Authors: Elaine Flinn

Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery (25 page)

BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
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Molly’s brain zeroed in on old Italian ceramics and hadn’t processed “caves” until it was too late. Even so, Molly’s fingers began to tingle. The thought of maybe finding prewar stuff still in crates was jump-starting her enthusiasm after a day of depression.
“I’ll meet you at eight in the tasting room,” Carla said. “Maybe Emma might like to come along. Michelle will be with me.”
“We’ll be there.”
Molly plugged in the teakettle and was about to go into Emma’s room to tell her the exciting news, then stopped cold. A sudden shroud of loneliness dropped over her. She rolled her shoulders as if she could fling the sensation away. She reached for a mug and wondered if this was what it would be like if Emma should leave for good. The silence in the small apartment weighed upon her.
Molly turned to the sink and leaned against the cracked tile. She rested her arms on the window sill and stared out over the rooftops of the buildings across the courtyard. How many stressful times, she wondered, since she had come to Carmel, had she done this? It was odd, she thought, how this small window seemed to be the portal to the few Zen moments she could muster. Clear moments when she managed to push away doubt and fear. Moments when her world might not feel so unsure.
The shrill whistle of the teakettle jolted her back to reality. She turned from the window and unplugged the damn thing. Without Emma, the soothing routine of a warm drink before bed had lost its appeal. Even the prospect of possibly finding new treasures seemed meaningless.
Molly turned off the lights as she moved through the apartment to her bedroom. She clicked on the lamp beside her bed and then sat for several moments with Tiger and her kittens. When she finally got ready for bed and pulled the duvet over her, she noticed the mystery books Emma had bought. She picked one up, then changed her mind and set it back on the night table. She wasn’t in the mood to read about murder right now. She’d been there already.
 
Randall had been standing across the street from Treasures waiting for the lights in Molly’s apartment to go off. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In the past, it had been to satisfy his need to know Molly was safe and tucked in. Now it seemed a different need had propelled him, once again, to stop. Randall was a frequent night walker in this little village he had pledged to watch over. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to know all was well, that he and his small force were doing their jobs. He liked seeing the night lights on in the shops, the doorknobs that didn’t give when he randomly shook them. He often stopped in the quiet of the night and took in the faint smell of the ocean and the soft scent of the hundreds of pine trees that protected this place. This home of his.
Tonight was different. And he knew, deep down, why when he’d stopped himself twice from crossing the street and ringing Molly’s doorbell. He lit a cigar and watched the flame of the match inch down until it almost burned his finger. It was time to go to the City. It was time again, he realized, to see Annie. He felt no guilt accepting the comfort and favors of an old flame who knew an occasional visit was not a commitment. He liked to think he was also a man who had managed, in spite of a realistic view of the worst of life, to hold onto vestiges of honor and respect for a woman who still considered herself married. A man who accepted the dictates of a faith they both shared.
He turned away from Molly’s dark windows and headed home. But he had much on his mind besides Molly Doyle. He wanted to find a killer. It didn’t matter that the case wasn’t his, or that working it with Loomis wasn’t kosher. It was something he needed to do. It was, in fact, what he was all about. An artist needs to paint, a writer needs to write, a cop needs to solve a crime. And Randall knew he was the best one around to do just that. Of that he had no doubt.
Chapter 23
 
ON FRIDAY, Molly was up with the first light. Sleep had been sporadic the past few nights, and her eyes were gritty. Nonetheless, she hopped out of bed, and after plugging in the teakettle, headed for the shower with a forced sense of enthusiasm. Life, she reminded herself, is what you make it. So, pretending all was well would hopefully carry her through the day. The end was not near. Not even close. She knew worrying about losing Emma was most likely overblown. As everyone had said, Emma had a say in the matter. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to tell Emma about her father. She’d thought about all sorts of different openings to ease into the problem, then discarded each one when she realized it was best just to come out with it. Preambles were not one of Molly’s talents. She had a habit of blurting things out. No point in changing now.
