Apples For Vinegar Page 8

  Helen was silent for a moment then wrinkled her face. “They say anyone can kill, but I just don’t see that nice man… I don’t see any motive for him.”

  “He admitted they didn’t get along. Maybe there was more to it than he said.”

  “True. Add him as well. But I just don’t see it.”

  “And Sam? Maybe an accomplice to Howard’s crime?”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  Delyth wrote two names, both Howard and Sam, although even she didn’t think Sam would do it. “So, our prime suspects are the two women and Jerzy Dudda.”

  “We’re forgetting about the drugs,” Helen said.

  “We’re leaving that to Josh. No way we can investigate it anyway. Or would want to. Not by ourselves.”

  Helen moved her chair back. “The one question that’s been really bothering me is why did someone shoot Jerzy’s dog?”

  “Ajnabee in retaliation for Jerzy’s poisoning his dog.”

  “That’s just it. Suzanne said Ajnabee wouldn’t have killed a dog.”

  “Doesn’t mean he didn’t. Supposedly he was high all the time.”

  “My experience of stoners—”

  “What stoners?”

  “I’m a teacher, remember? You’d be surprised how young they are when kids get into drugs these days.”

  “Not fourth graders?”

  “No. At least, not that I know of. But soon enough after that. A stoner will talk a lot, but seldom get up the energy to do anything about it. Besides, it would’ve been a needless provocation on his part, unless Jerzy knew he’d done it and why. I believe if you find who shot the dog, you’ll find who shot Ajnabee.”

  Delyth didn’t have a response. She tapped her pen on the notepad. “So what’s our next move?”

  “I say we should try the Duddas again. We never got to talk with them, and I’d like to ask about the dog.”

  Delyth smiled, but didn’t have a better suggestion. “We should call first.” She tapped her phone, and the Duddas’ number come up from her contact file. She held the phone away from her ear so Helen could hear.

  Jerzy answered with a gruff, “What?”

  “Hi. This is Delyth Bitersee, from the Post. I was wondering—”

  “All I’m going to say is the ballistics test has to be wrong. I didn't do it. The hospital security tapes will prove I wasn’t gone long enough to have killed him.”

  “What?”

  “That’s all I’m going to say. Now stop calling.” He hung up.

  “What was that about?” Delyth asked. “And what does it have to do with hospital security tapes?”

  “I’m guessing Dudda’s gun was the murder weapon.”

  “If that’s the case, either Jerzy’s guilty and trying to bluster his way out of it or… or I don’t know what.”

  “What should we do now?”

  Remembering her latte, Delyth took a sip. It was cold. She put the cup down. “Maybe we should go and ask him.”

  “It sounds like Jerzy won’t let us in the door. And if he does, will he tell us the truth?”

  “I can be very persuasive, remember. We could always visit Howard while we’re out there. Maybe he’s heard something.”

  But when she called Howard to ask if they could stop by, the connection was sketchy and the background noise louder than his voice. Delyth managed to decipher that he was running errands, but they’d be welcome later in the afternoon.

  ◆◆◆

  Delyth’s drive home was punctuated by brief breaks in the clouds followed by squalls of heavy spring rain. At one point almost zero visibility forced traffic on the highway to slow to a standstill. Her shoulders and neck tensed at the thought of some inattentive driver plowing into her from behind, as if tight muscles could somehow ward off the impact. She arrived without incident, and stood in the shower hoping the hot water beating on her back would relax the tension. It worked until she checked her office phone messages.

  “Hello,” a male voice said. He sounded young, pleasant. “Suzanne Dussault gave me your number. I was a… a friend of Zad Ajnabee, and I have some information you might be interested in. I’ll be in your area tomorrow. Wine tasting at the Greenway Vineyards. About noon. Ask for Robert. I hope you’ll be there.”

