Apples For Vinegar Page 7

  “Willow said she’d finish up the end-of-shift stuff,” Suzanne announced as she approached the table with her own cup. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a ponytail as tight as a ballerina’s. Combined with the long brown skirt, she looked like a severe, prairie schoolteacher.

  Helen moved her cup behind the honey container so Suzanne wouldn’t notice it was mostly untouched. “I have to tell you how sorry I am for your loss,” she said. Although it was the conventional thing to say, Helen truly did sympathize.

  “Thanks. Finding him like that was a shock, I have to tell you.”

  Helen couldn’t imagine what it would be like finding a lover’s body—Frank’s body. The word shock didn’t seem to do it justice. “I know. I saw on the news that you’d found his body…” She let the final word trail off as encouragement for Suzanne to share her feelings.

  Suzanne apparently didn’t take the hint. “Yeah. I had the early shift the next day, so I was in bed by ten. I slept in the guest room that night, and when I got up the next morning, he was lying in the kitchen.” She said the last as if describing a common inconvenience, like someone lamenting a delivery truck blocking the driveway. Helen was surprised at her seeming indifference to her lover’s death, let alone murder, but then everyone goes through grief in their own way.

  “You didn’t hear the gunshot?”

  “That tight-assed detective kept asking me the same thing, as if he couldn’t believe it. Kept me three hours at the sheriff’s office, asking the same questions over and over. He was kind of cute, though.” Suzanne paused as if replaying the experience. Helen wondered if the cute, tight-assed cop was Josh. She didn’t know any other county homicide detectives, so couldn’t tell if there might be more that matched that description. “Zad was really upset about something,” Suzanne went on, “and said he wanted to stay up playing his games.”

  “What was he upset about?”

  “He didn’t tell me. Anyway, when he was playing his games, he could get pretty excited, and I wanted to block out his shouting, so I was wearing earplugs. The beeswax kind. Between that and keeping the door shut, I couldn’t hear a thing.”

  In Helen’s experience, no earplugs, no matter what kind, could shut out really loud noises, like a gunshot at close range. It could mean Suzanne was a really deep sleeper, or the killer had used a silencer. Or it could mean Suzanne wasn’t telling the truth.

  When Helen didn’t immediately say anything, Suzanne went on. “You know, Bette lived with Zad longer than me.”

  “How long was that?”

  “Who? Zad and me or him and Bette?”

  Another thing Helen put on her mental list of things to learn: how to ask better questions. “Him and Bette.”

  “Over a year. It’d be just like her, though, to spend all that time with someone and not bother to learn anything about him. He changed his name, you know? Used to be Darian Arnold. About as white bread as you can get. Of course, Zad was so laid back he was difficult to get to know. Bette was the one who made the first move.”

  “First move?”

  “You know, hit on him.”

  “She did?”

  “Right here. She worked here, you know.”

  “Really?” Helen couldn’t imagine the short and hard-edged Bette Lee fitting into the flowing dresses and mellow vibe.

  “I know. She acted like she was too good for the place, as if studying for a real estate license was a big deal. Took her two tries to pass.” Suzanne hid a smile with a sip of tea. “She met Zad here. He was a regular. Decaf chai. He always sat by himself staring into his cup. I figured he was gay. Not many straight men without English accents come in by themselves for a cup of tea. She scooped him up like a pickle in a barrel. He didn’t stand a chance.”

  “So you’d noticed him yourself?”

  “Yeah, but like I said, I thought he was gay.”

  Suzanne took a long swig of tea, giving Helen time to ponder the discrepancy between Suzanne’s look and her personality. Perhaps she wore a studded jacket and leather pants when she was off duty. Perhaps Helen should stop relying on stereotypes. “So what happened between him and Bette?” she asked.

  “She totally took advantage of him. Her roommates were basically kicking her out. She needed a place to stay. So she moved in with Zad. Stayed rent free for over a year. Once she had her license and a job and could afford a place of her own, she dropped him without looking back.”

