Homicide in Hardcover (11 page)

But they weren’t about to let me escape. They both followed me to the Mexican station, where I gratefully exchanged my full cookie sheet for the empty one on the table.

“Okay, so much for my break from reality,” I said, smiling back and forth from one ridiculously good-looking man to the other. “What do you guys want?”

“I’ll need a word with you, Ms. Wainwright.”

“Hey, plenty of me to go around,” I said, laughing as I turned and stared into the grim brown eyes of Inspector Jaglow.

Oh, bugger, what did the police want with me? I shot a look at Derek, but he avoided my distressed gaze, turning away to chat up the closest woman available, who happened to be Mary Ellen Prescott, the manicurist at the Dharma co-op beauty salon my mother operated with a few of the commune women. He would soon find out that Mary Ellen was not a member of our commune but a shameless, serial proselytizer for the Church of the True Blood of Ogun. Served him right for ignoring me in my hour of need.

Semifrantic now, I turned to Ian and was dismayed to realize that in the few seconds it had taken me to observe Derek’s betrayal, Ian had seen his chance and completely disappeared.

Suffice it to say, this was another lesson learned the hard way. Men were good for one thing only. Killing spiders. Other than that, I was on my own. It was sad, though. Where was the chivalry of yesteryear?

Inspector Jaglow coughed discreetly.

I could claim a need to use the bathroom, then sneak through the kitchen, detour out the mudroom door and be gone in seconds. There were back roads and switchbacks and hollows up here in Sonoma I could disappear into, where a hotshot City cop like Jaglow would never find me.

“Ms. Wainwright?” he said again. “This won’t take long.”

I sighed, gave him a wan smile and gestured for him to lead the way. Without a word, he crossed the room and exited through the wide double doors. I tried not to hyperventilate as he took the walkway around to the back, across the wide, blacktop parking lot. There were plenty of people in the hall, but nobody was out here, no witnesses to see me forced into a car or led into the woods to be brutally interrogated.

I’d never realized it before this moment, but I didn’t trust the police. Here I was, completely innocent of any wrongdoing, yet I felt like a criminal as I traipsed across the blacktop with The Man.

“Over here,” Jaglow said, pointing to the far corner of the lot.

That was when I saw Inspector Lee standing by a picnic table under a giant oak tree at the edge of the lot. She wore a heavy black wool coat and flat shoes. Despite the extra weight of the coat, she still looked pathetically thin. I knew I wasn’t the fashion maven Robin was, but I ached to do a makeover on the inspector.

She watched us approach and I noticed she was smoking a cigarette. That was a surprise. Of course, I wasn’t about to discuss the commune’s recently initiated no-smoking policy. I figured it was bogus anyway since Guru Bob had been sneaking out to light up behind the winery barn for years.

“Hello, Ms. Wainwright,” Inspector Lee said in her oddly authoritative voice. Now I knew where that deep, sexy tone came from. Cigarettes. It seemed like cheating, somehow. “Sorry to take you away from the service, but we had some questions that couldn’t wait.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Did you get something to eat inside?” Always the hostess, that’s me, but more important, she could use some fattening up. Maybe I’d get Carmen to put together a hearty to-go pack for her.

“I had a cookie,” she allowed.

I brightened. “Did you try the Snickerdoodles? My mom makes the best-”

“Ms. Wainwright,” Jaglow interrupted, thumping the page of his notebook, then looking up. “I had another conversation with, er, Minka La Burr… La Boo…” He gave up and checked his notebook. “ La Beef.”

“Right, La
Beef
,” I said, and wanted to laugh, but sadly, even his mispronunciation of her stupid name didn’t cheer me up. Minka had warned me she was going to talk to the cops. I couldn’t wait to hear the lies she’d planted.

“She tells me you and Karastovsky had a big fight the night he was murdered.”

“What?”

I must’ve shouted it because they both glared at me.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “But she’s lying. Totally and completely lying. Look, Minka LaBoeuf and I have never gotten along. We go way back. It’s not pretty. She’s a compulsive liar and she hates me. I don’t really want to get into it but-”

“Get into it,” Inspector Lee said, her lips twisting sardonically.

I blew out a breath, then gave them the abbreviated version. College. Art class. Boyfriend. Obsession. Sharp knife. Vicious cut. Blood everywhere. Paramedics.

As I spoke, Jaglow wrote furiously.

