Whispers of Murder (5 page)

“Don’t worry about the coffee,” Isabelle said.  “The truth is I just wanted a few minutes alone, and this seemed like the right place to get it.”

The woman stuck out her hand.  “I’m Tara Sidwell.  You from around here?”

Isabelle laughed.  “Is it that obvious?” 

“Parents?”

“My father owns Charlemagne.”

“The vineyard?”

Isabelle nodded.

Tara smiled.  “Interesting name.”

“I guess the real Charlemagne is an ancestor or something.” 

“Wow.  If my dad owned a vineyard I’d never leave this place.”

“That’s because you didn’t grow up around it.  If you did, you’d long for a little more excitement, trust me.  When I graduated, I couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

Tara smirked.  “I prefer this any day over life as a city girl.  What made you come back?”

Isabelle suddenly felt the urge to flee.  What was with all the questions?

“I’m sorry—too forward?”  Tara said.  “Bad habit.  I didn’t mean to get personal.”

Isabelle shook her head.  “I’ve just had a lot going on.”

“Understood.”  Tara leaned over and plucked the handle of her purse from the side of a chair.  “I’ve gotta run anyway, but it was nice to meet you.  Sorry again about the coffee.”

Tara headed out the door, and when she disappeared out of sight, Isabelle ordered her coffee—again.  But this time she took it outside.  She walked up the street and rounded the corner on Maple Drive.  It was so peaceful, but that was how it had always been in Napa.  And she hated to admit it, but she’d missed that part of it.  New York was…well, anything but quiet. 

Isabelle glanced at her watch.  Emmett would be back any minute.  She dug in her pocket for her cell phone and when she looked up, a navy sedan with blacked-out windows had turned onto the street.  She didn’t think anything of it at first until she noticed how fast it was going.  It had exceeded the speed limit by at least double and continued to accelerate with each passing moment.  The driver of the vehicle had an obvious objective in mind, and it didn’t take long for Isabelle to grasp what she needed to do: RUN. 

She hurled her coffee cup to the ground and sprinted around the corner hoping to make a loop that would take her back to the coffee shop where there were lots of warm bodies to offer sanctuary.  When she was almost there she swiveled around.  The car was inches away and ready to make its move.  She’d never make it.  Isabelle dove behind a rusted grey dumpster in the alley and braced for impact.  The car careened into the metal barrier and wedged Isabelle’s arm between the dumpster and the brick building behind it.  With her phone still clutched in her hand, she pressed the redial button. 

“Emmett—I’m in the alley behind the coffee shop—hurry!”   

Isabelle could no longer see the street so she concentrated on the sounds around her.  The car switched gears and reverse.  Good, she thought to herself, maybe it’s going away, but seconds later it pulverized the dumpster again.  What are they doing—trying to force me out?  Don’t they know I’m pinned in?  Isabelle sat back and wondered how long it would take before the person stepped out of the car and found her there—helpless, with no way to defend herself  She couldn’t winch her arm free, and she was sure it was broken.  The car reversed a second time and Isabelle clamped her eyes shut, but nothing happened.  Moments later a car door slammed shut.  This was it.  She was going to die, and she didn’t even know why.

CHAPTER 11

R
oland Donnelly kicked his Justin Stampede boots on top of the metal table and crossed one leg over the other.  “You convinced now that she didn’t do it?  If Emmett hadn’t arrived in that alley when he did, she’d be dead right now.”

The sheriff paced the floor behind his desk and rubbed his chin.  “I don’t know what your daughter is caught up in, but it’s not good.”

“What do you mean?”

The sheriff yanked back his chair, sat down and tipped his coffee mug toward himself.  “This just isn’t strong enough for what I’m about to say,” he mumbled.  “Sally!”

A middle-aged woman bustled through the door in a red polka-dot dress that was about five sizes too small and rode up in all the wrong places.  If she leaned over, there was a decent chance some part of it would rip and the flesh underneath would shoot out in all directions.  It was a sight neither Roland nor the sheriff was prepared to see.

“Bring me some coffee,” the sheriff said.  “Black.”

She nodded and shuffled back out the door.

“I’m fine, but thanks for asking,” Roland said.

“Aw, hell.  Sorry.  It’s just—”

“Never mind.  Tell me what’s going on.”

“For starters, Leo isn’t his real name.  It’s Jerome Fisher.  And his parents aren’t dead.  They’re alive, retired, and living in a condo in Florida.  I spoke to the father this morning.  He hasn’t seen his son in five years, and the last time he popped in to say hello, he stole every dime they had from their safe.”

“I’d guess that’s why they haven’t spoken in five years.”

Sally returned with the coffee and plopped it down on the desk.  The sheriff took a swig and swallowed.  It was hot enough to rival a mouthful of atomic fireballs, but he didn’t care.

Roland leaned back and clasped his hands together behind his head.  “Why would he lie to my daughter about his parents?”

“Maybe because he was married.”

“Yeah, to Isabelle.”  

The sheriff shook his head.  “To two other women, one of whom died after an apparent suicide, and the other, a Marsha Santino.  They are still married.  Can’t seem to locate her though.”

Roland cocked his head to the side.  “Son of a bitch.  That’s not all, is it?”

“The guy was a con-artist.  He’s wanted in three states for money laundering.  I want to believe Isabelle didn’t know anything about it.”

