Case of the One-Eyed Tiger Page 4

  The waitress reappeared and presto, my glass of soda was back.

  “I heard something similar earlier today,” I admitted, grabbing my glass to take another long drink. “Something called ‘Syrah’, whatever that is.”

  Julie nodded, “They do make a great Syrah there, too.”

  “Clearly everybody knows more about wine than I do,” I admitted. “I can’t stand the stuff.”

  “But you own a winery now,” Harry pointed out. “If you’re going to keep the winery then you’d better start learning.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see. So what do you do for work, Julie? Harry hasn’t said.”

  “Harry hasn’t said a lot of things,” she quipped, giving her husband a cryptic smile. “I’m a dispatcher for the PVPD.”

  “Oh, really? That’s very cool. Do you know anything about the murder that happened here?”

  Julie leaned forward.

  “I should say so. I’m the one that dispatched the crime scene investigators out to the gallery and had to listen as they reported in.”

  “Can you tell us anything about it?” I pressed, curious.

  Just then the waitress reappeared and set out plates of food. She also set a large carafe of soda down in front of me since she had noticed that I had all but drained my glass for the second time. I looked around the table. Julie had ordered some type of burrito, Harry had a set of three enormous enchiladas set before him, and I had ordered a traditional tostada. Just for the record, there was no way in hell I was going to be able to finish this thing off. They must have used an entire head of lettuce for my order and somehow found a tortilla the size of a man-hole cover to set it on.

  “I can tell you the investigation is ongoing,” Julie continued once the waitress left. “We’ve been given a number of leads so far, only most haven’t panned out.”

  “And those that have?” Harry asked, around a mouthful of chicken enchilada.

  “They say it was an inside job,” Julie quietly told us as she sliced another piece off her gargantuan burrito. “The tiger hasn’t turned up yet and there are no signs of forced entry, either.”

  “What about the person who was murdered?” I asked. “Could that be the insider? I think I heard somewhere that the assistant was the one who was killed.”

  “Right,” Julie confirmed, nodding. “Her name was Debra Jacobs. My own personal opinion is that she wasn’t the insider, provided this was an inside job.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Harry asked, lowering his voice. “If anyone had the temperament to try and pull something like this off then I’d definitely say it would be her.”

  Julie nodded, “Yes, I’m sure. Zora was the only friend Debra had.”

  “Was she that unsociable?” I said. “Surely there’s a reason in there somewhere.”

  Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice even further.

  “Man, that lady was insanely mean. I swear she went out of her way to be as rude as possible.”

  “She definitely enjoyed creating drama in other people’s lives,” Julie confirmed. “Put a knife in her hands and she’ll stab you in the back with it and not think twice about it.”

  “Uhh, you mean that figuratively, right?” I stammered, concerned.

  Julie nodded, “Yes. Of course. Debra was no murderer and she’s no thief. I’ll agree she was quite the bitch but she wasn’t a criminal. I once watched her march a lady back to the cashier stand at the supermarket because she overheard how the customer hadn’t been charged for a yogurt.”

  “Wow,” I whistled.

  “You made that up,” Harry accused. My friend was silent for a moment and then suddenly slapped the table, causing Julie and I to jump in our seats. “Hah! I’ve got it. There are mirrors in Zora’s gallery, aren’t there?”

  “Mirrors?” Julie repeated as she turned to her husband with a confused look on her face. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “I’ll wager she passed by one of them, caught a glimpse of her reflection, and turned herself to stone.”

  I snorted as Julie giggled. She reached across the table to smack Harry on the arm.

  “She was shot, you dork. Besides, don’t speak about the dead like that. It’s rude.”

  Harry held up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, well, you laughed.”

  “You said most leads hadn’t panned out,” I said to Julie, eager to learn more about the crime. “Have there been any that do?”

  Julie nodded. “Just one, I’m afraid.”

  She then gave me an unsettling look. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I demanded. “You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this. I wasn’t even in town when this happened! At least I don’t think I was. Besides, I’ve never stepped foot inside that gallery.”

  Harry looked at his wife with concern in his eyes.

  “Babe, where are you going with this? Zack didn’t do anything. He doesn’t have any part of this.”

  Julie leaned forward again. Both Harry and I did the same.

  “From what I hear, the detectives found a couple of clues at the gallery. Clues that point to you, Zack.”

  “This is nuts,” I sputtered, growing angry. “What kind of numbnuts does PV have on its force, anyway? No offense to you, Julie.”

  “What could they have possibly found, Jules?” Harry wanted to know. “Zack hasn’t been in town long enough to leave any traces of anything lying around.”

  “They wouldn’t tell me any specifics,” Julie said, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin, “only that they were looking into all available possibilities. The last I heard was that they had one working theory, and I’m sure I heard your name in the same sentence, Zack. I’m sorry.”

  “How would you people even know my name?” I demanded. “I first stepped foot in Pomme Valley earlier today! It’s not like there was an official announcement in the paper, right?”

  Both Harry and Julie were silent. I swore softly to myself.

  “Tell me they didn’t.”

