A Saucy Murder: A Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mystery (7 page)

“First of all,” Emma said, “I’m not a lawyer, Carmen.”

Carmen’s face fell.

“But I
will
try to help you,” Emma added. “Listen, when you read the cards, did they tell you who the murderer was?  Did you see anything that might give us a clue?”

Carmen shook her head. “Honestly Emma, I was so freaked out when I first saw the cards, I just shuffled them up and put them away. Now I wish I had never gone back to that party. If anyone saw me.  I know. They’ll blame the gypsy.”

Emma didn’t want to tell her that some people already were blaming the gypsy. She thought for a minute. If Carmen saw Barry Buchanon with Natasha right after she died, Carmen probably had a duty to go to the police. The bigger question was, if Carmen wouldn’t go, did Emma have to go to the police herself?  If Emma were an attorney, the answer would be simple. Anything Carmen told her would be confidential. But Emma wasn’t an attorney. The problem was, Carmen had come to her thinking she
was
.

Emma made a quick decision. “Carmen, I think you should go to the police and tell them what you saw. Go now. They are going to question you anyway. Someone at the party told one of the policemen that you were there last night. He took that information down. Sooner or later they are going to call you. Better that you volunteer the information, before they come looking for you.”

Carmen started shaking again. “I can’t do that, Emma.”

“Well, you
should.
Now. Think about it.” Emma paused. “By the way, I’m curious. What have you heard today about the death?  Have you talked to anyone?  Has anyone called you?”

Carmen nodded. “Yeah. Someone called. I thought it was the police, so I hung up.”

Emma cringed.

“Oh, I almost forgot. The dead lady’s ugly twin. She came by my trailer this morning. She was frantic. She’s afraid whoever killed the sister will go after her too.”

“Why?” Emma asked. “Did she say there was some connection?”

“Just, I don’t know, like that they’re twins. And if someone wanted to kill one twin, they would want to kill the other one too. She wanted me to read her cards to reassure her that she wasn’t going to die. I don’t know how she found me. She was shaking and crying. She said her sister was the best person in the world. And that if anyone was going to die it should be her, the ugly twin. Then she begged me to do her cards. But at the last minute, she said she felt sick and ran out the door.”

“So you never did the cards?” Emma asked.

“No. She left.” 

Poor Vera, Emma thought.

Carmen was still shaking when she rose abruptly from her seat. “I gotta go, Emma,” she said. “Tonio’s waiting for me. You won’t tell anyone about our conversation, will you?”

Emma didn’t answer. Instead, she eyed Carmen sternly. “Carmen, I mean it. Go to the police now. Before they come to you.”

Carmen hurried out of Emma’s office without a reply.

Emma left the Blissburg Free Legal Services Clinic shortly after.  She spoke to no one about her conversation with Carmen, still unsure whether it was confidential – or whether she should report what she heard to the police.

She headed straight for her daughter’s house. Saturday was Piers and Julie’s date night. When she moved to Blissburg, Emma volunteered to babysit for them, her schedule permitting. She hadn’t missed a Saturday night with her grandson, Harrington, yet.

Before Julie and Piers left to catch a movie, Julie served a delicious take out meal from Sergio’s.

“Sergio’s was empty, Mom,” Julie replied when Emma commented that the pizza she’d bought smelled delicious. “Completely empty. Natasha Vasiliev’s death has ruined his business. Kind of shoots your theory about him being a suspect.”

Piers strolled into the kitchen with a glass of wine. “By the way, Emma, I saw you talking to my client, Jack Russo, at the fundraiser. What did you think of him?”

“You mean the Goodfella?” Emma replied.

Piers shook his head. “Why does everybody say that?  Who is the Goodfella?”

Emma sighed. Where Piers came from, Goodfellas were the guys who drove ice cream trucks.

“Sorry to be so predictable.” She thought about Jack Russo for a moment.
“He seemed nice, Piers. What?” she joked. “Are you trying to fix me up with him?  Don’t you want to keep my Saturday nights free?”

Julie looked up from the steaming thin crust pizza topped with figs, prosciutto and gorgonzola cheese she was serving on her hand painted Deruta ceramic dinnerware. “Fix Mom up?  Whose idea is that?  Mom’s fine the way she is.”  She looked at Harrington. “Right?”

“Yeah, Nonnie’s fine the way she is,” Harry replied. “Don’t change. Can we play Concentration after dinner?”

“Sure, honey.”  Emma loved her grandson’s loyalty. “But you always win. I can’t seem to remember anything, these days.”  Emma turned back to Julie and laughed, “I think Piers is trying to fix me up with some Goodfella business client of his. That’s sort of sweet.”

“With Russo?” Julie grimaced. “You're kidding, right?  They have absolutely nothing in common, Piers. Besides, when he talks he just doesn’t sound, I don’t know, smart.”