  “Oh, shit!” Delyth said aloud. How did Suzanne get her number? And what kind of information did he have? He said he was a friend of Zad’s, but the way he hung onto the word “friend” suggested something more. People do the same thing when talking about lovers—”He’s a friend of hers”—but from everything she knew about Zad, she doubted that was the case. Did it mean a friend in the marijuana business? Even that could mean a lot of things, from a kid dealing on street corners to the middleman for an international cartel. From his message he obviously wasn’t a kid. But a pleasant voice and good diction didn’t necessarily make him some drug lord’s consigliere either. There was no reason to believe he was even part of a cartel. No reason, that is, except the police suspecting—Josh suspecting—a drug connection to the murder. Delyth had assumed that meant a rival gang, small time drug dealers. Although local criminals carried guns, just like the big boys. Whatever he was, some apprehension about meeting with him seemed called for.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t afford not meeting him. Until now she’d been looking into Ajnabee’s murder on the vague hope that she and Helen might stumble on something that would put Vickie in her place. If this guy really had something, it was their first real lead. One that might expose a story bigger than a local murder, a story that could make national headlines. That would show Vickie Sullivan.

  He hadn’t left a number. She punched in the code for the office voicemail’s caller ID, but was told it was a private caller. The only way to follow up on his call at this point was to go to the rendezvous; otherwise, he might assume she wasn’t interested. And she was definitely interested. Despite her trepidation, she was going to meet him.

  A wine tasting room was suitably public, but what if he drew a gun and forced her into his car? The first thing she told herself was that she’d watched too many TV crime shows. The second thing was that she should take someone with her, someone who could at least call the police with the make and license of the getaway car.

  The question was, who? Josh was out of the question. He’d forbid her to go, or try to talk her into wearing a wire, or descend on the winery with a squadron of narcs. He had to be kept out of it. The only other person she could think of was Helen—and Helen’s husband Frank. She didn’t examine why she’d feel safer with a man around, even an older, unarmed man. She’d ask Helen when they got together.

  She quickly dressed and drove back the way she’d just come. Once she passed through downtown Sullyton—for a small town, it had an inordinate amount of traffic—Helen’s house was a few miles into the country. Helen was waiting outside when she got there, but before she had time to get in, secure her seatbelt, and wriggle deeper into her seat, Delyth told her about Robert’s call. “What I can’t figure out is how he got my name and number. He said Suzanne told him, but how did she know?”

  “Oh, I must have forgotten to tell you.”

  When Helen didn’t immediately go on, Delyth demanded, “Tell me what?”

  “I’d told her you were working on a human interest article about Zad. I asked her about his other friends and whether any would be willing to be interviewed. So I gave her your number.”

  “Do you think he’s a friend of hers?”

  “She did mention a friend who was a big help after Zad died. I think his name was Robert.”

  Delyth dismissed Helen’s uncertainty. This had to be the same guy. “Did she say anything about him? Who he is? What he does?”

  “Not really. Only that he paid for her to stay in a hotel when the police wouldn’t let her back into Zad’s house.”

  “Well, that explains some things. But we still don’t know much about this Robert.”

  “If it is him, he could be a nice guy.
At least he was willing to help out Suzanne.”

  “Maybe it was out of guilt. He killed Zad, and helping her was his way of cleaning up the mess. Maybe they’re in it together.”

  “You’re convinced he’s involved with the drugs?”

  “It makes sense. The funny way he said he was a friend.”

  “That could mean lots of things. Maybe something distracted him while he was leaving the message. But assuming he is a criminal, are you going to meet him?”

  “Of course. I want to find out the information he says he has.” Delyth hesitated a moment. “I was wondering if you’d be open to coming with me.”

  Helen twisted in her seat to face her. “We’re a team. Why would you question if I’d go?”

  “Well, I don’t know what I’ll be getting into. We might, I don’t know, it might be dangerous.”

  “Do you think he’d do something in public like that?”

  “I don’t. That’s why I’m going. I looked up Greenway Vineyards. It seems legit, with a nice, big tasting room. I’d still feel better if you were there. And Frank.”

