PW02 - Bidding on Death (19 page)

Amy had to ask me some questions, the capacity of the stainless steel tanks, and which were the French oak barrels and which were the American oak, but it was still impressive how much she’d retained from one tour.

Then we headed to the tasti
ng room for a wine tasting. Jordan
told us he was more of a beer guy, but he swirled and sniffed and sipped along with us.

While we tasted, Amy and I compared eBuy auctions. The child’s tea set had gone for $150, but the rest of my auctions were disappointing. I’d sold one Breyer horse for ten bucks and none of the Barbies.

Amy nodded. “It’s like that sometimes. That box of Ruba Rombic was a great find, and it’s going to keep me going for
the next couple months. But online auctions are getting harder. There’s more online competition and more competition on the purchase end. I always called Rose Jackson my nemesis, but if it wasn’t her, it would be somebody else. I can’t help feeling that it’s just going to get harder as more and more people find eBuy.”

“I’ve been telling her she
needs to find another job,” Jordan
said. “Maybe not full time, but something steady, to have a baseline to cushion the ups and downs of the auctioning.”

“That’s certainly something to think about,” I said neutrally. In fact, I could think of a job for Amy right that minute, but I wasn’t going to bring it up until I’d run it by Jack first.
And Jack was gone for the day, off to Richmond making sales calls on new restaurants.

I had Paco in the house that afternoon. Craig was working on the fence down by the river and told me earlier that we’d better keep Paco inside. “Don’t want the little feller to fall in,” he said.

After Amy and Jordan
left, Luther came by. He ambled into the kitchen, but stopped when he saw Paco. Luther looked worried, but Paco came up and greeted him just like a little gentleman.

Luther shook his head. “You’re a wonder, Miz Rayburn, you truly are.”
He accepted coffee and settled down at the kitchen table. “Thought I’d fill you in on the iron,” he said.

“Does Agent Maguire know you’re doing that?” I asked.

“She’s the one that suggested it, though I’m supposed to call her Helen now.”

Well! The Man From Richmond was certainly loosening up, wasn’t she?

“So!” I said brightly. “Tell all.”

“It’s the weapon alright,” Luther summarized. “Fits the wound exactly, same paint flakes. There was even a strand of hair caught in a paint chip on the iron. Not much, but the guys in forensics say it will be enough.”

“But does it tell us anything about the killer?” I asked.

Luther sighed. “Not a gol-darn thing. Been in the water too long.”

“Where was it found?”

“
In the river r
ight off Granny’s farm.”

“Bringing us right back to the auction,” I summarized.

“It does that, doesn’t it?” Luther sounded tired and frustrated.

We chewed over the case for a while longer, but we were spinning our wheels and we knew it.

After Luther left, I decided to take Paco out for some more training. When I got a handful of treats, the intelligent little dog knew what was coming and was right by my side, watching me intently. “Want to learn some more tricks to impress your daddy?” I asked him.

I decided to do some basic obedience, sits and downs and stays. Really well trained dogs can hold a down-stay indefinitely, or so I’m told. But maybe a couple minutes was something we could shoot for.

We wandered out to the back yard. I wondered what other things I could teach him. I liked watching the agility dogs on Animal Planet and wondered if I could make some sort of small jump
for Paco. But then I remembered
my ultimate goal was for Craig to take Paco, and even if Paco had the capacity to turn into an agility superstar, Craig sure wasn’t cut out to be an agility dog handler, not with that limp and his dislike of crowds.

I decided today would just be basic obedience, the bedrock training that all dogs need. We heeled around the yard for a while, and I had Paco sit and stay and then come a few times. Then I put him on a down-stay. I backed up to the picnic table, ten feet away, keeping my eye on him, ready to make admonishing noises if he started to squirm in an about-to-get-up way.

A car drove up the drive and around to our parking area in back – it was Grand Central here today! I snapped my fingers to get Paco’s attention and when he looked at me, I held up a finger. He held his stay! I was so proud of him!

The new arrival was Gene
. He exited his car carrying a flower arrangement. “Came by to thank you for the support, Cecilia,” he said, heading toward me.
“Think we’ll have those towers as soon as the Board can vote.”

Paco quivered
as Gene
started talking. W
hen Gene
came into Paco’s line of sight, Paco leaped up, yelping hysterically.

“Paco!” I said sharply. “Oh, and he was doing so well. Paco, come.”

But Paco was shivering all over, and with a last hysterical yip, he raced away into the vineyard, vanishing from sight.

“Paco!” I called after him. “Paco, come!”

A shivering of leaves showed Paco’s progress through the vineyard. That little dog was fast!  There was no way I’d be able to catch him if he didn’t want to be caught.

I turned back to Gene
.
“I’ve been training him and he’d been doing great until just now.”

Gene
shifted from foot to foot, and set the flower arrangement down on the picnic table. “Sorry for the interruption. Maybe he’s just not, what’s the word? – socialized. He sure made a ruckus at the burial, didn’t he?”

“Oh, that’s right. You saw that little eruption, didn’t you?” I looked worriedly toward the vineyard. “The odd thing is that he usually rushes up to people and tries to intimidate them. The only person I’ve seen him run away from was Rose’s brother Myron, and he kicked Paco accidentally once.”

“Huh,” said Gene
. “Maybe me and Myron wear the same aftershave or something.”

I chuckled. “That’s probably it.”

But unbidden, I had a flashback
of memory. Back to the auction
and seeing Gene
carrying a box for Rose, with Paco trotting peacefully between them.