Piers shrugged. “Smart enough to have made a bundle of money as a VC. Enough to need
my
services.”

“And enough to bid $5000 for my dinner for six,” Emma added still wondering what a VC was. 

Julie’s jaw dropped. “Five thousand? For Mom’s dinner?”

Piers put down his wine glass and raised his hands, palms up. “Look Julie, all I know is that he moved here from the East Coast a few months ago and hired us to do some estate planning work. Then I saw him thumbing through your mother’s book at the fundraiser and I mentioned that the author was my mother-in-law and a great cook. He said he loves to cook and that he’s an opera fan. Made some joke about how all those loud female voices fill the void since his wife died. I think the guy’s lonely.” 

Piers glanced at Emma. “I hope you were nice. He’s a really, really good client. How good, of course, is totally confidential.”

“I’m always nice,” Emma answered. “Speaking of confidential, Piers. What if I get a client at the clinic who tells me something that is confidential because he thinks I’m a lawyer when I’m not. Is it still confidential?”

Piers shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but if someone at my firm mistook a paralegal for a lawyer, I’d keep the information confidential. Because the client holds the confidentiality privilege and the client intended the information to be confidential. It’s an interesting question though.”  He grinned. “So what, exactly, did you hear?”

By then Julie had brought all the food to the dining room. They sat down to eat. For the moment, Harry was busy with pizza and milk.

Julie began. “So, what do we have to report about our suspects?  I’ll go first. I poked around today about Lexie and Vera Vasiliev, Natasha’s twin sister.”

“Lexie D?”  Harry interrupted. “Are you talking about Lexie D from my school?”

“No, honey,” Julie answered. “Lexie Buchanon. Different Lexie.”  Then, realizing the four year old was listening to everything they said, she made him an offer. “Hey, wanna watch Cars?  You can eat in front of the TV as a special treat tonight. Then you and Nonnie can finish watching the movie before you go to bed.”

A few minutes later, Julie had settled Harry in front of the TV in the breakfast room, and was back at the dining table. She lowered her voice. “Anyway, our theory for Lexie Buchanon is that Barry Buchanon was having an affair with Natasha, and Lexie was jealous enough to kill her. That would give Lexie a motive and the opportunity to swing by Natasha’s table and slip something into the food on her plate. So while I was at the restaurant, I asked Sergio if Lexie spent any time in the kitchen. You know, before the food was served.”

“What did he say?” Piers asked.

Julie raised her eyebrows. “Get this. He said that Lexie spent half an hour in the kitchen flirting with him while the guests were arriving. In fact, she specifically asked to taste your pasta sauce, Mom, because she told Sergio that she adores it. Apparently she calls it Italian comfort food.”

More like discomfort food now, Emma thought to herself.

“The other thing is,” Julie continued, “apparently while they were talking, Lexie made a little plate of hors d’oeuvres that she said she was taking out to Barry, along with a glass of wine. She said the wine they were serving wasn’t good enough for Barry. He wouldn’t drink it. So she opened a
special
bottle and took a glass of it along with the hors d’oeuvres out to the garden. I’d say, motive
and
opportunity.”

“For what?” Piers interjected. “She’s already married to one of the richest men in California. Even if Barry dumped her for the songstress, Lexie’ll get enough money to refinance the bachelor of her choice. Why risk all that for a life sentence in the women’s correctional facility?”

“Jealousy, passion,” Julie replied. “Look, if you gave a four carat emerald ring to some starlet, I’d be so jealous I’d rip her to shreds. With my bare hands. Forget the alimony. I want
you
Piers.”

Piers looked at his wife skeptically. “You’re kidding, right?”

Julie nodded. “Yes, I’m kidding. I’d rip
you
to shreds, honey. Not the floozy.”

Piers smiled. He appeared to have taken that as a compliment.

But Julie was getting impatient. “This is serious guys. There’s more. According to Oleg, my masseur at the spa.”

“Oleg?” Piers interrupted. “I didn’t know you were getting all those massages from a guy!”

“Who’s under investigation here?” Julie shot back.

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “Oleg gives a great massage.”

“Enough from you about massages, Mom,” Julie shuddered. “Anyway, Oleg was full of gossip today about the death last night. He said all his appointments this morning were talking about it. Apparently the debacle was
good
for
his
business, unlike mine. Well, Oleg heard that, a few years ago, when Natasha was an Ormon Rising Young Star Fellow at the City Opera, Vera, who was Barry Buchanon’s masseuse, introduced him to her twin sister. That was before Lexie started doing him.” 

Julie glanced into the breakfast room at Harry. He was engrossed in the film.

