A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery (16 page)

“Fuck, Charlie. Don't tease me. I've got to work with this guy. He's a stranger, and for all I know he could be my brother.” The thought came out before she could stop it. The shock hit Charlie like a slap in the face. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Wow. But it’s not incest for me, right? Cause if you aren't going for that, then I am!”

Syd punched her square in the shoulder, harder than she ought to have. Charlie yelped and swung back with a wild haymaker in slow motion, replete with sound effects. Syd's frustration gave way to a violent snort of laughter, while Charlie continued with her vaudevillian slapstick. Syd buckled over, gasping for breath as Rosa padded into the kitchen.

“You should have been Lucy,” she sneered as she passed through to the living room, parting with a hard slap on Charlie's butt.

Charlie stood upright and yelped in pain, holding her ass as she stared at Rosa. “
Ouch!
What is it, beat on Charles day?” She bellowed at Rosa and stole a glance at her audience. Syd was still wiping tears from her eyes, bracing herself up with one hand on the counter. She wheezed with laughter.

“Best medicine, babe,” Charlie said, looking rather proud of herself.

“What? Kitchen shadowboxing?” Syd choked out between giggles. Charlie leaned against the counter with her lanky legs crossed at the ankles and her arms crossed around her chest. She watched Syd thoughtfully while she recovered in slow gasps.

“So we need to talk to dad, Syd,” She said quietly.

“Yeah.” Sydney nodded. “Is it logical to think that
our
prowler was the same person who broke into Jack's office? Am I just connecting the dots in a weird fever-induced conspiracy thing, or does this make sense to you?”

“For once, Syd, I think your conspiracy theory’s right on. Have you ever talked to this guy Hans Feldman?”

“No. I shook his hand at the memorial. He was smug. Actually, it was more like contempt.” She frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“More like he was being dismissive. You know the type. I'm a girl and I’m not worth his time or energy. And he’s annoyed that he has to perform the whole “I’m sorry-for-your-loss” thing. Like he was bored too.”

“All that in a handshake?”

“Yeah.” She answered defensively. “He certainly wasn't sorry for my loss.”

They looked up at once up at the sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway. Charlie stepped over to the window and peered out.

“Speak of the devil,” she muttered.

“Hans Feldman?” Syd asked, alarmed.

“Dad, dummy,” Charlie said. “We better make him some lunch before we tell him about your prowler. He's much nicer with a full belly. He'll be barking mad at you, Syd.”

Jim Yesler was less mad than he was concerned. His face revealed a paternal panic that instantly melted Syd's defensiveness as she told him about the night before. She began to feel that she may have been foolish to think that she could handle it by herself. Still, she hated the feeling of helplessness that came with admitting that she shouldn’t be making judgment calls on her own safety. It railed against her very being to think she should acquiesce to the notion that she was frail or helpless, or in need of male authority. She felt that inviting Alejandro and Olivier into the house to provide protection was tolerant enough. She was frustrated by Jim's patronizing tone, in spite of his obvious concern. It was a characteristic of men like Jim to seem charming and well-intentioned while still emitting a gentle brand of sexism. The Grand Protector. Charlie had issues with her father's paternal coddling all of her adult life, and it was often a topic of conversation between them. Her father was her only parent for a while, and he cherished his daughter above anything else in the world. Instead of showing his love by assuming she could do anything, be anything, or even take care of herself, he preferred the role of knight in shining armor. The magnanimous hero. And wherever there was a male hero there had to be a damsel in distress. Charlie put up with it well enough. Syd secretly felt that Charlie liked it in a way, although she complained about it. But Syd grew up with a different kind of male parent. Clarence always felt that Syd was the champion. Syd was the strong one; the hero of her own story. Clarence had no such delusions about male strength and female fragility. Syd was an equal to her uncle in times of tranquility and in times of duress. She was suddenly quite grateful for her uncle's firm grasp of reality, in spite of the prevailing sexism that surrounded them now.

Syd pondered her own capabilities while she listened quietly to Jim's admonitions. She instantly forgave him for his poor assessment of her judgment. But she also knew that she was right. She would have to figure out a way to help Jim feel the way she needed him to feel while continuing to piece together the events of the past week. Jim was the investigating Sheriff on the case of her uncle's murder. He had the legal authority to investigate her uncle's death and follow all of the leads in the case as he saw fit. But she also knew that she had the moral authority to find out who killed her uncle, and that Jim's declaration that she had no business in the case was just plain wrong. And she couldn't help but feel it was sexist as well.

