Death of a Bad Apple (21 page)

Dillon's eyes fluttered open. “Dude, I just did.”

“Don't call me ‘dude,'” Sheriff O'Neil said. He sat down, held up the paper, and read it aloud. “‘Stay away from her or I swear I'll kill you.' That's from Red,” the sheriff explained. “Then Nathan responded, ‘Get off my back!' That's it. They're dated before the first murder.”

The sheriff looked up at us. The detective, Jake, and I were stunned into silence.

Dillon lifted his head and said, “Sounds like Red had some kind of motive to kill Nathan.”

“But Red loves Honey,” Sheriff O'Neil said. “He'd never let her take the rap.”

Detective Shelton frowned. “And it still doesn't give us a link to Roman's death.”

“So, what do you think it means?” I asked,
puzzling over the brief e-mail exchange. “Red says, ‘Stay away from her.' Who's
her
? Tiffany? Honey? Paula?”

“I think we have to be careful about taking these messages out of context,” Jake said. “We don't know what went on before or after this. And a lot of people say they're going to kill someone and don't mean it.”

I knew, with his background as a lawyer, Jake was being cautious, but these e-mails sounded pretty incriminating. “What are you going to do, Sheriff?” I asked.

“Arrest him,” Dillon answered for him. “Let Honey go and we can get the heck out of Dodge.”

The sheriff's cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered with “Sheriff O'Neil.” He listened, said, “Uh-huh,” a couple of times, then thanked the caller and hung up.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this,” Sheriff O'Neil said, sighing, “but with these murders, I have a feeling it's going to come out eventually.”

“Was that the nurse? What did she say?” I asked, anxious for any news that might help free Honey, even something from a medical report.

“Yes, that was the nurse. It appears Red contracted an illness as a teenager, a viral disease called epidemic parotitis, to be exact.”

“What's pertonitis?” Dillon asked.

“Parotitis,”
the sheriff corrected him, enunciating the medical term. “It's essentially mumps.”

Dillon frowned. “What's mumps?”

“Years ago, it was a common childhood disease,”
Jake explained. “Very contagious, but not usually fatal. I had a court case once where a man wasn't vaccinated because his backward doctor didn't believe in vaccines, so my client sued him when he caught the disease and ended up with testicular edema.”

“I know what that means—swollen testicles? Ouch,” Dillon said, covering his crotch with his hands. “Sounds painful. How do you know when you have these mumps?”

“You get a fever, headache, lack of energy, dry mouth, sore face . . .” Jake listed off the symptoms.

Dillon felt his forehead, then ran his hand over his cheek. “My cheek is kind of sore, and my mouth is kind of dry, and my balls . . .”

“Dillon!” I nearly shouted. “You don't have it. Your mouth is dry from your mouth breathing, and your cheek is sore because you slept on your laptop, and we're not going to discuss your testicles. I'm sure your mom had you vaccinated for mumps, measles, chicken pox, all that stuff—just like my mom did.”

Dillon placed his fingers on the sides of his neck, obviously convinced he was coming down with the mumps.

“So that's it? Red had mumps?” I summarized. “That really doesn't help us with a motive for murder.”

“Actually,” Sheriff O'Neil continued, “he caught something called mumps orchitis during puberty. . . .” The sheriff glanced at Jake and Detective Shelton. They both solemnly shook their heads.

“What's wrong?” I asked. “Is that bad?”

The sheriff took a deep breath. “Mumps during or after puberty can cause infertility.”

That little tidbit of medical information quickly sank in.

“Oh my God. Red Cortland could be infertile. And that would mean Tiffany wouldn't be his biological daughter.”

“So what?” Aunt Abby said. She stood in the doorway, flushed from her visit to the sheriff's office or the cold weather outside. “Maybe Red and Crystal adopted her. Or maybe Crystal got artificially inseminated. Times have changed. It's not a big deal anymore, even though back then it was.”

I pull up a chair for her. “How's Honey?”