“Literally,” she added. “Anyway, way back then, when Vera introduced him to Natasha, her twin sister, Barry fell head over heels in love with her. But Natasha wouldn’t let him touch her. Apparently that turned him on more. Then Natasha moved to New York and Barry married Lexie, his new masseuse. But a few months ago, when Natasha returned to San Francisco to sing
Trovatore
, Barry basically crawled back to her on his knees. The more she rejected him, the more he craved her. Well, at least that’s one version. The other is that Natasha was doing Barry all along,
and
Sacha Kuragin,
and
every other bass, tenor, alto in the business.”

“So what does Oleg think?” Emma asked.

“Oleg worships Natasha. He thinks she’s pure as the driven snow.”

“Is that it?” Piers asked.

“I think that’s a lot for one day’s work,” Julie replied.

“What about Vera?” Emma asked.

“Nothing. Adoring twin sister. Natasha shared everything with her.”

“Except enough money to quit being a masseuse,” Emma added.

Julie shook her head. “The word is Vera was planning to retire once Natasha made it big. I asked about the money. It seems Natasha shared
everything
with Vera. Oleg said he thought Natasha felt guilty because she got both the voice
and
the looks.”

Emma nodded sympathetically.

“Problem was,” Julie continued, “there wasn’t much to share in the beginning. Natasha’s recordings have just started to pay off. Both girls had taken out enormous loans for Natasha’s lessons: voice, acting, English, Italian, colors, wardrobe, you name it. But this morning, one of Oleg’s B of A executive type clients said that someone had just paid off all those loans. Like last week. Of course, Oleg wouldn’t tell me who that was. But I’ll bet I can guess.”

“Who?” Piers asked.

Julie turned to Piers. “Barry Buchanon, duh. So what did
you
find out?”

“More than you,” he began.

Why, Emma thought, did the busiest person always seem to get the most done?

“I checked out Barry and Chiara, the understudy,” he continued. “Since I really don’t think Barry did it, I started with Chiara. First I called Clare Blumberg.”

“Madame City Opera Director,” Emma interjected.

“Mom,” Harry called in from the adjoining breakfast room where he was watching the video. “It’s the scary part. Turn it off. I don’t like it.”  He ran into the dining room and jumped into his mother’s lap.

“Honey, there
is
no scary part in Cars, remember?” Julie said.

“Mom, it’s the mean trucks at night. The Peterbuilt truck.”

Emma interjected, “I can sit with him, Julie. I can hear Piers from the breakfast room. Besides, I need a snuggle.”

Julie gave Harry a hug. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from those Nonnie Snuggles. You can stay here until the scary part is over, but then you need to go back to the movie. Mommy and Daddy are having a boring grown up talk with Nonnie.”

Harry squirmed off his mother’s lap. “OK.”

Emma grabbed him on his way back to the breakfast room and gave him a kiss.

Piers continued, “I’ll cut to the chase. Otherwise, we’ll be late for the movie. Clare knew exactly why I was calling. She was at the fundraiser. She no more wants a killer wandering around backstage at City Opera than we want one here in Blissburg. The police have already contacted Chiara, the understudy. Clearly she had the most to gain from Natasha’s death. Singing on Opening Night will be the biggest break of her career.”

“I’ll say,” Emma nodded, thinking about Sacha Kuragin’s comment that Chiara would kill to perform Natasha’s role.

“Chiara’s freaked out because she knows the police are investigating her,” Piers added. “But according to Clare, underneath her bubbly exterior, Chiara would stop at nothing to claw her way to the top. She’s been carrying on with Massimo, the conductor, who is besotted with her. By the way, according to Clare, Massimo has a temper that could catapult
him
to the top of the suspect list. She’s heard Massimo blow up at the musicians. The union even got on his back. Last year he threatened to dismember the French horn player during a
Gotterdammerung
rehearsal.”

“Did Clare say anything to the police?” Emma asked.

“No,” Piers answered. “She says she’s used to that kind of behavior. It’s Grand Opera, for goodness sake. Everyone acts that way. But as far as Chiara is concerned, Clare said she wouldn’t put murder past her. There’s a rumor that during the Ormon Rising Young Star auditions,
Chiara
was the one who tainted the picnic lunch so that half the candidates had the runs the day of the competition. No one knows who started the rumor. Maybe it was just a sour grapes loser. But every other Ormon Fellow believed it. And by then, they all knew Chiara pretty well.”

“Why didn’t someone report
that
to the police?” Julie asked.

“Someone did,” Piers replied. “But no one could prove it.”

That’s when Emma repeated Sacha Kuragin’s jab at Chiara the night before. That she’d kill to sing the first act aria on her back. Emma wondered what more Sacha knew. And if he’d tell.

“Anyway,” Piers continued, “according to Clare, the police are already milking this angle. Personally, I think it’s a little too obvious. But Chiara isn’t the sharpest tack. As for Barry, first of all, he’s a client. I know the guy. He just wouldn’t do it. But for what it’s worth, Clare is convinced that Natasha never gave in to him.”

“Piers, hogwash,” Julie replied. “She took the ring, didn’t she?”