Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I parked, got out, and walked around the pale yellow car. I tried to open the doors, but they were locked. Peeking through the frosted windows, I could see that it was a mess inside: take-out bags scrunched up, coffee cups, random totes, a dead plant for some reason.
Checking the outside, I noted a few dents here and there, which was probably not surprising for a woman with alcohol and addiction issues. There was almost an inch of snow collecting on the car. It was still snowing and looked like it might continue for some time.
I got back into the Metro and called Hamlet.
“I have questions,” I said when he answered.
“Shoot.”
“I just found out that Melanie was at Bobbie’s home the night before she was found dead.”
“Do the police know that?”
“They will. I’m going to see Melanie and let her know they’re going to find out.”
“Okay. What’s the question?”
“Well… if our client killed someone, do we have to tell the police?”
“Well, first, don’t ask her directly if she killed Bobbie.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t want to know that.”
“We don’t?”
“No. If we know things it can get dicey.”
That seemed such an odd thing to say. His job was literally to know things. Still, I said, “Okay. But what if she just tells me?”
“If she confesses to the murder then you need to suggest she talk to a lawyer and turn herself in.”
“She won’t want to do that.”
“Doesn’t matter. That’s the only ethical advice we can give. We don’t help people get away with murder.”
“So, if we find out she murdered Bobbie, we stop and go to the police?”
“Uh, yeah, well…. We stop, that’s definite. If the police come to us and ask questions we tell the truth. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“If she hires a lawyer and they hire us, then we have confidentiality.”
“What if there’s no lawyer and no one asks?”
“We keep our mouths shut. Also, if she confesses, we send an invoice right away.” Then he asked, “Do you really think she did it, though?”
Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought.
It seemed dumb to kill someone and then drop them at your own door—even if you were trying to fake people out.
No matter what, it draws attention to the fact that you have a motive.
And… Melanie’s motive had disappeared. Bobbie would not be taking the winery away from her, so there was no reason to kill her.
Unless there was another motive. One I wasn’t aware of.
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, well, go to the winery and tell her the sheriff’s coming soon and that she should call a lawyer.”
When I got to the winery, there were more customers than there had been the first time I was there. Word had probably gotten around about the corpse early that morning. I took a spot at the bar. Melanie saw me and nodded. She filled an order and then came down to me.
“Where’s your sister?”
“Probably watching Fox News. She’s already in love with Sean Hannity.”
“Creepy.”
“Listen, the police are searching Bobbie’s trailer. I talked to Buford Campbell and he told me you were there last night. I’m guessing he told that to Detective Lehmann right after I left.”
“Oh shit.”
“What were you doing there?”
Keeping her voice low, she said, “I went to Main Street Café to confront Bobbie and ended up driving her home.”
“Excuse me?”
“She was drunk.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that happened a lot. Why did you have to drive her home?”
“I went there to tell her off. She’d put me through a lot and I wanted to give her a piece of my mind.
But as soon as I started, she crumbled. Telling me how sorry she was.
That her life had been so hard. That her last husband had run off with everything she had.
That she could barely get by on her Social Security checks.
That she was just trying to get money from my insurance company and that’d she’d never have taken the winery.
I started feeling sorry for her. She was telling me about all the shitty things men had done to her.
I ended up paying her tab and driving her home. ”
“You got out of the car. When you got to her place you got out of the car.”
“Well, of course I did. I was afraid she’d fall and break something, and I couldn’t have that now, could I? I’d get blamed all over again.”
“You lied to me when you said you were at home.”
“Not really. I was at home. Eventually.”
She’d also made it sound like she hadn’t seen Bobbie in a long time. That was also not true. I let it go. “General question: While you were at Main Street Café did you happen to notice anyone who might have followed you and killed Roberta after you left?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then quietly said, “Her son was there.”
“Her son? She has a son?”
“They don’t get along. In fact, I think they had words. He could be the one who killed her.”
“Do you know what the problem was between them?”
“I’m guessing she was a shitty mother.”
I felt deeply uncomfortable when she said that. In that particular moment, in a lot of particular moments, I thought I had a pretty shitty mother. I had no desire to kill her, though. I didn’t see how it would make the situation any better. Death never made anyone a good mother.
“You told Lehmann you wouldn’t talk to him without a lawyer. Were you serious?”
“I feel like I should be.”
“You might want to call one,” I said, as I watched Detective Lehmann come in the front door.
When she saw the detective, Melanie came out from behind the bar and walked across the tasting room and into what looked like it might be an office.
“Where’s she going?”
“To call a lawyer. Did you find Bobbie’s car?” I asked.