  “Last week,” Harry admitted, grinning sheepishly. “There was an article talking about Lentari Cellars and the new owner. You. There wasn’t much to tell other than you were moving to town and would be here soon.”

  “Who told the paper about me?” I demanded, bewildered. “I certainly didn’t authorize it.”

  “Our recycling guy only comes once every two weeks,” Julie said. “I’m sure we still have our copy of the paper. I’ll get it for you. You definitely bring up a good point.”

  A shadow fell over our table. Sherlock woofed a warning. I looked up to see an older woman decked out in formal business attire. She was wearing a dark gray overcoat (it had to be 70 outside in the sun!), matching gray skirt, and gray pumps with thick two inch heels. Her silver hair was pulled up into a tight bun and she was wearing dark sunglasses. The woman scowled as she stared down her nose at the three of us.

  “Which one of you is Mr. Zachary Anderson?”

  I instantly, and I do mean instantly, disliked this woman. She found my ‘it’s-time-to-be-an-asshole’ button in less than three seconds and expertly pushed it. It had to be a record.

  “Well, it’s certainly not her,” I remarked, hooking a thumb in Julie’s direction. “And it’s not him,” I added, pointing down at Sherlock.

  “Just answer the question,” the woman snapped. “Are you Mr. Anderson?”

  I was reminded of a line from a very popular sci-fi movie. If there had been a female Agent in the Matrix, it would have certainly been this woman. I suppressed a smile as I imagined her ducking bullets in slo-mo.

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Mrs. Abigail Lawson.”

  My eyes narrowed and I frowned. Even though I had never met this woman before, her name wasn’t unfamiliar to me. Several years ago I had spent a lot of time working on our family trees. Samantha and I, that is. This lady was on Great Aunt Bonnie’s side of the tree, I was sure of it.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Lawson,” I coolly replied, refusing to stand. “What can I do for you?”

  Abigail Lawson pulled out a wad of papers from her oversized purse and thrust them at me.

  “You can sign these for me. Right now. Here’s a pen.”

  I refused the pen and continued to stare at the woman, all without taking the proffered papers.

  “What are these for?”

  “Transfer of ownership for Lentari Cellars and the rest of my late mother’s estate. It should never have been left to you. It should have gone to me. Clearly my mother wasn’t in her right mind. You’d be helping me rectify that mistake by signing them. Be quick about it. I wish to leave this tiresome little town just as soon as possible.”

  Harry was pissed. I saw him open his mouth to say something when I cut him off.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Lawson. I plan on keeping the winery and the estate. Thank you so much for your more than generous offer.”

  “I wasn’t offering to buy it,” Abigail snapped, still holding the papers out to me. “You’re going to do the right thing and sign everything over to its rightful owners. That’s me, now sign it.”

  That’s it. Patience just flew right out the window. In fact, I’m pretty sure it just crashed through the window in order to get away from me as fast as it could.

  “The estate, and everything on it, was left to me and my wife.” I slowly stood, prompting Harry and Julie to do the same. Sherlock woofed another warning. I was also pleased to see Abigail take a step back. After all, I was six feet tall and she was barely 5’4”, even with her heels. Plus, I had to have a good hundred pounds on her. Well, let’s make that seventy-five. “That makes me the rightful heir. With that being said, I am going to honor my late wif
e by keeping the inheritance. Her inheritance. I feel that it would be important to her. Do you get that, Mrs. Lawson? Does that compute? I don’t know why your mother left everything to Samantha and me but she did. My wife is gone, lady. For some reason fate led me here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Abigail’s eyes shot daggers at me. The papers she was holding were forcibly rammed back into her purse and she stormed off. I glanced down at Sherlock and patted his head affectionately.

  “Good boy. I was about ready to sic you on her.”

  Sherlock wagged the stump of his tail and looked back in the direction Abigail had stormed off. The corgi turned to me and settled back to the ground, content to keep me in his sights. Harry whistled.

  “That was intense. Did you know her?”

  “I had heard of her, only through the family tree I worked on for Samantha’s side, but I have never met her before. I’m sorry you guys had to see that.”

  Julie patted my shoulder.

  “Don’t be. She was a bitch. Anyone could see that. You know what? I think we all could use a margarita.”

  I laughed. I hadn’t realized how much I missed being in the company of friends. Ever since Samantha’s death I...

  Whoops. Veered again. .

  “Don’t you two have to go back to work?” I asked my new friends, grateful that I had someone to talk to here in town.

  Julie nodded, “You’re right. It probably wouldn’t be good for my career if I showed back up at the station with a buzz.”

  Harry clapped a hand on my other shoulder.

  “Tell you what, pal. Once Julie and I are done why don’t we pick up a pizza and head over to your place? We can help you unpack and show you around. Julie and I have been out to the estates a couple of times and probably know it better than you.”

  I sat back in my chair and smiled.

  “You know what, guys? That sounds like a plan. I apprecia-”

  “Mr. Zack Anderson?” a gruff male voice interrupted from behind me.

  I watched Harry stiffen with surprise. Julie gave a little gasp and clutched her husband’s hand. I groaned. Now what? Had Abigail returned with reinforcements?

