Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
After Emerald finished her bottle, I put her back in her car seat and she fell off to sleep in a matter of moments. I gave Melanie my cell phone number and told her to call if Detective Lehmann approached her again.
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“Not exactly. We were using the insurance company to fight the lawsuit. If it had gone on, we’d have gotten our own just to make sure the insurance company wasn’t screwing us over.”
The only lawyers I knew of were Schaub & Schaub, not only because they had represented Roberta, but they had a big sign in front of their offices in Masons Bay. They were available now, but it might still be a conflict of interest.
“Okay, well, let me know when you find someone.”
I picked up my sister and left. When I walked into my grandmother’s house, I found my grandmother in the living room sitting in her favorite chair. She was watching Court TV.
“Are you supposed to be sitting up?”
“Shhhh. They’re talking about Michael Jackson.”
The previous month Jackson had been charged with child molestation. An early Christmas gift to Court TV and my grandmother. Something on the TV caught my attention. On screen Micheal Jackson was on top of an SUV dancing around and waving to the crowd.
“What’s happening?”
“He was just arraigned.”
“He looks happy about it,” I said.
“He’s happy there are cameras. The whole thing is so disgusting.” Which only made it better television.
After a few moments, I said, “I’ll make you lunch.” I went into the kitchen, carrying Emerald in her car seat. I stopped when I saw a turquoise vinyl and chrome high chair sitting at the table. Nana Cole must have dragged it in from the porch. And here I was worried about her sitting up.
“Is it safe?” I called out to the living room.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” That was her usual answer when I questioned the things she brought out. Mainly, I asked because if something went wrong and the damn thing collapsed causing Emerald to spend the rest of her life in a vegetative state, I could blame Nana Cole.
On top of that, the baby was getting fussy.
I had to get her out of the car seat soon.
I unstrapped her and took her over to the high chair.
I carefully threaded her into it. Immediately, she began banging her hands against the tray.
It might have been a demand for food, but was more likely she’d just discovered she could be annoying on purpose.
I grabbed her toy keys from the car seat and set them in front of her, hoping to distract her. She grabbed hold of them and began banging them against the tray. I’d just made things worse.
There was a ripe banana in a bowl with some other fruit on the table.
I grabbed it, pulled a cereal dish out of the cupboard, then mashed up half the banana.
In the fridge, I got out a bottle of formula—thank you Dorothy or whoever was here yesterday filling the bottles up—I unscrewed the top and splashed a little in with the banana.
Then I mushed all that together. Should it be warm? Did it need to be? I had no idea.
Giving up, I grabbed a baby spoon from the back of the cutlery drawer where it had been waiting since the early eighties, rinsed it off, then sat down next to Emerald. I got some banana mush onto the spoon.
“Nom, nom, nom…” I said, feeling ridiculous. It also didn’t work. She stared at me like I was crazy.
“Listen, kiddo, you’re going to need to try new things. Today’s new thing is banana. Ba-nan-a.”
Her mouth dropped open, possibly because I looked like such an idiot, and I popped the spoon in. She grimaced, then moved her jaw around, then looked a little happier, then spit most of the mush out. I scraped it off her chin and popped it back in. Most of it came back out. But then she swallowed.
I scraped off her chin, added a tiny bit more then tried again. Behind me, Nana Cole said, “Should have started that three months ago.”
I turned around and stared at her. She was using her cane and gripping the door jam. I asked, “How are you getting around so well?”
“I took a couple muscle relaxers.”
“What’s a couple?”
“Three. It says on the bottle to take them as needed. I needed three.”
“How are you even awake? Don’t they make you groggy?”
“I took a little nap while you were gone. Help me sit down.”
I put the bowl and spoon on the tray and helped Nana Cole into the seat across from the baby.
Behind me I heard the clanging of the spoon hitting the floor.
I turned around and saw that Emerald was covered in mashed banana.
She’d gotten her hand into the bowl and was now chewing on her banana flavored fist.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Nana Cole said.
“Shut up. She’s eating.” I walked around and picked up the spoon, rinsed it off in the sink. I debated sitting down and trying to feed Emerald again, but I had the feeling she was swallowing more of it with her hands. I said to my grandmother, “I’ll make you a tuna fish sandwich.”
“I’d rather have egg salad.”