  “My Frank?” Helen almost shrieked, but she went on in a lower tone. “What do you expect him to do if there’s trouble? I love Frank dearly, but he’s not what I’d call a fighter. Not in a physical fight anyway.”

  “It’s more for moral support. What if this guy turns out to be three hundred pounds and covered with gang tattoos?”

  “That’s not helping your case.”

  “If he is,” Delyth went on as if Helen hadn’t interjected, “we stick together like a group of tourists and ignore him.”

  “You don’t even know what he looks like. How are you going to know it’s him?”

  Delyth sometimes wished Helen weren’t so quick. That had worried Delyth as well, because it suggested Robert knew what she looked like. Her picture didn’t appear in the newspaper or on its website or even on her Facebook account. How could he know what she looked like? The possible answers made meeting him even scarier. To Helen she said, “I guess by looking for someone who appears to be looking for someone.”

  Helen nodded but didn’t seem reassured.

  “You don’t have to tell Frank why we’re going,” Delyth said, in a final plea.

  “First off, Frank doesn’t enjoy wine tasting. He likes his wine, but he doesn’t particularly care what hillside the grapes were grown on. He only goes when we’re showing visitors around. Second, I wouldn’t lie to him. Besides, what would I say when you walked up to a strange man and started talking?”

  “Depends on how attractive he is.”

  “This is no joking matter,” Helen said in her best schoolmarm voice, then fell into a brooding silence. As they turned onto the gravel road to the Duddas’ farm, she said, “Okay. I’ll ask him.”

  EIGHT

  Helen had to admit that Delyth’s news about the mysterious Robert revealed they might not be playing games anymore. It’s one thing interviewing neighbors who might be suspects, quite another to confront a real criminal. Her life had been threatened by one just a few months before, but she hadn’t intentionally gone into his house knowing he was a killer. Now, she may be willing to risk it for Delyth’s sake, but did she dare bring Frank into it?

  Frank told her he was proud of her for helping someone who’d grown up with their own son and who’d been falsely accused of murder. He worried, of course, but they hadn’t talked about her doing more detecting in the future. Would he object to her getting involved with another murder? Would he be willing to be involved himself?

  Absorbed with her thoughts, she didn’t notice the small SUV approaching on the narrow lane leading to Duddas’ farm until Delyth pulled to the side to let it by. The car came abreast of them. A random cloud drifted overhead and released another rain shower. The cars’ wipers shot sprays of water at each other.

  Delyth opened her window and waved.

  The driver side window lowered to reveal Karen Dudda. She stopped.

  “We were hoping to chat with you,” Delyth said.

  “I can’t now. I’m taking Kyla to her swimming lesson.” Karen hesitated then said, “Jerzy told me you’d called.”

  “He sounded so upset about the ballistics results. We wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

  “He told you it was his rifle?”

  “Not in so many words, but…”

  “The killer must have stolen it.” Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising then falling as she exhaled.

  Helen tugged on Delyth’s sleeve. “Ask her if it was locked up.” Her father was careful to keep all firearms secure. From the deliberate way Jerzy and his son handled their rifles, she’d be surprised if Jerzy didn’t do the same.

  When Delyth conveyed the question, Karen snapped, “Of course. In a locked cabinet in the garage.”

  “Who knew about it?” Delyth asked.

  “Anyone who was ever in the garage. It wasn’t a secret.” She sounded close to tears.

  “Would anyone else know the combination?”

  “It takes a key. But it’s right there, high up, away from kids. Anyone could have taken it.”

  Helen heard a child whine inside Karen’s car, but couldn’t make out what was said.

  “I know, honey,” Karen said. She turned back to Delyth and Helen. “I have to go or we’ll be late. The instructor has a strict rule against children straggling in.”

  “Is your husband at home?”

  “No. He had to take Ben to the police station.” She raised her window and pulled forward.