“We will.”
“It’s behind Dr. Blinski’s office.”
He gave me a long, unfriendly look, “Did you touch it?”
“No.” I did actually, but we’d talk about that later if we needed to. “I peeked through the windows. She was kind of a slob.”
“Her trailer was messy too.” Regretting that, he said, “I don’t like that you’re always around.”
“I’m getting paid.”
“Not by me.”
“What have you found out about her son?” I asked.
“I didn’t know she had one.”
“Apparently, he was at Main Street Café last night. They fought.”
“What’s his name?”
Crap. That would have been useful information, but I hadn’t asked Melanie. “Um, I don’t know.”
He smoldered at me for a moment, then said, “If I find out you knew his name and you didn’t tell me, you’ll be sorry.”
“There are at least three people in this room who know. Maybe we should just ask.”
Quietly, he turned around and left the winery. I suppose asking a room full of people a question about a murder investigation might not have made him look smart. I certainly wasn’t going to do it.
I went home to ask my grandmother.
Emerald was asleep on Bev’s shoulder, while Barbara was at the sink doing the dishes. There was a dishwasher, but Nana Cole, and now her friends, avoided using it. Something I found confusing since it worked well enough. I used it—though I caught Nana Cole and her friends rewashing the dishes.
When I walked in, Barbara said, “We have a plate for you in the oven.”
I thanked her as I stepped out of my boots, and hung my puffer coat and scarf on a hook near the door. Riley came over and hovered nearby until I spent a bit of time scratching his ears.
“That dog needs a bath,” Nana Cole said.
“I’m well aware.” I mean, I was inches from him. He really did need a bath. “I’ll take him to the groomer in a day or two.”
“Just put him in the bathtub and scrub him down.”
I tried that. It was not a good idea.
“The groomer clips his nails.”
Barbara had gotten my dinner out of the oven and set it on the table. “Sit down and eat your supper.”
“Well, just don’t put that on my credit card,” Nana Cole said, meaning the groomer. I intended to do just that. Then to her friends, she added, “Samuel would just spit. Taking a dog to a beauty parlor.”
Samuel was my grandfather. She didn’t talk about him often. Dinner was an overcooked pork chop, mashed potatoes and peas. Its time in the oven hadn’t helped it. I didn’t care though, it was still better than what I could cook for myself and I hadn’t had to lift a finger.
After my first bite, I asked, “Bobbie LaCross has a son. Do any of you know his name?”
“Of course, we know his name,” Nana Cole said but didn’t offer it.
“Hal Buckwald,” Barbara supplied. “He does odd jobs.”
“Whatever happened to his father?” Bev asked.
“He was from the UP,” Barbara said. “He wasn’t here long. Too citified.”
“This? This is too citified?” I said, somewhat appalled.
“You’ve never been to the UP, have you?”
I shook my head. “And, clearly, I don’t want to go.”
“It’s beautiful up there,” Bev said. “You really should see it.”
“More trees than people,” I guessed.
“Oh, by quite a margin.”
“Any idea why Hal was estranged from his mother?”
“They weren’t estranged. They just didn’t get along,” Barbara said.
“Um, actually—”
“We don’t really know what goes on between a parent and a child,” my grandmother said. “We shouldn’t judge.”
“Excuse me?” I said, judging was Nana Cole’s primary form of exercise.
“Well, Bobbie wasn’t a very good mother,” Bev said. “I don’t think I’m being judgmental when I say that. Her primary interests were men, alcohol and drugs. Usually in combination. That has to be rough on a child.”
“It is,” I said, bringing conversation to a halt.
There they were again, the similarities between Bobbie and my mother were apparent.
Well, the men part definitely, alcohol periodically, and drugs, well, there she was an amateur.
I was the professional in the family. Oh God…
That felt like something I should talk about at a meeting.
Nah. Probably not.
To break the silence, I said to Bev, “Isn’t your arm getting tired? If she’s asleep you can probably get her into the car seat, and she won’t even notice.”
“Oh, I’m fine. My nephews are thirty-three and thirty-five. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent this much time with a baby.”
Barbara grimaced a tiny bit. It had probably been twenty-some years since she’d held her dead grandson in her arms. She had to be thinking that. I certainly was.
Despite her protests, I took Emerald from Bev and gingerly tried to get her into the car seat. Of course, she woke up and began fussing almost immediately.
“We can set her up on the sofa,” Nana Cole said, referring to the elaborate arranging of pillows we’d devised so she didn’t fall off.
“I have to go to Main Street Café.”
“You’re taking the baby to a bar?”
“Well, I’m not leaving her alone with you.”