Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Just then, Emerald began to wail. It took a moment to decide if it was her ‘let me out of the car seat’ wail or her ‘I’m hungry’ wail.
No, it was definitely her ‘I’m hungry’ wail.
It sounded a bit like the alien plant in Little Shop of Horrors.
An inarticulate ‘Feed me, Seymour’ or in this case ‘Feed me, Henry.’ This wail was distinctly different from the more restless ‘I need to be changed’ wail.
Or the far less committed ‘I need sleep’ wail.
And definitely different from the more questioning ‘I’d just like some attention’ wail.
“Um, the baby’s hungry. I’ve got some formula in the car, let me just grab it.”
I didn’t leave Melanie any time to object—not that I thought she would have—and just ran outside. I got to the Escalade, opened the back door, grabbed the diaper bag. As I hurried back the deputies stared at me as though they thought I was bringing weapons into the winery.
Back inside, I put the diaper bag on the counter, opened it, and found the bottle of formula. It was cold, very cold. I needed to figure out how to warm it up.
Detective Lehmann came through the door. Apologetically, he said, “I hope you don’t mind if I warm up for a minute. We’re still waiting on the science team.”
“Should I have my lawyer present?” Melanie asked.
I didn’t give him a chance to answer, I butted in. “I need to heat this up a little. Do you have a microwave?”
Yes, I know microwaves don’t heat evenly and I shouldn’t use it to heat formula, but if I shook it really, really well—Melanie must have known all that, because she said, “I can run it under the hot water.”
That would have to do. I handed her the bottle and thanked her as she went behind the bar.
I asked Detective Lehmann, who was staring at my wailing sister, “I know it looks pretty clean out there, but they’ll be able to find fibers on the body or fingerprints on the door, right? Maybe even her skin?”
“It’s unlikely they’ll find anything at all.”
“Then why are we waiting around for a forensics person?”
He shrugged like he didn’t know. But then explained, “This is the way crime really works. In a day or two, someone will feel guilty and show up at my office to confess. Or the killer will brag to someone about what they’ve done, and we’ll bring them in and they’ll confess.
Then they’ll get a lawyer, who’ll tell them to recant their confession, and we’ll have to go to trial.
If we go to trial we’ll need a forensic report, even one that says nothing was found. ”
That all sounded a lot like what my cousins were doing. I asked, “How much do you think she weighs?” I asked.
“The baby?”
“Roberta LaCross.”
“Oh. Well… she can’t weigh much over a hundred.”
I glanced at Melanie, who was still holding the bottle under hot running water.
It didn’t help that Roberta didn’t weigh much over a hundred pounds.
If a defense attorney tried to say Melanie couldn’t have picked her up, the prosecutor would go on and on about the cases of wine she handled on a daily basis.
“How do you think she was killed?” I asked Detective Lehmann.
“I can’t discuss that with you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… But how do you think she was killed?”
“What do you think?”
“I think she was strangled.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because she’s got petruchio all over her face and a scratch on her neck.”
Thank you, CSI. Three years of watching every episode just paid off.
“Petechia,” he corrected me. “You watch a lot of television, don’t you?”
Was he reading my mind?
“A little,” I said.
“You know they just make most of that stuff up. Petechia can happen if you cough too much… throw up too hard… A crying jag can give it to you. And then there’s about twenty different diseases associated with petechia.”
Rude. I tried to redeem myself. “She was killed in her home.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve seen her around. Normally she wears a ton of makeup. And I mean a ton. If she hadn’t taken it off, you wouldn’t even see the… petechia. Plus, she’s wearing pajamas.”
Lehmann said, “Excuse me.” And walked out of the tasting room.
Melanie came over with Emerald’s bottle, and said, “I think this as warm as I can get it.”
I lifted my sister out of her car seat, tucked her into my elbow. Her crying had calmed a bit. She might have been enjoying the conversation. Who knows? Anyway, she took the bottle easily and chowed down.
“Isn’t she sweet?” Melanie said.
“She’s a monster.”
“A sweet monster.” And then she broke into baby talk riff.
I looked up and could see through the front door that Detective Lehmann had gone over to the deputies and was talking to one of them. After a moment or two, the deputy walked over and got into this black SUV. As it drove off, the detective headed back into the tasting room.
“You sent him off to Roberta’s place, didn’t you?”
Ignoring me, he said, “Where’s her mother? Your mother? Why isn’t she taking care of your sister?”
“She flaked. Back in September.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she’s gone. We don’t know where she is.”
“But you know she’s okay?”
“She sent some stuff at Christmas. I think she calls my grandmother.”
“Is this out of character?”
“It’s not. And, no, we don’t want to file a missing person’s report.”
“No problem. Let me know if you change your mind.” Then he turned to Melanie, “Look, I should probably warn you. Sheriff Crocker is going to want me to look very, very closely at you. So if there’s anything you want to say now…”
“Sure,” Melanie said. “There is something I want to say. I’m not talking to you again without a lawyer present.”
“That’s just going to convince Sheriff Crocker you’re guilty.”
“Sheriff Crocker is an idiot. Everyone knows that.”
Detective Lehmann did not have a good response to that, so he left.