  “That was interesting,” Helen said after Karen had driven off. “So it is the murder weapon, but almost anyone could have taken it.”

  “At least that’s what they’re saying. Jerzy could have hung the key after the fact.”

  “But why use his own rifle and not bother to hide it?”

  “Maybe he didn’t think they’d suspect him.”

  “Not likely, not after what we’ve heard about their feud.”

  Delyth edged back onto the gravel lane. “What do you make of the police wanting to talk to Ben?”

  “Probably routine. Did he hear anything the night of the murder? Did he see his father when he came back from the hospital? What time was it?”

  “The answers to those questions could be pretty incriminating. He’s a minor, remember, so his father will be in the interview with him. That might make it difficult for him to tell the truth.”

  The rain had let up in the short time it took for them to arrive at Howard’s. Delyth parked in the same space by the vegetable garden as last time.

  “Maybe Howard has heard something,” Helen said as they walked to the house. She knocked at the kitchen door.

  As he opened it, Sam picked up Tibby, the dog, who was excitedly trying to get out. Sam called into the house, “Howie, they’re here.” He stepped aside. “Come in, won’t you? Howie will be right out.”

  They entered the efficient and tidy kitchen Helen remembered from their first visit to “Howard’s End.” The thought of the literary allusion made her even more at ease with the men who lived there. Not that someone who read Forster couldn’t also commit murder.

  Sam put the dog down. Helen held out a hand, offering to scratch Tibby on the head, but only with his permission. He sniffed at her hand, then executed a perfect downward-facing-dog, not the yoga pose but canine’s universal request to play.

  Howard came in and welcomed them. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Or I could make some coffee,” Sam offered.

  Helen tried not to drink coffee after noon and she didn’t have great love for any kind of tea. To be polite she said, “Tea will be fine.” She hadn’t expected that investigating murders would involve so many hot drinks. She hoped this time it wouldn’t be some dark, stomach-churning infusion.

  “Same here,” Delyth said, and sat at the counter that separated kitchen from living room. “We bumped into your neighbor on the way in.”

 
Howard filled the kettle. “Which one?”

  Delyth explained about their chance meeting with Karen.

  Howard put the kettle on the stove and pulled a tin out of the cupboard. “Why bother locking it up if you hang the key right there?”

  “I guess he only worried about kids getting to it. He didn’t seem to mind that anyone who walked in could see the key hanging there.”

  “I, for one, didn’t know about the key.” He looked over to Sam. “You?”

  Sam shook his head. “We aren’t the kind of neighbors who just pop in on each other. At least, not with the Duddas. I can’t remember ever being in their garage.” He reached into a cabinet and retrieved four mugs and brought them to the counter. “If Jerzy killed Zad, why would he put the gun back into the first place the police would search?”

  Howard took a teapot from an upper shelf and plunked in three tea bags.

  “They didn’t have to search for it,” Helen said. “Jerzy volunteered the rifle.”

  “Not willingly,” Delyth said. “Karen told them he’d came back from the hospital to pick up one of the little girl’s toys. Once that was out, the police asked to see the gun. What could he do?”

  The kettle started to whistle. Conversation waned while Howard poured hot water directly into the pot and brought it to the counter, not bothering with a cozy—if he owned a cozy. Since she wasn’t going to drink much anyway, Helen preferred his crude process to the elaborate rituals she’d been subjected to recently.

  “But why would the killer bother to return it after shooting Ajnabee?” Sam asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unless someone was trying to frame Jerzy,” Howard suggested.

  “But who would do that?” Helen asked

  Howard poured tea into the four mugs. Helen was thankful it looked weak.

  Sam pulled a chair from against the wall and placed it near Howard. “The real killer,” he said, offering Helen and Delyth sugar that they both declined. “But he’d have to know where the gun was kept.” He remained standing.

  “One thing it does,” Delyth said, “is make it more likely the killer was from around here and not a rival drug gang.”