  “I saw her with one of Zad’s neighbors: Shawn Cunningham.”

  She smirked. “Now that boy is more her type. Young, cute and so horny he’ll do anything she wants as long as he’s getting laid.”

  “Do you think there was any jealousy between them? Shawn and Zad, I mean.”

  “Don’t know about the kid but maybe Zad. He still had a thing for her.”

  “I thought you and he were…”

  “Lived together for the past six months. Doesn’t mean he didn’t love her. But wait until the bitch finds out he left everything to me.”

  “You’re going to inherit the property?”

  “And the land in Mendocino.”

  Follow the money, Helen reminded herself. Another person with motive. “Then why do you say he still loved Bette?”

  “He called her all the time. She said she hated it, told him to stop, but you just knew she enjoyed it, like a spider checking the insects in its web to make sure they’re still alive and kicking.”

  From the level of resentment Suzanne was willing to reveal to a complete stranger, Helen would have expected Bette to be the victim. “When was the last time Zad saw her?”

  “As far as I know, two months ago. At Baba Yaga’s funeral. Cool name for a dog. It means a witch in Russian. Anyway, Jerzy Dudda poisoned it.”

  “I heard it might have eaten poison mushrooms.”

  “No way. Someone fed it antifreeze. Died in a week. Poor thing. Zad was a wreck. So who does he call? Bette Lee. She shows up in her suit and high heels. You should have seen her, trying to walk to the grave in the mud.”

  “Did Zad have proof that Jerzy had done it?”

  “Who else would it have been? Jerzy was pissed because Zad tried to block his driveway.”

  “Do you think Zad shot Jerzy’s dog as payback?”

  “Zad?” Suzanne snorted. “He loved dogs. He’d never shoot one no matter who owned it.”

  “Did he own a gun?”

  “He didn’t even keep it loaded. I told him he could get himself shot threatening people with an empty gun.” She brought her cup to her lips, but it was empty. “I’m going to get some more tea. Want a refill on the coffee?”

  Helen held a hand over her still-full cup. “No thanks. I’m set.”

  As she watched Suzanne walk to the counter, Helen considered how the short, skinny, druggie Howard described was able to attract such different women, the one all business, the other at least acting the bohemian. Both, though, were greedy, albeit from different ends of the spectrum. Which was strange: from what she’d heard so far, Zad was feckless and lazy to boot, a man with big ideas and no follow through. Of course, for women like Bette Lee and Suzanne Dussault, he’d be easy to manipulate. The first used him for free room and board; the second talked him into making her his sole beneficiary. Helen wondered who was going to inherit his property before he wrote in Suzanne. Could it have been Bette? Did she kill him suspecting he was going to write her out of his will, not knowing he’d already done it? Turning it around, Zad might have made a show of his continued love for Lee at the dog’s funeral, and Suzanne killed him fearing he’d change his mind in favor of Lee.

  Suzanne returned with her tea. “If you ask me, I think it’s the Dudda guy who killed him. He’s a loose cannon if there ever was one.”

  “Then who shot his dog?”

  “Maybe he did.”

  Helen owned two dogs. She couldn’t imagine a man shooting his own dog. And for what purpose? “The police are saying Zad’s murder had something to do with drugs.”


  “I don’t know about that. I never saw it. I can’t go into the garage because of the bees.”

  Helen raised an eyebrow.

  “Bees built their hive in one of the walls of the garage. Zad didn’t want to call an exterminator, so he set up netting along the wall to keep the bees from getting in and cross-pollinating the plants. He said they’d leave you alone if you didn’t disturb them, but I couldn’t take the chance.”

  “Is there anyone who could fill us in about that side of Zad’s life?”

  “The drugs, you mean? Like I said, I didn’t get involved with any of that. I’m allergic to bee stings.”

  “Other friends then? Someone who could give us a better picture of him?”

  “I didn’t really know his friends. There’s one guy who’s been really nice, helping me out since… you know. The police still won’t let me back into the house, and he’s paying for my hotel room. I guess I could tell him about your article.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Robert. I never heard a last name. How should I tell him to reach you?”