Jim sighed. “And why are you smiling?”

“Oh, just something Clarence used to say to me. “When a man is born in a soup he can't help but smell like the broth'. Something like that.” Her voice trailed off. Charlie raised her eyebrows at Syd. She had heard Syd say the same thing to her during their conversations about Jim's patronizing ways. Syd had encouraged her to forgive her father for his sexism since he was a product of his culture, in spite of his best intentions.

“Well, I'm just saying that you two girls should come stay with me for a while,” Jim said, frowning at them. He looked a little hurt at the inside joke they shared.

Charlie stepped forward and patted her father's hand. “Sorry, Pop. We've got a slumber party planned. Pillow fight and all.”

“But we’ll call you if another Peeping Tom shows up,” Syd said.

“Immediately. Call me immediately.” His voice rang with authority. Charlie rolled her eyes at Syd.

“Was there any way to tell if something had been taken from Jack's office? Uncle's papers were in the safe, I think. I remember Jack getting the files from the safe.” Syd changed the subject, trying to appear only casually interested.

“The safe was unopened, if that's what you mean. Too heavy to lift. Papers were everywhere. The file cabinet was dumped out on the floor. The place was a mess. Becky said it would take weeks to figure out if anything was missing. And she said she hardly knew what Jack had in his files anyway.” Both women followed his eyes to his large hands. Jim drummed his fingers on the table.

“Jack's awake, by the way,” Jim said. “I'll see him later.”

“How is he?” Syd asked.

“Doctors say he's good. He's somewhat alert now. Still having trouble remembering things. The head injury was about all the damage. He has a broken rib or two from the airbag but nothing life threatening. He got lucky.” He paused. “Is Mr. Ruiz around?” Jim finally asked. Sydney grew instantly alarmed at the formal use of Olivier's last name.

“Olivier? Yeah. He's in the winery fixing a stuck fermentation. Why? You know he was here last night.
In the house
. And he was here the entire day of Jack's accident. I should think it was obvious.”

Jim held up his hand to stop her. “I've just got some questions about his airplane. And why he said he arrived a full month after he had. In
June
. Two days before Clarence's accident.”

Syd's jaw dropped reflexively, in spite of herself. Jim took out his notebook and read from it.

“He flew in on June 23
rd
at 4 pm on a flight plan from Northern California. He flew out June 25
th
, plotted to British Columbia. His extended flight plan follows all the way from Argentina. He had been making his way up north for two weeks. But he stopped here and went for a joyride in Clarence's plane on the 24
th
.”

Syd and Charlie were silent.

“The point is that he lied. He said he arrived in July. Syd, he lied about when he came and he was
in the plane
the day before your uncle's accident.”

“Uncle's will wasn’t changed until after the accident,” Syd said. “Olivier had nothing to gain at the time. This does nothing but explain to me why Uncle left him the plane.”

“Or the accident was how he bullied Clarence into changing the will,” Jim offered.

“Really? Have you actually spoken to this man? He’s utterly heartbroken.”

“Sydney, he has a point,” Charlie interrupted. Syd glared at her.

“Pretty risky way to get someone to change a will,” Syd said. “His plane was in a full stall for Christ’s sake. He only recovered it at the last second. You've got to be kidding?” She put her hands on her head in exasperation. Charlie caught her eye with a meaningful look, urging Syd's complicity. She was up to something. Syd frowned, a bit confused. Charlie raised her eyebrows at her and Syd relented. “Okay, fine. Olivier’s up in the winery. Go question him again.”

“He's far more of a flight risk, literally, now that we know he has a plane here,” Jim said. He shoved his chair back, gathered the dishes from the sandwiches the girls had made for lunch, and walked over to the sink. He paused while he held open the kitchen door. “You girls stay out of trouble.” He glared at Charlie. He turned and walked outside, his boots scuffing against the deck.

“That old fart’s too smart for his own good,” Charlie half-whispered.

“What's going on, Charlie?” Syd asked.

“Buying time,” Charlie said. “We both know that Olivier’s in the clear. Dad mostly knows it too. He's just eliminating him, I think. He doesn't like the idea of him, actually.”

“So why are we buying time?” Syd asked.

“I wanna know what’s in Jack's safe. Don't you?”