“Okay, so you’re not best friends,” Lee said. “Why would she lie about this fight?”

“There was no fight,” I insisted.

“Whatever,” Lee said. “Why would she lie?”

I clenched my fists. What part of She tried to cut off my hand did they not understand? I counted to five slowly, then said, “It’s what she does. At the very least, Minka would love to see me fired from the Covington.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because she’s always hated me. Because Abraham fired her and she knows we were close. I’m the logical target.”

“And at the very most?” Jaglow said, following up on my previous sentence.

Did he expect me to say the words? That Minka would love to see me arrested for murder? I wasn’t going there.

Inspector Lee actually rolled her eyes. “Nate, I think Ms. Wainwright is convinced this La Beef woman’s trying to implicate her in Karastovsky’s murder.”

She gave me a pointed look, suggesting I agree or deny it.

I hastily nodded in agreement. “Yes, exactly.”

Lee nodded back, then said, “Just so we’re clear, you’re saying there was no fight between you and Karastovsky that night?”

“That’s right. Absolutely right. No fight. We were talking and laughing; he was in a jovial mood and happy to see me. You can ask anyone-besides Minka.”

“And you’re saying Karastovsky fired her,” Jaglow said.

Hearing Jaglow say it aloud made me remember that Minka had her own motive for murder. Hadn’t I accused her of that when we first spoke in the basement hall the night of the murder? I rubbed my head. Days and conversations were getting blurred. The thing was, I seriously doubted Minka was capable or even competent enough to commit murder, but I was almost giddy with relief that the spotlight was off me. Now it was time to return the favor and kick Minka under the tires.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Minka had been hired by the Covington to work with Abraham on the Winslow collection. He fired her from the project within a week. Frankly, if it had been up to him, he never would’ve hired her in the first place.”

“You know this because?” Lee drawled.

“Because Abraham knew she was a hack, and he knew what she tried to do to me with that knife. He knew she brought problems with her wherever she went. Any job she works on never goes smoothly. She’s disruptive, a troublemaker, and besides her crappy attitude, she’s just not very good at the work.”

“But tell us how you really feel,” Lee murmured, and almost cracked a smile.

Jaglow nodded in amusement. “I hear that.” He looked back at me. “So you and the La Beef woman have some history and all, but what does she have to gain by lying about you?”

“For Minka, it would be for the sheer joy of watching me squirm.”

“That’s some serious stuff,” he said.

Lee was more philosophical. “Girls just want to have fun.”

I walked into the town hall alone after watching the inspectors drive off. I’d offered them both some takeaway goodies, but they declined. Too bad. Lee could use the calories.

I was gratified to see Derek still cornered by Mary Ellen Prescott. He looked utterly desperate. I knew Mary Ellen, so I felt his pain, but I flashed him a broad smile and he bared his teeth at me. I’d be sure to remind him later that karma was a bitch.

I was headed toward the kitchen when someone called my name.

“Brooklyn, my dear.”

I turned and saw Guru Bob walk toward me.

“Are you in a hurry, gracious?” he asked.

“Yes. Uh. No.” He always left me tongue-tied. What did you say to someone who’s supposed to be a highly evolved conscious being? I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but I knew he was incredibly intelligent and perceptive. He could talk anyone into doing anything. I’d grown up trying to stay under the Guru radar and I’d been fairly successful for years. Then, when I was fourteen, Abraham showed him a beautiful family Bible I’d restored. That gained his interest.

It had been Guru Bob’s suggestion that I go for the multiple degrees in library science and fine art, even though Abraham had thought it irrelevant. I’d always insisted to my parents that neither of their opinions mattered, but Guru Bob’s encouragement had helped move my parents to fully finance my college and postgrad schooling, so I was grateful for that.

“I saw you speaking with the police, dear,” he said.

Good to know someone had been aware of my situation out in the parking lot. The fact that it was Guru Bob caused my throat to go dry as sand. I reached for a water bottle from the nearby table, popped it open and took a long sip.

“You are distressed,” he said kindly.

“No, I am fine,” I said. “I am just very thirsty.”

Guru Bob never used contractions and I tended to imitate him whenever I spoke with him. Weird.

“Water is life-giving,” he said quietly as I drank.

He was a tall man with broad shoulders, but when he spoke with you, he would hunch over to appear less intimidating and more humble. He also spoke softly, believing his words would be better received than if he spoke louder. It worked. I definitely paid attention to him.