Yet, even though she was no longer a suspect in Todd Jessop’s murder, she still had the feeling a dark cloud was hovering over her. Not one to rely heavily on precognizance, Molly nevertheless knew there were times when warnings from the senses shouldn’t be ignored or dismissed as superstition. But then, she thought as she stepped into the shower, show me a Catholic who isn’t superstitious.
Molly called Bitsy just after seven before heading over to Tosca’s for her morning indulgence, confirming with Bitsy that she was still coming in on Saturday. She spoke briefly to Emma, and told her that it appeared the media had finally lost interest in her and it was safe to come home. Feeling that life was somewhat returning to normal, Molly scooted down the back steps and crossed the courtyard to the small indoor section of Bennie’s café. She found him seated, sipping coffee and reading the morning paper. Bennie jumped up when Molly arrived. “Hey, good to see you. Where you been?”
“Hiding out,” she said as she took a seat at his table. “Damn reporters were driving me nuts. Apparently they’ve given up on me, thank God.”
Bennie handed her the paper, and said, “While I get your espresso and croissants, you might want to read this and see why.”
Molly took the paper and saw Susan Jessop’s photo on the front page. The article portrayed Todd Jessop as a philandering bigamist, an unsettling intruder and meddler into the business end at Bello Lago, and a habitual client of an unnamed lap dancing establishment in San Francisco, where he’d recently been banned for aggressive behavior. The report went on to recap his murder and a brief background of Carla and her family’s history in Monterey County.
Molly immediately thought of Del Tinsley, and also the private party she had cancelled. Oh, if only Del had told her who the unwanted guest was, Molly might have been able to avoid going to that damn dinner. But then, she knew she probably would have gone anyway, if for no other reason than to show support for Carla. She set the paper back on the table. Poor Carla! This was all she needed now. It was bad enough to realize she wasn’t legally married to Jessop, but to have it all over the newspapers and to discover he’d been banned from a lap dancing club? And for aggressive behavior? How humiliating for her. Not to mention Michelle. Girls her age were infected with cruelty toward peers as it was, and now they had new fuel. At least Michelle had Emma to help buffer what might be an unpleasant time until school was out.
Bennie arrived with a tray for Molly. “Pretty lurid, huh? Old man Mattucci must be frothing at the mouth. You know how Italians are about stuff like this.
Faccia. Che salva la faccia!
In other words, ‘face.’ Saving face, to be accurate. In this case, it’s
perdere la faccia
—losing face. It’s what we live with, even after two or three generations. Jeeze, Molly,
fare bella figura
is banged into our heads from day one.”
“And that one means?”
Bennie sat down. “Literally, it means, make a good impression. What it really means is reputation. Like, oh—upstanding, dignified. You know, honorable.”
“Respected,” Randall said over his shoulder as he walked to the counter, checking out the fresh pastries. “Hey Bennie, you got my stuff ready, or what?”
Bennie shook his head and smiled. “Damn, Randall. You have a bad habit of creeping up on people.”
“It’s part of my charm, I guess.”
Bennie laughed. “Yeah, right. I’ll get your stuff.” He looked at Molly and said, “It also means, don’t do things to make people talk about you.”
“Guess I need to learn some of that myself,” Molly said. “Can I buy it in a bottle somewhere?” She smiled at Randall as he took the chair Bennie had just vacated. “So, have you seen the paper this morning?”
Randall nodded. “Saw it in the
Chronicle
yesterday when I was in the City.”
“So that’s why I haven’t seen you.”
Randall pretended not to hear Molly as he reached for the tray Bennie handed him. “What? No extra butter?”
“Under the napkin,” Bennie said. “Hey, you mean the
Chron
beat our paper with the news?”
“Looks that way,” Randall replied. “Big stink going on up there anyway with those lap dancing places. This won’t help your friend, Molly.”
