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  “Have you spoken with the police, Hendrick?” I asked.

  “Yes. Officers Ellington and Brooks came to see me yesterday. Told me the news. Asked me lots of questions about my relationship with Fran.” He shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. “I suppose the ex is always the first suspect in something like this.”

  Yolanda shook her head. “No. Not the ex. It’s usually the current lover. Isn’t that right, Maggie?”

  How am I supposed to know?

  “Uh … I wouldn’t know.” I stuttered.

  “Who was Fran dating most recently? Did she have another boyfriend?” Yolanda asked.

  Hendrick took a deep breath. “Last I heard, she was going out with that fellow.”

  “What fellow?” I asked.

  “Officer Ellington,” Hendrick said, his face turning red. He squeezed the bundle of grapes in his hand. The juice spit out and, like a heat-seeking missile, splattered against Yolanda’s white pants.

  Yolanda stopped in her tracks and, God help me, the only image that ran through my head were Ellington’s steel-toe boots.

  Chapter Ten

  Ronnie’s farm turned out to be a short drive from Verdant Vines, but it didn’t matter. Yolanda complained the entire time.

  “Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?”

  “You want to know what happened to Fran as much as I do,” I said.

  “But I didn’t know that involved farms and vineyards.” She quirked an eyebrow at me and then glared at her tailored white capri pants, now ruined by the stain from the grapes.

  I winced, but before I could deny culpability, Yolanda added, “Anyway, we don’t need to talk to Ronnie. It’s clear Hendrick murdered Fran.”

  “You can’t be serious. How is it clear?”

  “You saw his honking monster boots. Those are obviously a size twelve.”

  “You don’t know that! And even if he wears size twelve it’s hardly enough evidence to convict a man. Darla was wearing big work boots last night at the Wine and Bark.”

  Yolanda scoffed at me. “Darla doesn’t wear a man’s size twelve boots. Anyway, Fran was shot. Isn’t that a man’s choice of weapon, a gun?”

  Now it was my turn to scoff. “No! What do you think, that if she was killed by a woman she’d have been strangled with an apron?”

  Yolanda shook her head at me. “You’re hopeless as an investigator.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re not a suspect then,” I said. “Any men’s size twelve boots in your closest?”

  Yolanda glanced at me. “I’m not telling you about any skeletons in my closet.” She turned onto a dirt road that meandered up a hillside. At the top was a small yellow farmhouse.

  “Is this the right place?” Yolanda asked.

  I double-checked Ronnie’s address on my phone. “Yeah.”

  Yolanda wrinkled her nose. “Where are all the chickens?”

  She was right. The land in front of us was eerily quiet with not a chicken coop in sight. In fact, instead of chickens, two small boys sat on the front porch, next to them was a large Golden Retriever. They watched as we parked the car. As soon as we stepped out of the car, the boys ran to greet us. They were darlings, with matching crew cuts, blue jeans, and suspenders. Spitting images of Ronnie.

  Please tell me Rachel’s not dating a married man, I silently prayed.

  One of the boys squirmed, but the other boy stuck his hand out. “I’m Dougie and this is my brother, Danny,” he said.

  Beepo yapped madly to be let out of the car. The Golden Retriever seemingly more interested in sniffing Yolanda’s shoes than proving anything to Beepo.

  “I’m Maggie and this is my friend Yolanda. Is your dad here?”

  “He’s down at the barn,” Dougie said, pointing in the distance. At the end of the dirt trail was an old farmhouse. “I can get him.”

  Dougie ran toward a three-wheeler parked next to a white F-150 Ford truck. His brother raced behind with the dog in tow. “Me, too,” he said.

  Together the boys and the dog piled into the all-terrain vehicle and tore off.

  “Is that legal?” I asked.

  Yolanda shrugged. “They probably should wear helmets. Darling though, huh?”

  As they raced down the dirt trail, Yolanda pulled me toward the farmhouse. “Do you think there’s time to snoop inside the house?”