Aunt Abby shrugged. “Okay, I guess, if you like jail.” She shot the sheriff a look. “So, what's the big deal about Red being infertile?”

“Nothing,” I said, “if he's always known he's infertile. But what if he didn't know back when they wanted to start a family?” I turned to Sheriff O'Neil. “When was the test done?”

“According to the file, Red didn't have the test until last year for new health insurance. They did a
prostate exam and that's when he found out about his infertility.”

“Last year?” Aunt Abby repeated. “Wasn't that about the time he left Crystal and got a divorce?”

“She's right,” I agreed. “Crystal said Red just walked out on her and Tiffany one day about a year ago.”

Jake nodded. “Come to think of it, Crystal acted like she didn't know why he left so suddenly.”

We were silent for a moment. Some of the loose ends were beginning to come together.

“So if Red didn't know he was infertile until a year ago and he realized Tiffany wasn't his biological child, he could have been so angry he just up and walked out,” I summarized. “After all, Crystal had to have been lying to him for all these years.”

“Which brings up the question,” Sheriff O'Neil said, “who is Tiffany's biological father?”

“Maybe someone knew the answer to that and was killed because of it,” Aunt Abby suggested. “Like Roman or Nathan.”

“I doubt Roman was around twenty years ago when this happened,” Jake said. “But maybe you're right about Nathan. Maybe he found out who the father was and tried to blackmail Red.”

“And Red killed him to keep him quiet,” Aunt Abby added, her eyes wide. “If that's true, poor Honey!”

The sheriff shook his head. “I've known Red all my life and he just doesn't seem the rotten apple in this case. I think we're barking up the wrong tree.”

Again with the fruit metaphors.

“There's still no connection between the two vics,” Detective Shelton added, after sitting quietly for several minutes. “My gut says whoever killed Roman killed Nathan. Maybe Red killed them both for reasons that have nothing to do with his infertility. Like you said, Abby, these days the condition itself isn't that big a deal. There has to be more to it.”

“Maybe if we find out who Tiffany's real father is, that would tell us something,” I suggested.

“It won't be easy,” Sheriff O'Neil said. “If Crystal had an affair, I doubt she's going to tell us about it, and if she was artificially inseminated, those records are sealed too, per the donor's wishes.”

“Murph,” Detective Shelton, said, “maybe talk to Red again now that you know about this and see what he has to say. Maybe he'll tell you something you just can't learn from a medical file.”

The sheriff rose. “I'm on it. I'll stop by his farm and confront him, see if I can get him to tell me if he suspects anyone in particular who might be the father. And while I'm at it, I'll try to find out if anyone was blackmailing him about it. Although I think it's a long shot.”

The sheriff headed out. I looked at Dillon, who'd lumbered into the dining room and retrieved his laptop while we were talking. He was busy keying away.

I leaned over to him. “Dillon, what are you doing?”

He didn't answer, just continued typing rapidly.

“Earth to Dillon?” I said.

“What?” he snapped.

“I said, what are you looking for?”

He held up one finger to indicate
“Wait a minute,”
then went back to typing. I shrugged him off and turned to Aunt Abby. “Any ideas about what to do next?”

“Not until we hear back from Sheriff O'Neil,” Aunt Abby said. “But I suspect Red is the key to this. I know Honey loves him, but a man who can simply walk out on a family because he isn't the father of their child isn't someone I'd fully trust. Maybe one of his friends knows something more that could help—like Adam.” Aunt Abby turned to Detective Shelton. “Feel like taking a ride, Wes?”

He caught her drift and nodded. “I suppose.” He turned to Sheriff O'Neil. “All right with you, Murph?”

“Of course,” the sheriff said.

“Good,” Aunt Abby said, rising from her chair, “because I can't just wait around for something else to happen. Time is running out.”

“Are you sure you'll be okay?” I asked my aunt. “He could be dangerous if you confront him.”

She smiled at Wes. “I'm not worried.”

“All right.” I turned to Jake. “Then how about we go back to the festival grounds? Maybe some of the vendors will still be there packing up their stuff. And maybe one of them saw something that might help.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jake said.