“Strange that he didn’t seem scare
d
of you at the auction,” I commented idly.

I’ve got to break myself of the habit of thinking out loud! I can’t
describe what went on with Gene
’s face, but it was all there. Guilt and horror and sadness and regret.

And he saw that I saw it.

“Aw, Cissy,” he said sadly. “I really like you.”

That didn’t sound good.

I was busily trying to come up with an alternate explanation to where we’d wound up here, telling myself that surely I was misinterpreti
ng the situation. But when Gene
pulled his hand out of his pocket, there was no mistaking that.

“Gene
,” I said uneasily, “that’s a gun.”

He looked at it apologetically. “I do have a concealed carry permit,” he said.

Like that made everything okay.

“What is this all about?” I asked carefully.

“D
o you know what she said?” Gene
asked, a hint of anger in his voice. “She said I couldn’t tear down the house! Said it was protected!”

“House?”

“The Beaumont house!” Growing more
agitated, he began to pace,
unnervingly waving the gun for emphasis. “I want you to know something, Cissy,” he said emphatically, “I did my due diligence. Don’t let anybody tell yo
u that Gene
Abernathy would buy a property without checking county records for any restrictions. And there was nothing there!”

He scowled. “But that was back when Martha Dooley was in Records, what an incompetent that woman was. But how was I to know?”

I was confused. “This was all about the house?”

“Rose remembered the paperwork coming back fr
om the National Registry,” Gene
said. “Damn that woman, nobody else remembered! Martha obviously didn’t get the paperwork filed and the property looked free and clear.”

“Yes, but so what?” I asked. “Even if you couldn’t tear down the house, there was all that other acreage. What possible difference could it have made?”

“It
made all the difference!” Gene
shouted, waving his arms (and the gun) wildly.

What he was about to say next was lost, because we were interrupted.
A tiny shrill tan tornado came whirling out of the
vineyard and latched onto Gene
’s leg.

As Gene
shouted, “Shit!” and tried to shake Paco off his ankle, I jumped forward and grabbed his wrist holding the gun. Paco went flying, but swarmed right back in and bit the other ankle.

I don’t know how long Gene
and I swayed back and forth, tussling for control of the gun, though it can’t have been as long as it felt like. But it was an infinite relief to see Craig limping out from the vineyard. He reache
d us, plucked the gun from Gene
’s hand, and punched him in the jaw.

Gene
fell like a sack of potatoes. Craig stood over him with the gun. “Call the sheriff,” he snapped at me coolly, “and bring something to tie this feller up with.”

Well! This was a whole new aspect of Craig. Without comment, I raced into the house.

I grabbed
the phone off the wall and dia
led 911. “This is Cissy Rayburn at Passatonnack Winery,” I said hurriedly to the operator. “We’ve got Rose Jackson’s murderer out in the backyard.” I deliberately didn’t name names, figuring the information that the murderer was the local tycoon and Board of Supervisors member would call my veracity and perhaps even my sanity into question.

“Ma’am…” the operator sputtered, not even sure where to start.

“I can’t talk now, I’ve got to get a rope to tie him up,” I told her. “Call Luther Dawson and tell him to get his ass down here; he knows the way.”

Then I hung up.

Rope, rope. Oh, of course. I hurried to the pantry, where a fresh new rope still wrapped in plastic was waiting for me to replace the
tatty
old clothesline. I grabbed it and raced back to the backyard, tearing the plastic with my teeth as I went.

Gene
was still on the ground, with Craig holding the gun on him. Paco was circling around, growling menacingly. “Mister, if you hurt that dog, you’ll have more to worry about from me than from the cops,” Craig said.

“
The dog?!” Gene
said. “Look at me! I’m bleeding!”

“Shut up,” Craig said coldly. “Miz Rayburn is going to tie you up now, and don’t you give her any trouble, you hear?”

I picked up Paco and pit
ched him into the kitchen. Gene
had enough bites for one da
y. Then I clumsily tied up Gene
and we waited for the cavalry.

Craig and I sat on the picnic
bench while Gene
sat on the ground with his hands tied behind his back and his feet lashed together. “What’s going on, and why did this guy have a gun?” Craig asked me.

“He killed Rose Jackson,” I told him. “But I’m not sure why. He said the house was registered, but it wasn’t listed in the county records.”

“Oh,” said Craig. “That thing.”

Just then a car drove up our drive at high speed, coming to a halt in a fine spray of gravel and dust. Luther jumped out of the car, drawing his gun as he stood up. He took in the scene and slowly holstered his weapon.

“Miz Rayburn?” he said. “Hear tell you’ve got the murderer here?”

He came toward us and got a good look
at the man on the ground. Gene
looked less imposing with
bloody ankles
and dust all over his man-of-distinction suit
.

“Mister ABERNATHY?” Luther’s eyes widened. He turned to me. “Now Miz Rayburn, are you sure there’s not some misunderstanding here?”

I’d bee
n afraid of that attitude. Gene
was a big noise in Queen Anne County. He’d as good as confessed, but I was the only person who heard it. And my Holmesian deduction that a dog
who hadn’t been afraid of Gene
was afraid of him now; I wasn’t sure how
far that would get me. If Gene
denied everything, he could walk.

“He pulled a gun on me
,” I said. “Threatening with a
firearm. Start with that.”

“That’s a fact,” said Craig
positively
. I was relieved that he was backing me up, because I’m not sure he saw more than the two of us struggling over the gun.

L
uther hunkered down beside Gene
. “Mister Abernathy? You got an explanation for this?”