  “No!” I said. “The last thing we need is to get caught rummaging through Ronnie’s closet!”

  We waited the requisite time before the three-wheeler appeared again, this time heading in our direction with Ronnie at the wheel and the boys and dog nowhere in sight.

  Alarm was written all over his face when he saw me. “Is Rachel alright?” he called out, killing the motor on the ATV.

  “Yes. Yes, I spoke with her this morning. She may have another night at the hospital but she’s recovering.”

  Ronnie rubbed at the back of his head and nodded. “I’ll clean up and go see her this afternoon.”

  I noted his attire. He was in jeans, suspenders, and, of course, wore men’s work boots. Yolanda seemed to note the same thing because she flashed me a meaningful glance.

  “Your sons,” Yolanda said. “They’re adorable.”

  “My nephews,” Ronnie clarified. “They may be cute, but they’re a handful. My brother came by to help me out today, but they’re a package deal. I don’t know what’s worse, not having help or having to babysit the help.” He motioned toward the front porch. “Would you ladies like an iced tea?”

  The vision of Rachel cramped up in the hospital bed with salmonella poisoning played in my mind and I politely declined. Yolanda, on the other hand, accepted. As Ronnie walked past us and into the farm house, I mouthed to Yolanda, Salmonella!

  She waved at hand at me, ignoring me. I followed Ronnie to the kitchen, but Yolanda made a detour down the hallway calling out, “Is the ladies’ room this way?”

  “Yeah,” Ronnie called, “Just down the hall.”

  I turned in time to see Yolanda avoid the restroom and make a beeline toward a bedroom. Beepo trotted after her.

  In the kitchen, Ronnie opened the refrigerator and pulled out an iced tea pitcher. I noted that his kitchen was spotless. There were two tea towels hanging from the oven door, each with a picture of a rooster. The same one as on the logo of Chic Chickie.

  “Is that the infamous prize rooster?” I asked.

  Ronnie pulled out three pint glasses and filled them with iced tea. “Is Henry infamous?” Ronnie asked.

  “I heard that Fran stole his image illegally for use on her logo.”

  Ronnie scratched at the stumble on his chin. “Oh, that. What a piece of work that woman was.”

  “No love lost, huh?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry she’s dead,” he said suddenly. “But you can’t go around stealing and cheating your way through life and expect it to all turn out well in the end.”

  “Did she steal and cheat?” I asked.

  “She stole my image,” he said. “But that’s not all. She had a reputation for just taking what she wanted. You should talk to your sister about her. She knows.”

  “Rachel knew Fran? She never mentioned her to me.”

  Ronnie shrugged. “Did she mention me?”

  The look on my face must have told him everything, because he pressed his lips together and lowered his eyes.

  Before coming to Pacific Cove, I’d imagined that Rachel and I’d been close, but since arriving in town, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Rachel led a separate life from the one she’d shared with me. Along the way, I’d lost her trust somehow. She no longer confided any secrets to me.

  My heart seemed to hollow out and a sadness descended upon me.

  Ronnie pushed a glass of iced tea in my direction. “She’s told me a lot about you.”

  Our eyes met as I took the iced tea from him, and I found solace and friendship in him that I hadn’t seen before.

  Yolanda joined us in the kitchen. She glanc
ed from me to Ronnie and then said, “Out with it, Ronnie, where were you Friday night?”

  Ronnie looked momentarily confused. “What?”

  “The night Fran was killed. You have a huge gun safe in your bedroom and you wear size twelve boots.”

  Ronnie leaned against his counter and smiled. “Why don’t you ask Rachel?”

  * * *

  On the car ride to Rachel’s apartment to pick up her laptop, Yolanda said, “If Ronnie has an alibi, then I think it’s Hendrick. He’s shifty-eyed.”

  “He was red-eyed is what he was,” I said.