  Helen pulled out her phone to look up Delyth’s work number. “I’ll send you the number of the principal reporter on this. She’s easier to get hold of.” She asked for Suzanne’s email address. She felt a little guilty about giving out Delyth’s contact, but at least going through the newspaper’s number would give Delyth a layer of anonymity. This Robert might provide a different angle on the murder. She was confident that Delyth wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to talk with him. If he called, that is, which seemed unlikely.

  Helen had to get home. Frank said he’d cook dinner, but she wanted to walk the dogs beforehand. She thanked Suzanne and left. She hadn’t drunk any more of her “coffee” and did not leave a tip.

  SEVEN

  Practice svadhyaya, Delyth told herself. Find yourself and lose yourself in the ocean of all consciousness. Again and again she tried to concentrate on what was happening in her body and mind as she held each pose, chasing out thoughts as if shooing flies. Usually, yoga worked to still the voice in her head, but not that morning. Her mind continued to teem with thoughts.

  Josh had canceled their date the night before, saying he had to work late. She knew, or at least strongly suspected, that meant a development in the Ajnabee murder. Was there going to be an arrest? She’d checked the sheriff’s press release web page, but there was nothing new.

  At last Lekshana announced shavasana. For ten minutes Delyth lay on her back, her arms and legs spread at 45 degrees, trying to concentrate on her abdomen rising and falling with each breath. But just like during the first part of the session, her effort was in vain. As soon as Lekshana whispered the hour was over, Delyth sprang up, rolled her mat and hurried to gather her things.

  Helen, who’d been taking her time as if in a post-shavasana stupor, stared at her, then doubled her mat over several times without rolling it, and joined Delyth to retrieve her coat and shoes. “Are you okay?” Helen asked.

  “Can’t wait to talk.”

  “You have news?” Helen followed Delyth outside before Lekshana had a chance to position herself at the door like a minister thanking congregants for coming.

  “Sort of,” Delyth answered.

  Wind blew a light April rain into the breezeway that separated the yoga studio from the coffee shop.

  “Weird weather this year,” Helen commented. “No rain, then late rain.”

  It was a bracing relief after the stuffy warmth they’d just left.

  “You find us a table,” Delyth said, “and I’ll get the lattes. It’s my turn to buy.”

  The weather had prompted more people than usual to linger over late morning coffee. Helen was still waiting for a table when Delyth came up with their shared muffin.

  “So what’s your sort of news?” Helen asked.

  “Bad news, actually. Josh said he had to work late last night.”

  Helen touched her forearm. “Do you think he’s seeing someone else?”

  “What? Oh, no. Nothing like that. I think there’s been a break in the case. He could be arresting someone as we speak.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “Not really. You know how closed-mouth he is. I’m guessing, though, someone involved with drugs. According to Vickie, that’s still the working hypothesis.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Tell me about it! I mean, it’d be good if Josh solves it.” She nudged Helen. “They look like they’re leaving.”

  They hovered nearby as two customers stood and bused their cups. All four smiled, the vacating couple telling them to enjoy their coffee. As soon as Delyth and Helen sat down, the barista called, “Dell.” Delyth cringed, but got up and retrieved their lattes without explaining she didn’t have a nickname.

  When she returned to the table, Helen said, “You’re right, of course, but I am sorry to drop the case when we were just getting started. It’s only been a week, after all.”

  “Who said anything about dropping the case?” Delyth stirred her latte, absentmindedly destroying the foam tree on top. “We really should make sure he has the right man this time. Or woman.”

  Helen stopped her cup in mid-raise to her lips. “Do you really think Josh might be wrong? I mean, it didn’t go so well between you two last time.”

  Delyth hadn’t thought beyond the look on Vickie’s face when her scoop hit the front page. Josh could be an issue, though. “We know Josh is diligent about everything he does, but we also know he can make mistakes. He’ll be happy for all the help we can give him.” She wasn’t as sure about that as she put on. More for her own sake than Helen’s, she added, “This time, though, I won’t publish anything until we have something definite.”