“Of course she didn’t!”

“If I could offer some advice, Roland…go home and talk to your daughter.”

Isabelle brushed the thick, coarse mane that flowed down the back of her horse with her fingers.  “It’s been a long time since we’ve went on a ride together.”  

Roland pointed to the sling that wrapped around Isabelle’s left arm.  “You sure you’re alright with only one hand on the reins?” 

She nodded. 

They rode out past the vineyard and through the field that ran along the backside of the property.  Roland, who usually didn’t hesitate to spark a conversation, was quiet to the point that Isabelle could hear the crunch of every leaf her horse stepped over like her ear was nailed to the ground.   

“You want to tell me why we’re out here?”

Roland fidgeted with the leather reins around the horse.  “I wanted some time alone with my daughter.”

She slanted her eyes toward him.  “And there’s no other reason?”

His eyes veered to a thicket of trees in the distance. 

“What is it?” she said.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

Roland tugged on the reins and brought his horse to a standstill.  Isabelle followed suit.  They sat on their saddles and neither moved.  After a short time he said, “Probably just an animal or somethin’.” 

He grazed the side of the horse with his boot and continued.  Every so often Isabelle peeked over at him.  The years of hard work showed in every crevice of his leathery face, but she still thought he was the most handsome father she’d ever seen.     

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”

He twisted around.  “I never thought I’d be at a loss, but…”

“All my life you’ve told me straight, Dad.  Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“It’s about Leo.  I spoke with the sheriff this morning and I’ve learned some things.”

“Like what?”

“He was involved in some kind of double life.”

“Why would you think that?”

He paused for a minute.

“Dad, just say it.  Please.”

He breathed in the words he wanted to say and ejected them out like a machine gun engaged in rapid fire. “His real name isn’t Leo, his parents aren’t dead, and he had another wife.” 

Something whizzed by Isabelle’s ear that felt like the sting of a bee.  She swept her finger across it, but didn’t feel cartilage, it was runny.  She brought her finger in front of her face and panicked.  “What the—dad?”

Roland’s hand was gripped over his lower abdomen.  His body swayed to the side, and he fell, bringing the horse down with him. 

“Dad!”

Isabelle dismounted and ran to her father who attempted to pull himself up with his free hand.  “Let me help you,” she said. 

He pushed her away.  “I can do this.  I don’t know what happened.  All of the sudden I felt a sharp pain.”

Isabelle placed her hand over her father’s and pulled it back.  “Oh my gosh, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m—what?”

She pointed, “Your shirt.”

The horse flicked its mane back and forth a few times and then stood back up, unharmed.  Isabelle grabbed her dad’s shirt and yanked.  The buttons broke free from their metal snaps and her mouth gaped open.  “You’ve been shot!”

She wrenched the sweater from around her waist and tied it around him—tight.  She’d seen it done before in the movies—and whether it was the right thing to do or not, it was the single foremost idea in her mind.  

“Can you ride?” she said.

“Think so.”

With her one good arm, she helped him up on his horse, hoisted herself back up on her own and took the reins from both horses in her right hand.  She knew he would cuss her later, but riding through the vineyard was the quickest way back to the house, and right now, her only desire was to get him there—fast. 

CHAPTER 12

I
sabelle’s sister approached with two cups of coffee, one in each hand, and gave her a curious look.  “Who were you on the phone with just now?”

“Emmett.”

“Mmmph.”

“You can say it, you know.”

Melanie sat down next to her and handed her a Styrofoam cup.  “I don’t see what good that would do at this point.”

“Yeah, but I know you want to—so go ahead, lay in with all that sisterly psychic priestess stuff about how you knew Leo was wrong for me.”

“Your husband, or ah, pretend husband is dead, and his name’s not Leo.”  She slouched back in her chair.  “It doesn’t matter how I feel about the whole thing, I know what you’re going through, so let’s forget it for now.” 

Isabelle shook her head.  “No you don’t.”

“What?”

“Know what I’m going through.  How could you?” 

“I didn’t take the time to bring you a cup of coffee so we could sit here and hash it all out.  We’re here for dad.”

“If you let it go now, I’ll just hear about it later when you get mad at me for something else and then you’ll do what you always do: blow up and let it all spill out of your mouth until I’ve heard every lecture you’ve wanted to give me for the past five years.”

Melanie offered up the silent treatment for a few minutes and then said, “Answer one question for me.”

“What?”

“When you woke up that morning in the hotel and realized what had happened to your—whatever his name is, what did you do?”

“Why does it matter?”

Melanie frowned.  “Answer the question.”

“I called Emmett, so what?”

“And today, after you got dad all checked in, what was the first thing you did?”

Isabelle smirked.  “That’s two questions.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“You know who I called.  I told you when you walked over here.”

Melanie rifled around in her pocket, pulled out her keys, and stood.  Before she was out of earshot, she turned around.  “Seriously Isabelle, for a former high school valedictorian you can be pretty stupid sometimes.”

“Are you okay?”

Isabelle removed her moistened hands from her face and stared up at Emmett.  “I would be if none of this was happening right now.”

He walked over to the reception counter, pulled a few pieces of tissue from a box and offered them to her.  “They said your dad is going to be fine.”

“Why is this happening—I don’t understand?”

“Your father is worth a lot of money.”

“Why would that matter?  Who could benefit from that besides family?”