  Yolanda shrugged. “I’m not buying that. It’s almost as if he wanted us to think he was up all night crying about Fran.”

  “Probably because he was,” I replied.

  “No.” Yolanda shook her head. “If he’s all brokenhearted over Fran, why would he tell us in the next breath that he was going to propose to Darla?”

  She had a point. I fiddled with the radio buying some thinking time. “It comes down to motive doesn’t it?” I asked.

  “He’s guilty,” Yolanda countered.

  “Because he wears boots?” I asked. “Darla wears boots, too, and so does Ronnie for that matter.”

  “Darla doesn’t wear a man’s size twelve,” Yolanda said.

  That much is true.

  “Who benefits the most from Fran’s murder?” I asked. “Darla gets to marry Hendrick, which is clearly what she wants.”

  Yolanda made a face. “I don’t know why anybody would want to marry him. I get a strange, creepy vibe from him.”

  “I don’t get that. He seems very nice. I believed his grief. You should have seen his face when you walked into the Wine and Bark the other day with Fran. I think he still loves her.”

  Yolanda looked about as indifferent as she could get. “He makes good wine. I’ll give him that.”

  “Further,” I said, “he doesn’t benefit from Fran’s death.”

  Yolanda quirked an eyebrow. “What about common-law marriage? If they lived together for seven years, he could be entitled to half of everything. Does he get her business?”

  Hmm. I’ll have to investigate how long they were together.

  “Good question,” I said. “Maybe I can ask Brad over dinner.”

  “Are you crazy? You can’t ask Brad!”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “He’ll hate that we’re poking around. Don’t ask him.” We stopped at a red light and she turned to stare at me. “And if you happen to lose your mind in a hot moment of passion and it slips out, don’t mention I went with you!”

  I laughed. “Well, we’re not quite at the hot-moment-of-passion stage yet. But point taken, I’ll leave you out of it.”

  Yolanda tapped her long red lacquered nails against the steering wheel. “I should have asked Hendrick directly. If he gets the business maybe I can buy it from him.”

  “If he gets the business, I’m sure you could. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the type that would want to run the Chicken Shop.”

  Yolanda laughed. “‘The Chicken Shop,’ I like that.”

  “Or maybe he was an insurance beneficiary?” I said. A thought occurred to me. If we suspected Hendrick of bumping off Fran due to a business or insurance benefit, wouldn’t the same have been true of Fran? She could have been searching for a different type of business benefit, by blackmailing Hendrick, looking for a way to get a payout from him. “I wonder how well the winery does,” I said.

  We turned onto Rachel’s street and then pulled into the parking lot in front of her apartment. Yolanda parked the car in the lot. “The winery must do great. Look how much you just paid per case!”

  She was right, of course. I’d felt terrible about Hendrick looking so teary eyed and sad, so I overbought his wine by a few dozen cases. I tried to tell myself that his wine was exactly what the editor of Doggie Day would love and the investment would pay off.

  “Anyway,” Yolanda said. “What do we care how well the winery does?”

  “It was just a thought, but maybe Fran was blackmailing Hendrick or threatening him in some way.”

  “Anything is possible,” Yolanda said. “Especially after what Ronnie said. It sounds like Fran didn’t have that many friends.”

  “Did she have a business partner?” I asked.

  Yolanda shook her head. “No. She was in it alone, as far as I know. Sole proprietor.”

  I opened the car door. “You and Beepo stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  Yolanda nodded and Beepo barked after me and jumped into Yolanda’s lap, as if he’d understood me.

  How does he do that?

  I climbed up the wooden stairs to the main door of the apartment building and pushed open the front door. Rachel lived in two-story stone building built in the early 1900s. Supposedly, the stones had been gathered from Pismo Beach. It was a beautiful building with huge wraparound windows in each apartment on the west side, affording a luxurious view of the Pacific Ocean.