I had a thought. “Aunt Abby, Dillon, can we borrow your scooters?”

Before Dillon could say no, Aunt Abby answered for both of them. “Of course! Good idea. You can
cover more ground that way. Besides, they're really fun!”

Jake, Aunt Abby, and I headed upstairs to gather a few things, leaving Dillon working on his laptop. Detective Shelton also remained behind to make some calls. While we were in our room, Jake phoned the attorney he'd sent to help Honey, then left a message when the call went unanswered. We met Aunt Abby and Detective Shelton downstairs before they headed off to visit Adam Bramley.

“Be careful!” I called after them, then felt like an idiot stating the obvious to the San Francisco homicide detective.

While Jake loaded the two scooters into his cream puff truck, I decided to check up on Dillon one last time to see if he'd found out anything more. I stood over his shoulder and tried to read his computer screen.

He turned around and gave me an annoyed look. “I hate when people do that,” he said.

I stepped to the side. “Sorry. Find anything?”

“Working on it,” he said.

“Like what? More about Roman? Or Nathan? Or Red?”

“Nope,” he said.

“Then what?”

“Ever heard of Cryo-Baby?”

I made a face. “Sounds like a baby doll that cries real tears.”

“It's a sperm bank.”

I blinked. “You're hacking into the records of a sperm bank?”

“I'm not in yet, but I found the only one located in the Apple Valley area. It's called Cryo-Baby. It's where people go to donate sperm and receive infertility treatments.”

I sat down next to him. “You're kidding! So, did you find out who Tiffany's father is?”

“Like I said, not yet. But I'm learning all kinds of things. Do you know how much money a guy makes from donating sperm? Like a hundred bucks!”

I shook my head. “You're not thinking of donating, are you?”

“Why not? My sperms would make some real smart kids.”

“It's sperm, not sperms, and I don't think you'd qualify.”

“Would too. They give you a complete sperm analysis. I'd pass all that. And there's a whole section on physical appearance. With my awesome hair and eye color and height and weight, not to mention my IQ, I'd fall into the ‘high demand' category.”

“Yeah? What about your arrest record?”

Dillon shrugged. “A little glitch.”

“So you think you can break in to the bank and find out who might have donated sperm twenty years
ago, when Tiffany was conceived? Although it sounds like a needle in a haystack, even if you do get in.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dillon was not one to give up easily when it came to hacking. He loved a challenge, the more impenetrable, the better. He seemed to take special pride in every new success. “We'll see.”

“Darcy?” Jake stood at the front door, waiting for me. “You ready?”

I got up from the table, gave Dillon a pat on the shoulder, and followed Jake out to his truck.

•   •   •

We arrived at the festival grounds and unloaded the scooters. Jake showed me how to make mine go: “Step onto the floorboard, turn the knob on the right handlebar to accelerate, let it go to slow down, and grasp the handle on the left to stop. It's simple.”

Yeah, right. I'd never ridden a scooter before, let alone an electric one. But if my sixty-something aunt could do it, then surely I could too. I released the kickstand, stepped on, got myself semibalanced, and turned the knob.

Whee! Off I went!

After practicing a few wide figure eights, I pulled up alongside Jake, then followed him down the path to where the vendor tents still stood. Most of the vendors had packed up, leaving behind empty tents, but a few still remained to finish up gathering their goods. I asked the Apple Spices guy and the Apple Butters lady if they knew anything about Nathan Chapman, aka Ethan Bramley, but they had little or no information to offer. Both said the man they knew
as Nathan seemed to be a “nice guy,” “very sociable,” “popular with the ladies,” and the woman went so far as to say he “seemed to prefer coeds to cougars.”

We scootered over to see if Crystal and Tiffany were still around and found Crystal packing up bottles of wine while her frowning daughter wrapped glasses and put them in boxes.

Crystal looked up when we came to a stop in front of her open tent.