“The police upset you?” he asked.

“No, no,” I said. “They were just asking me about Abraham and some statements one of my, er, colleagues made.” Calling Minka a colleague left a bitter taste, but I didn’t want to have to explain the whole thing to Guru Bob.

“There is no need to explain,” he said, doing that creepy mind-reading thing he did sometimes.

I felt an urgent need to explain anyway. “It’s just that this woman lied to the police and I had to tell them the true story. She’s not really a colleague, Robson, she’s really a…” I sighed. I couldn’t say anything too negative to Guru Bob.

He touched my shoulder and I felt a tingle of energy.

“You are under a great deal of strain, gracious.”

Guru Bob called most people “gracious.” Mom said he liked to make them aware that they actually were full of grace. He was definitely a glass-half-full kind of guy.

“I will be fine,” I insisted.

“Of course you will.” He absently kneaded my shoulder blade and I felt a rush of something like electricity zing across my shoulders and down my spine. How did he do that?

“Take more potassium this week,” he advised. “It will improve your ability to sleep and awake refreshed.”

“Yes, okay.”

“And eat oatmeal,” he said. “It will boost your sex drive.”

I choked on the water and he patted my back.

“Gotcha,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“Good one,” I whispered between coughs.

“Anything that helps us remember the moment is a good one indeed,” he murmured, then straightened to his full height, signaling that our conversation was over. Then he snapped his fingers, something I’d never seen him do.

He smiled and spread his hands. “You see, gracious, had I truly been in the moment, I would have remembered what I wished to tell you in the first place.”

My eyes widened at his revelation, but I had no comeback and he didn’t expect one.

“Gavin will be reading Abraham’s last will and testament at four this afternoon in the tearoom. Your presence is required, of course.”

Before I could protest, he brought his palms together as though he were going to pray, then bowed his head briefly. “Namasté,” he said, and walked away.

I needed a minute and took another gulp of water. Guru Bob always left me feeling completely charged but also kind of spacey.

“Sweetie.” Mom stopped me right inside the kitchen door and pulled me over to a deserted corner.

“Mom, whoa. Watch the sweater. What’s up?”

“Is that cashmere?” she asked, rubbing it between her fingers. “Nice.”

I pried my sleeve away from her nervous hands. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Why were the police here?”

“They just had a few questions.”

“So they drove all the way to Sonoma? On a Saturday? That’s very strange.” She paced a few feet, then whirled around. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“I think it’s good that they’re working the case.” And why was she so nervous? Had the police spooked her?

“What did you tell them? Are you in trouble?”

“Mom, it’s nothing. A misunderstanding, that’s all. Don’t worry.”

“I’m your mother. I get paid to worry.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest and shook her head.

I smiled and rubbed her arms. “Mom, everything’s fine. They just needed to clarify something and now they’re gone. Everything’s groovy.”

“Groovy.” She exhaled heavily. “Right. Good.”

“Jeez, Mom, you’d think they were going to arrest me or something.”

“Don’t say that!” She grabbed a wooden spoon from the utility shelf and held it out. “Knock on wood.”

“Mom, this is crazy.”

“Just do it.”

I rapped the spoon with my knuckles and she tossed the spoon back on the shelf. Then she reached out and rubbed my forehead with her thumb to stimulate my third eye. This was supposed to open my clogged channels and allow me to tune into the right universal vibration in order to see the world from a higher place.

Or something like that. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I love you, Mom.”

I thought she would burst into tears. She grabbed me in her arms and held on tight. “I love you, too, sweetie. I’d just die if something happened to you.”

I hugged her, but had to wonder why she was so nervous about the police being around. Was it because she was hiding her own reasons for sneaking into the Covington that night? Her behavior was making all my suspicious little nerve channels vibrate more than ever.

It was after two before I was able to sneak out the kitchen door and run down to Abraham’s studio without being followed. I figured I had just enough time to search the place and be back for the reading of the will at four o’clock.

The studio was unchanged from the last time I’d seen it. Drawers were still opened with papers jammed in every which way or crumpled and thrown around. The stack of birch book covers was a jumble and there were shells and rocks scattered across the worktable and the floor. I started to pick them up, then realized I didn’t have time to straighten things. I would try to get up here sometime during the week to take care of it, but right now, I needed to search for the missing journals.