Syd scrambled out of the shower and brushed her teeth before she could digest what Jim had said about Olivier. She considered if he could have had something to do with the plane accident. He was here in the Gorge right before the accident and he had been in Clarence's plane. The fact that he knew how to fly added to his potential guilt. Syd looked out the bathroom window up to the winery. The doors stood open, and Jim had not emerged yet. Olivier might be sweating it out under Jim's pointed questions. Jim could be overbearing, and Olivier had let on that he really didn't enjoy his interrogations.

Charlie waited in the living room while Syd was in the shower. She was pacing when Syd entered a moment later, her hair still wet.

“About time! Sheesh, let's go.” Charlie grabbed her jacket, keys, and a bottle of Uncle's private reserve. Syd was wearing some fresh clothes that Charlie had brought down for her.

“What are those?” Charlie asked, looking over Syd in her favorite pair of jeans.

“My jeans. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Charlie reached down and pulled the waist band of her pants. They gapped a full four inches from her stomach.

“What can I say? Grief is a good diet.”

“And you hardly ate your lunch. Great. Now I have to add nursemaid to an anorexic to my list of Sydney nanny tasks.”

“I've got the flu, for fucksake.” Syd said in her defense, but she secretly noted the concern in Charlie's voice and made a vow to pay more attention to her appetite. Charlie strode out the door in her long strides, with Syd trotting to keep up. They looked in the direction of the winery for signs of Jim as they climbed into Charlie's Jetta. In spite of everything, Sydney felt a thrill of excitement, just like she used to when she and Charlie were out on a naughty adventure.

“Okay, so what makes you think you can get into that safe, Charlie?” Syd asked.

Charlie coasted stealthily down part of the driveway, trying to not make too much sound in the gravel.

“I talked to Becky this morning,” Charlie said.

“Yeah? I'm pretty sure Jim did too.”

“Mmhmm. He did. Only Becky doesn't like him much. She thinks Dad looks down his nose at Jack. She's right, of course. Anyway, she didn't say much to Dad. And she was pretty shook up. I'm thinking that after hours of cleaning up she may have recovered a bit and she might have more to say to us girls. Especially for a bottle of that reserve. It's her fav. She had four glasses of it at the memorial.” She turned and winked at Syd.

~

They discovered Becky on the floor behind Jack's desk ten minutes later, muttering to herself. As usual, Charlie's instincts were dead on. Becky had been stacking loose papers all morning, dealing with insurance agents and police while trying to field the calls for Jack from concerned clients. She looked completely frazzled.

Charlie poked her head in the door. “Hey, Becky. Need a hand?” She had her hands in her pockets and sauntered in the room with her stiff-legged nonchalance that made Syd nearly burst into a fit of giggles. Her lack of subtlety was lost on Becky.

“Oh, hi,” Becky stammered. “Uh, I guess I could use a hand.” She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She was nearly the same age as Syd and Charlie and had gone to school with them. But she adopted the dress and mannerisms of local females that made her appear a decade older. She wore a nondescript office wardrobe heavy with gray gabardine and polyester, Dansko clogs, and wild-printed socks. Her hair was done in a new style; long layers with a few colors of a fresh weave striping her flat-ironed tresses. Her nails were fake acrylics with a french polish and rhinestones. She wore heavy makeup and her eyes were streaked with tear-stained mascara.

Charlie plopped down on the ground next to her like a long-limbed six-year-old and began sorting papers. Syd slid inconspicuously into the room, feeling uncomfortable about pumping Becky for information while she was in the middle of a crisis.

“Hey,” Syd said shyly.

Becky sat up on her heels. She squinted with suspicion, glancing at them one at a time. “Okay, you two. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. What's up?”

'So...we were wondering,” Charlie began. Syd stood by the doorway, feeling disgusted. She felt bad for Becky.

“I had a prowler last night too, Becky,” Syd said, speaking before Charlie could continue. “Some guy peeping into my house. I think it happened before he got here. The same guy, I think. Alejandro, our foreman, ran after him with a bat and scared him off. I'm not sure he would have stopped at burglary if he had gotten in either, by the way. He wanted something that your boss had, and something that I have too. So it must be something to do with Clarence's will. Or his papers. Either way, we need to know what’s missing here.”

Becky listened blankly. She sat still, digesting the thought for a full minute in silence. “And what about Jim Yesler?”

“The Sheriff is on another trail right now,” Charlie said. And then she whistled a cliché version of non-complicity, rolling her eyes.