“I’ll hard boil some eggs later and you can have one tomorrow.”
I set about making the sandwich. She asked, “Where did you go?”
“Do you know Bobbie LaCross?”
“I don’t know everyone.”
“Well, she’s dead. Someone strangled her.”
I stirred up the tuna salad and then spread it onto a slice of bread, then put another slice on top. I put the poor example of a sandwich down in front of my grandmother.
“No chips?”
“I’ll get some the next time I go shopping.” I’d probably been saying that for a month.
She poked at the sandwich and then sighed. I waited for her to say something snide, but instead she said, “She’s not actually a LaCross, she just married one. She’s a Campbell. They go back in the county further than we do.”
A lot of good that did Bobbie. She was still dead.
“Course, they fell on hard times after the war. That’s probably why she lets people think she’s a LaCross and doesn’t correct them.”
She took a tentative bite of the sandwich.
“What war?” I asked.
She swallowed hard, then said, “The second world war, what do you think?”
“I think the world is constantly at war so it’s good to be specific.”
“I need a glass of milk.”
As I went to the fridge, I said, “You know a lot about someone you don’t know.”
“People talk.”
As I set a glass of milk down for her, Bev and Barbara came through the back door. Barely stopping to take off their coats, they went right for the baby.
“Oh my gosh,” Barbara said. “Look at you covered in your lunch.”
“Mashed banana,” I said. Mashed banana that was now all over the baby, the high chair and the floor. I decided I should get out of there before someone asked me to clean the mess up. I said, “Excuse me” and went upstairs for a couple Ativan and a long nap.
About three hours later, I woke up when I fell out of bed. At some point Reilly had shown up and gotten into bed with me. He had a habit of parking himself in the middle of the twin-sized bed and refusing to move, which left little room for me. Which was how I ended up on the floor.
I reached up onto the bed and dragged down a pillow, then I snagged my cell phone off the nightstand.
Now that I was cozier, I called Ham and caught him up.
When I was finished, he said, “You should go talk to the Wiltons, the other owners. Technically, they’re also our client since Melanie is paying us out of the winery’s account. Just act like you’re updating them.”
“They live nearby? She said they were silent partners. I figured they lived somewhere else.”
“No, they live up there. Not far from you. I don’t know why they’re not involved with the winery.”
“So they have a motive as well, don’t they?”
“Yeah. Or they did until you proved Bobbie was responsible for the fall herself.”
“Do you know if they know that?”
“I sent my report to Melanie. Maybe she passed it on. Maybe she didn’t.”
“So, they might have killed Roberta even though they didn’t need to?”
“It’s a possibility. Send me an email after you talk to them. We’ll figure out what to do next tomorrow.”
“Are you in a park?” I had to ask.
“I am.”
“In January?”
“I’m watching this dude ice skate.”
“Okay.”
“He’s on workman’s comp for a back injury. I’ve got pictures of him doing a triple axel on two separate days.”
It probably wasn’t a triple axel. That would be Olympic level. But someone on workman’s comp probably shouldn’t be doing even half an axel. I just said, “Cool.”
We hung up and I called information to get the Wilton’s address. Then I got up off the floor. Reilly and I made our way downstairs. In the kitchen, Nana Cole was sitting at the table with Bev and Barbara. Emerald was on the floor crawling around.
“Why is the baby on the floor?” I asked. “I don’t know how clean that is.” I certainly hadn’t mopped it. Quickly I snatched Emerald off the floor.
“She needs to crawl around,” Barbara said. “She shouldn’t spend so much time in the car seat.” Then, seeming to realize how critical that sounded, she added, “I know why you’re relying on the car seat. It makes perfect sense. I’m just saying… You really are doing a wonderful job.”
Bev was nodding her head, while my grandmother gave an annoyed snort, then said, “I was telling them about Bobbie LaCross. Barbara used to be in a book club with her.”
I bounced Emerald a bit. “Really?”
“Well… she only came a few times, and she didn’t read the books. People were annoyed because she talked too much.”
“She didn’t read the book? What did she find to talk about?”
“She did sort of talk about the books, even though she hadn’t read them. One book she was very critical of because she’d dated a police officer, and she knew the author got the policework all wrong.”
“She knew that without reading the book?”
“Well, she didn’t admit she hadn’t read the books. She’d read the jacket and then pretend. Or she’d ask the librarian. Somehow she knew without actually doing the work.”