  “Then a little more investigating can’t hurt.” Looking over her cup before taking a sip, Helen asked, “What do you have in mind?”

  “First off, I should check again if there’s anything on the sheriff’s website.” She pulled her yoga bag onto the table and retrieved her phone. The link was already on her browser from when she checked before class. She only needed to refresh it. “Nope, nothing.” She put the phone down. “So I guess we still have time to solve it on our own. But we need a plan.” She pulled a notebook and pen from her yoga bag. “We should list our suspects and possible motives.”

  Helen pulled her chair closer. “First off, there’s the neighbor, Jerzy Dudda, of course. He and Ajnabee had been feuding and the police wanted to check out his rifle, so it may have been the murder weapon. His motive would be revenge or maybe just plain animus.”

  “Karen said he was at the hospital most of the night, but was he gone long enough to drive to his place, shoot Ajnabee and get back without raising suspicion? We won’t know that until the police check the hospital tapes, assuming Josh is willing to share that with me. Which he probably won’t.”

  “But, even if there was enough time, is he someone who would plan out a coldblooded murder? You told me that according to Karen, his temper flares then goes out almost as quickly.”

  “Everyone else seems to think he could.”

  “That should count in his favor. The obvious suspect is never the killer.”

  “Only in murder mysteries. In real life, there’s good reason why the obvious suspect is the right suspect. It’s just not as much fun.”

  “Talking about less obvious, what about Karen and the son, Ben? Although I can’t see that meek woman pulling the trigger.”

  Delyth remembered back to her initial interview with the family. “She could have been upset about how much Ajnabee earned from growing weed while they were struggling to keep her family farm going. Her very identity is wrapped up in that land.”

  “Does that let Ben off the hook? He doesn’t admit to being part of Karen’s family.”

  “But he does seem to care about his father and he’s full of anger. He could have lashed out at a perceived slight to his father.”

  “True, but it happened in the middle of the nigh
t. Whoever did it was there to either meet with Ajnabee, which I don’t see Ben doing, or had planned it ahead of time, which eliminates a crime of passion.”

  “He could have snuck over there to buy some dope.”

  “I guess. But why buy from his father’s enemy?”

  “Still, he should go on our list.”

  “I presume we can exclude the little girl.” Helen took a pinch of muffin. “You’d better get some of this before I eat it all.”

  “After we finish this. I can’t eat and write at the same time.”

  “So who’s next on our list?”

  “Ajnabee’s two women friends. They both thought they were inheriting his property. Bette might have done it to keep him from changing his will and Suzanne might have been tired of waiting. Of course, that’s all based on what Suzanne told you. Maybe Lee didn’t know anything about a will or the possible beneficiary.”

  “Lee struck me as someone who would definitely know about such things. But, they both could’ve had a different motive: jealousy. And, if Bette was still in love with Zad, we should add Shawn to the list.”

  “Ultimately, those two women would have eaten that boy alive,” Delyth commented. “And why would he want to kill Ajnabee? He was getting what he wanted. Plus, he could get another sex partner; he’s attractive enough.”

  “You noticed.”

  “Not my type. I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense.”

  “If you ask a murderer to be logical, we might as well give up now.”

  Delyth nodded and wrote the three names then drew a circle around them and inside it a smaller circle around Bette and Suzanne. “Jealousy and greed together make for a strong motive.”

  “What about the rich guy?”

  “Keir? It was strange how he so emphatically pointed the finger at Jerzy when I interviewed him. It was as if that was the reason he agreed to talk with me. And he clearly didn’t care much for Ajnabee. But if he wanted to get rid of him, it’d be easier just to call the police and report his marijuana grow.”

  “Still, he’s a possibility.”

  “Unlikely but okay.” She added him to her list, but didn’t bother to include a motive. “How about your friend, Howard?”