“She’s not my friend. She’s a customer. I wish people would get these things straight.”
Randall waited until Bennie returned to the counter, then said, “I’ve got the scoop on Marshall Macomber. Dan did some checking with lawyer pals, Loomis snapped a photo of him on the links at Pebble, and then we did our thing.”
Molly held her breath. “Okay. Fire away.”
“He’s who he says he is, Molly. And from what we can tell, clean as a whistle.”
“Well, to be honest, I’m not surprised. The resemblance between them is there. Emma’s got his eyes, too. I doubt that DNA report he showed me is a fake. But then, I’ve never seen one before.”
“Have you told Emma anything yet?”
“No. I was stalling until I heard from you.” Molly tore into a croissant, then took her time adding a pat of butter. “I’ll tell her tonight when she comes home from Bitsy’s. Bitsy doesn’t know yet. I didn’t want her dipping her oar into this yet.”
“Amen to that. Listen, can I throw a little advice your way?”
Molly had the croissant halfway to her mouth when she stopped. “All of a sudden you’re asking?” She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead. I won’t be able to stop you anyway.”
“Cool it with Carla for a couple of weeks. Don’t go out to the winery, okay?”
“Why? I’m meeting her there tomorrow. She wants me to see some old Italian stuff. If we’re lucky, they could help create that old-world look she wants.”
“Look, don’t ask me why or how I know. You’ve got Emma’s father on your tail, and well, just trust me, okay?”
“You and Loomis found something out, didn’t you! Is it about Susan Jessop? Do you think she was poisoning Todd?”
“What I think, and what I know for sure are two different things. That story Susan told you about not knowing about Carla is bullshit. She hired a private eye last year to tail Jessop. She’s known for a good year.”
“No kidding! How did you find this out?”
“The PI contacted Loomis when he found out he was down here. They’re old buddies.”
“How did he know Loomis was here? That man seems to know everyone. ”
“Maybe Loomis joined a PI association or something. Never mind how he knew Loomis was here. And yeah, he’s got contacts all over the damn country. Even more than me.”
Molly folded her arms and stared at Randall. “You know I hate it when you do this. You give me half a story, then leave me hanging.”
Randall speared a strawberry Bennie had added to his pastry order. “That’s the breaks, kiddo. You’re on a need-to-know basis these days.”
“Then tell me why you don’t want me going out to the winery? I should think that would qualify my intel level.”
Randall sighed. “Damn it, Molly. Can’t you just for once take my word for things?”
When Molly didn’t answer, he said, “Okay. Fine. A little bird told me that Susan Jessop is planning to go out there with a reporter she hooked up with and make some headlines. I don’t want to see you thrown in the mix.”
“What? Why on earth would she want to do that?”
“Because she knows that she’s been added to the hit parade, and the best defense is offense. She needs to get public sympathy on her side. It’s a sisterhood ploy. Commiserate with the other wronged woman and show you’re not vindictive. A kind of ‘sister in arms’ thing. You women all love that shit. She knows it, and it’ll probably work in her favor.”
“You women?
Why, you freaking misogynist!”
“Misogynist? Me? You gotta be kidding!”
Miolly pushed away from the table and rose. “Kidding? Didn’t you hear what you just said?”
“Aw, come on, Molly. Sit down. I apologize, okay? I’m just saying that’s how it’ll probably be written up.” He watched the sparks in Molly’s eyes cool and grinned. “You should know me better than that.”
Molly sat and picked up her espresso. “Sometimes I wonder.” She drained the cup, then took out her cigarettes. “Would you mind opening the glass doors so I can have a smoke?” She watched him handle the tall, multi-paned folding glass doors, then dug into her jeans pocket for her Zippo. When he sat back down, she said, “I’m still going out there tomorrow.”
“Antiques-dealer fever, huh?” he said. “Okay, have it your way. Just don’t call me if you run into trouble.”
BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
6.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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