Interesting, but not relevant. I doubted anyone killed her because she was annoying. Tempted, I’m sure, but I didn’t think anyone would. I said, “I need to go out, I shouldn’t be more than an hour. Will you still be here?”
“Yeah, we’re going to make you and Emma dinner.”
“I’ll probably be back,” I said, handing the baby to Bev. “If you want to put her on the floor, at least put down a blanket.”
“It’s fine,” Nana Cole said. “Babies are washable.”
The Wiltons lived in Lakeside Heights condominiums. It wasn’t an especially inspired name since the complex was built on a hill that looked out at the lake.
Halfway between Masons Bay and Bellflower, it sat on the east side of M-22 with a private beach and a handful of docks on the lakeside.
The buildings were vaguely colonial, each with two to four units.
I drove around the winding streets until I found 114 Bluebird Lane. The Wiltons lived in Unit D.
I got out of my car, tugged down my hat, tossed my piano scarf over my shoulder, and shoved my bare hands into my blue puffer coat.
I walked up to their door and rang the bell.
After a few seconds, the door was opened by a guy around my age wearing sweats and a sleeveless sweatshirt.
He looked me up and down, and said, “Yeah?”
“Is this the Wilton residence?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Oh, are Mr. and Mrs. Wilton available?”
“Who are you?”
“I work for Hamlet Gilbody Investigations. I’m—we’re, actually, working for the Wiltons, through the winery. Investigating the woman who was suing them.”
“Oh, that bitch. Yeah?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Tubby Wilton.”
Okay, gotta be honest. He didn’t look tubby at all. He looked like he’d just come from twelve hours at the gym, thought protein powder and Clif bars were food groups and would have been confused by a Krispy Kreme doughnut, having forgotten that sugar even exists.
“Nice to meet you, Tubby. So, you’re…”
“Grandson. I’m taking care of my grandparents. They’re not doing well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I need to give them a report on the case. Can I come in? It’s a little cold out here.”
Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Not because it wasn’t cold, but because there was a lot of heat wafting out of the condo. Tubby stepped back, saying, “You can’t stay long. I got things to do.”
I stepped inside. At the back of the condo was the kitchen and a powder room, then there were the living and dining rooms in the front, both with amazing views of the lake. There was a stairway that led upstairs to the bedrooms, probably three.
The living room was empty. An oxygen tank sat next to one recliner and a walker next to another. On the floor, along one wall were barbells in different sizes.
“My grandparents are napping. You can give your report to me.”
“Um, okay…”
He didn’t ask me to sit down. Not that I wanted to. I had the feeling if I did, I might be assigned a random medical device.
“We were able to establish that Bobbie put her foot into the sink to wash off some blood and that was the cause of her fall. Not water on the floor, nor the wine she was drinking.”
“So, she’s not suing?”
“The suit hasn’t been officially dropped. But she also died sometime during the night.”
“Bummer.” He nodded. Then, “Wow, um, the bitch is dead. Cool.”
The bitch is dead really made me want to add a ding-dong, but I resisted. His casual disregard seemed sincere. I mean, if he’d killed her, he’d at least pretend some kind of regret, wouldn’t he?
“So… um, do you own part of the winery or is it just your grandparents?”
“It’s in a trust. My grandparents and my cousin Cassie. Cassie is Uncle Eddie’s kid. She’s eight.”
That wasn’t helpful. The only one physically able to kill Bobbie was Tubby and he didn’t have a motive. I mean, it would be a kindness to kill Bobbie for his family, but he wouldn’t benefit directly.
Basically, this had been a waste of time. I started to say good-bye so I could get out of there, but Tubby asked, “So, did Melanie kill the bitch?”
“Why do you ask that?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s cold-hearted. Uncle Eddie killed himself over her.”
“She said your uncle died in a hiking accident.”
“He was hiking. But it wasn’t an accident. He jumped off a cliff.”
“Because of Melanie?”
Honestly, she hadn’t struck me as the kind of woman you kill yourself over.
“Yeah, because of her. She was having an affair with Eddie, telling him she was going to leave her husband for him and then she changed her mind. Decided to stay with her husband.”
“But they got divorced anyway.”
“Well yeah… Uncle Eddie left a long, detailed note.”