“Right,” Becky said, smiling. She crawled over to the safe a few feet away and worked the dial. “Jack put all of Clarence's stuff back in here the day before yesterday. I shouldn't do this, by the way. Client privileges and all that. But I’m guessing you’re the client now.” She opened it and pulled out a stack of papers and files, including the red file of Clarence's will. “So I don't think the guy got what he was looking for. The safe wasn’t opened.”

“Cool, thanks,” Charlie said, sounding more than a little surprised that the plan was working.

Syd rifled through the stack carefully. “Well, don't just stand there, help me,” she said with mock exasperation. Both women jumped to it, grabbing files and poring through them.

“What are we looking for?” Charlie asked.

“A medical report for insurance,” Syd said. “It would be separate from the policy, I think. In a fax? Somewhere in this stack, maybe?” The women searched the entire stack of files, looking through the papers page by page after a cursory look didn't pan out.

“He said it was here,” Syd said more to herself than to the women in the room. She jumped at a knock on the open door.

“Sorry if I'm interrupting anything, Becky,” said Paul Renquest, appearing suddenly at the door. “Hello, Sydney. I've got the glass guys on for the insurance claim. We'll get this window fixed up by close today. Geez! What a mess.”

“Hey, Paul,” Syd said. Just then she had a sudden epiphany. “Hey, Paul. Did Jack have a chance to meet up with you on Tuesday?”

“Yup. As a matter of fact, he did.” His expression changed at her question and he looked tight-lipped and reluctant to talk to her.

“Something about a falsified medical report?” she asked.

He threw up his hands in defense. “Now, Sydney. I'm not really at liberty to discuss–”

“Come off it, Paul. I met with Jack on Tuesday morning. I know all about it. Do you have it?”

“Yup,” he said, giving up.

“Have you contacted Feldman?” Syd demanded.

Paul shook his head.

“Oh, God!” Becky interjected. She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh God what?” Charlie asked, alarmed and having trouble keeping up.

“Hans Feldman. He came by right after you left, Sydney. He was really pissed off. He left the office screaming at Jack.”

“Did you tell the Sheriff this?” Charlie asked.

“I've been a little preoccupied,” Becky answered cagily.

“Preoccupied?” Charlie raised her voice.

“And,” Becky took a deep breath, “and Jack told me not to tell anyone about it.”

“Why on earth would he tell you
that
?” Charlie demanded.

“Because Jack was a benefactor in the same life insurance policy,” Syd said. “That could potentially incriminate him too.” Paul nodded silently.

“But if he didn't know about it–” Charlie asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Paul said. “He’d stand to gain from it and it would look really bad for him. We were trying to find a legal way to clear Jack before investigating it. The signing doctor is conveniently on sabbatical and I haven't heard back from the medical director.”

“Okay, so Hans Feldman came and threatened Jack,” Charlie said, hands on her heels and sitting back. “Any other nefarious plots unfold that you aren't telling us about?” She glared at Becky, who was sinking into the mauve carpet.

“A phone call,” Becky said. “A man asking Jack if he had all the files for Clarence's will, I think.”

“Jack told you this?” Charlie asked.

Becky looked guilty again. “I listened in from my desk. I don't usually do that, but after Hans threw something at Jack and stormed out...he threatened him. I was concerned.” She pleaded.

“Who was on the phone?” Syd asked.

“I didn't get on the line soon enough to hear. But he asked if Jack still had something. Jack said it was none of his business. The guy laughed and said it was entirely his business. Jack told him to go fuck himself. Called him a weasel. I've never heard Jack say anything like that before. Then he just hung up.” Becky shook her head in shock, looking unglued. Charlie crawled over and put her arm around her.

“God, I'm glad you’re a nosy bitch, Becky Sanford.” Charlie kissed her on her forehead. Becky managed a meek smile.

Sydney sat on the ground, perplexed. “What did Feldman throw at Jack, Becky?”

Becky shrugged her shoulders. “This, I think.” She picked something up from the desk that Syd hadn’t seen earlier. Syd held out her hand. Becky gave her a small ivory figurine roughly carved into a female sitting in a chair. It was the white queen chess piece from an Isle of Lewis chess set.

“Feldman had opened a box that Jack had for him. It was from Clarence's will.”

Syd worked the piece in her hand, remembering the feel of the ivory in her fingers. The weight of it. A queen's sacrifice. She held it up to Charlie to see.

“Well, first I think Dad needs to pay Hans Feldman a visit,” Charlie said, looking pleased with herself.