  “Yes?” I asked, turning around.

  Two uniformed policemen were standing on the other side of the terrace wall, staring straight at me. Great. That nasty hag must have made a beeline straight for the cops.

  “We’re going to need you to come with us.”

  “Is this about that damn lady?” I scowled and rose to my feet. Sherlock started growling. “Look, I might have lost my cool there for a bit but there was no harm done. Sherlock, easy. They’re just asking questions.”

  One of the cops pulled out a small notebook and made a few notes.

  “So you’re saying the two of you had an altercation? Were there any witnesses?”

  Julie stepped out from behind Harry and approached the two officers.

  “Dave. Mike. Would either of you care to tell me what’s going on?”

  Both officers gave a visible start as they recognized Julie.

  “Jules,” one of them acknowledged. “We didn’t see you there. Do you know Mr. Anderson?”

  “He’s a friend. He and my husband went to school together. What’s going on?”

  “We need to take Mr. Anderson downtown. We have some questions for him.”

  “Questions about what?” I wanted to know.

  “Questions about the murder of Ms. Jacobs. You claim the two of you had an altercation. We’d like to get everything on record, if you don’t mind.”

  My mouth fell open as I gawped like a love-struck teenager.

  “Excuse me? I’ve never met her. I was referring to Abigail Lawson. You know, the grumpy old crone that was just standing here?”

  The policeman with the notebook made another few notes.

  “So you’re saying that you physically assaulted another woman?”

  “I did no such thing!” I protested. “I never assaulted anyone!”

  This definitely wasn’t going well. Being new to town I kinda figured the cops would be calling on me at some point to ask about the poor woman who was killed. They always seem to point the finger at the new guy. I just never imagined that they’d be incompetent morons. It was perfectly reasonable to think they wanted to talk to me about Abigail Lawson. I was certain the grumpy old hag had somehow convinced those two policemen I was guilty of some heinous crime. Speaking of which…

  “Are you accusing me of a crime?”

  “That remains to be seen,” the other officer said, breaking his silence. “There are things that must be explained. Take it easy. You’re not being charged with a crime. Not yet, anyway. Now would you please come with us?”

  Could this day get any worse? I looked down at Sherlock, who chose that time to look up at me.

  “Look, I just adopted a dog. Can I at least take him home first?”

  “Do you have someone there to watch over him?” Harry asked, concerned. “You don’t want to leave a new dog alone in a house by himself. Trust me. I could take him back to his kennel at my office but that’d break his heart. I can’t do that to the poor boy.”

  “Just take the dog with you,” Dave, the first cop, suggested. “The captain loves dogs.”

  I looked at my two friends.

  “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

  Harry nodded, “I hope so, pal.”

  Julie squeezed my hand reassuringly.

  “Everything is going to be fine. We’ll see you tonight.”

  Everything was not going to be fine. In fact, in less than an hour I would be in a jail cell with a dozen inmates. Charged with murder.

  Three

  I was unceremoniously escorted to the same building I had been in earlier that day when I set up the utilities for my new house. Apparently City Hall was on the southern side of the building while the Pomme Valley Police Department occupied the northern half.

  I might as well have been cuffed. I had Officer Mike walking directly behind me, with one of his hands on the small of my back. I guess he thought I wouldn’t make a break for it if I knew he was back there. Dave led our procession straight past the big front desk with the obligatory bored-looking cop, opened one of the three doors behind the front desk, and led me into a large, featureless room with a great big mirror on one wall.

  I squinted at the large mirror, convinced I’d be able to see someone peering intently at me on the other side. I gave up and looked at the table. Three chairs. One on my side and two on the other.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Anderson,” Dave said. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

  I pulled the chair out, saw that the cushion had been partially ripped off, and promptly exchanged it for one of the other two on the flip side of the table. I glanced once at the mirror and sank down onto my chair. I crossed my legs and slouched. If they think they were going to play some type of mind game with me in here by keeping me waiting then they were in for a rude awakening. Unlike some, solitude was never something that bothered me. Hell, I’ve waited for over an hour on hold with a big-name computer manufacturer just to get them to troubleshoot a $10 faulty mouse that they were obligated to fix.

  Fifteen minutes later the door opened and two men entered. One had solid gray hair, was shorter than I was, but probably outweighed me by a good forty pounds. He was wearing a blue suit with a police badge prominently displayed where most people would put a handkerchief. The second man was younger, about my age I’d guess. He was wearing a brown suit that also had a badge hooked to his pocket. Brown Suit was carrying a cardboard box with a file sitting in plain sight on top of the box.

  “What’s this all about?” I demanded, as soon as the two men had taken their seats. “Would either of you care to clue me in?”

  The box was placed on the table and the file was placed to the side. The younger man opened the file he had brought in with him and made a point of reading some notes on the first page. The older man looked down at Sherlock and smiled. He had to be the captain. He held his hand out and waited for Sherlock to wander over to give it a cursory sniff.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson,” the younger man said. The tone of his voice suggested his afternoon had been anything but good. “My name is Detective Vance Samuelson. This is Captain Jason Nelson. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”