“Sorry, we're closed,” she said when she saw us. Did she really think we were there to drink wine? At ten in the morning?

“I see that,” I said, dismounting the scooter. I lowered the kickstand.

Jake's phone rang. He got off his scooter, tapped the kickstand, then stepped aside to take the call out of hearing distance.

Crystal seemed surprised when she looked up again and saw me still standing there.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Well, make it quick. I need to get back to the winery and at least try to get some kind of sales numbers today. Now that the festival has come to an abrupt halt, I'm losing money every hour.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said. “I wondered if you had heard anything more about Nathan's death.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tiffany freeze at the sound of Nathan's name. She shot her mother a look I couldn't read.

Crystal seemed to ignore her daughter. Instead, she ran her fingers through her brassy blond hair, revealing an edge of gray tinged with red.
Time for a touch-up
, I thought.

“No—why would I? I'm not a cop; I'm a winemaker.”

Tiffany fumbled a glass and it hit the soft ground. She quickly snatched it up and examined it, then tossed it in the trash.

“Tiff, you gotta be more careful,” her mother said. “Those engraved glasses don't come cheap.”

Tiffany stared at her mom, her eyes narrow slits. She spun around and left the tent by the back entrance.

Crystal sighed. “That girl. She'll be the death of me yet.”

“She seems lovely,” I said, slowly leading up to the bigger questions I was about to ask.

Crystal smiled. “Yeah, she got my looks, thank goodness. Red's not exactly George Clooney, with that wild red hair and freckles.”

That was a little conceited. And harsh. Was Crystal trying to convince me that Red was her biological father?

“Odd that she didn't get his red hair,” I said pointedly.

Crystal stopped packing and eyed me. “Recessive gene, I guess.”

“Yes, I remember learning about red hair in my biology class. Doesn't it take two redheaded parents to make a redheaded child? In fact, it's a biological
imperative, isn't it? But you're blond, so Tiffany only had a fifty-fifty chance of being a redhead.”

Crystal patted her tousled hair self-consciously. “Yeah, the blond comes from my Norwegian heritage.”

Or a bottle of Clairol to hide the fact that you're a redhead too,
I thought. Time to get to the point.

“Crystal, I'm trying to find out what I can to help Honey get out of jail. Did your husband—ex-husband—did Red get along well with Nathan?”

Crystal frowned at my bluntness. “I have no idea. You'd have to ask Honey about that, now that he's taken up with her. Of course, it won't be easy, since she's in jail.” She gave a nasty little laugh.

“Sheriff O'Neil said he heard Red and Nathan arguing one night at Honey's place.” I decided not to mention Adam. “Any idea what they might have been talking about?”

Crystal's eyes narrowed. She seemed surprised to hear this. “No . . . Why? Are you suggesting—”

“I wasn't suggesting anything, just wondering. Honey is a dear friend of my aunt's, and Aunt Abby is sure Honey is innocent.”

Crystal laughed again. “Honey is hardly innocent. The woman is a husband stealer, and now she's most likely a murderer. I'll bet she killed that guy from Eden Corporation who was staying at her inn because he wanted to take over her property. He probably set fire to the place, hoping to burn it down so she'd have nothing and would have to sell. I figure she must have found out.”

“Then what about Nathan? Why kill him?”

“Probably because he found out the truth—that she murdered Roman.” Crystal shrugged. “Listen, I don't know. It's none of my business. And I really have to pack up and get out of here.”

I was getting nowhere. I thought for a moment, then remembered her argument with Nathan when she saw him with her daughter. “One more thing,” I said, Columbo-style. “Did Nathan and Tiffany have some kind of relationship?”

Crystal's face colored and she frowned. “Heavens, no! Where did you get an idea like that? Sure, they were friends, but that's because Nathan was a friendly guy, and my Tiffany happens to be nice to everyone. Tiff would never really be interested in a man old enough to be her father. Now, if you want to know who Nathan Chapman was involved with, go ask that Paula woman. They looked pretty hot and heavy the last time I saw them.”