  Unfortunately, Rachel’s apartment was a tiny, cramped one-bedroom on the east side. It was probably a good thing, otherwise, I might have been tempted to move in with her. I sprinted up the interior staircase to the second floor. A little pang tickled my heart as I passed Gus DelVecchio’s apartment.

  How is his audition for the food show going?

  I dug out Rachel’s key from my pocket and stuck it into the door. I was immediately reminded why I was so glad to have my own place. Across the floor were piles of laundry. Rachel took after Grunkly’s non-housekeeping tendencies.

  I beelined toward her bedroom, thinking she could benefit from Ronnie’s influence. His place had been spotless. In her room, there was a small desk that held her laptop computer and a printer. Papers were strewn across the floor and I realized she must have printed something without securing the tray that held the printed sheets in place. I fixed the tray and stooped to pick up the paper.

  Glancing through the sheets, I saw that Rachel had printed an e-mail conversation between herself and Cornelia Hayden.

  Cornelia?

  She was Fran’s assistant.

  I quickly scanned the e-mails. It appeared that Cornelia was applying for a job at the Wine and Bark. As I turned to the second page and read, one of the notes in the e-mail chain made the hair on the back of my neck bristle.

  “I’ve got to get out of here—working for this woman is driving me nuts! I feel like I’m going to snap and do something crazy.”

  Chapter Eleven

  So Cornelia and her boss, Fran, were at odds. Cornelia felt like she might snap!

  What did that mean? Could she have gone over the edge and done the unthinkable?

  My heart raced as I shoved the printed pages along with Rachel’s laptop into my bag. I rushed out of her apartment and down the two flights of steps, outside toward the convertible.

  Yolanda was on the phone, happily chatting to someone to pass the time. I jumped into the car, upending Beepo, and said, “You’re not going to believe this!”

  Beepo barked at me, excited and ready to receive my shocking news. Yolanda, on the other hand, waved her fingers at me signaling for me to be quiet. I dug out the e-mail chain from my bag and shoved the papers under her nose. “Look at this!” I hissed.

  “Tonight?” Yolanda asked coquettishly into the phone. “Oh, I suppose I could break free.”

  I bit my lip, waiting for her to finish making her plans.

  “Ooooh … I’d love to,” she said into the phone. After a moment, she singsonged, “Sounds great. See you tonight.” She hung up the phone, turned to me, and squealed, “That was Officer Gottlieb! He asked me out for dinner tonight!”

  “That’s great,” I said, shoving the papers back at her. “Look what I found in Rachel’s apartment.”

  “What am I going to wear?” she asked. “Should I wear my black dress with the A-line skirt or the polka-dot—”

  “Yeah. That’ll look great,” I said, cutting her off, fearing that if she launched into a
litany of her wardrobe we might be stuck in the car until the middle of next week.

  She looked pleased. “Yes, I’ll wear the black dress with my rhinestone heels.”

  “Right,” I agreed. Then I abruptly changed the subject back to the e-mails. “Cornelia was fed up with Fran.”

  Yolanda looked confused. “What?”

  I indicated the e-mails. “Read these.”

  Yolanda scanned the papers and, giving off a tone of dismissal, she said, “This doesn’t mean anything. Everyone hates their boss.”

  Before I could protest, Yolanda added, “Anyway, if she was really going to kill her, she certainly wouldn’t put something like that in writing.”

  Disappointment weighed me down. Yolanda was probably right. I hadn’t stumbled onto a smoking gun. “I guess you’re right,” I mumbled.

  “And we know the killer is a man,” Yolanda added.

  “That’s true,” I said. But something wasn’t quite right. I still didn’t like the tone of Cornelia’s note. I’d have to ask Rachel about it.

  Since Yolanda was in a hurry to rush home and get gussied up for Gottlieb, we agreed that she’d drop me off at the hospital and I’d grab a cab home.

  She turned over the engine and we headed toward the freeway. While she chatted happily about what accessories would go best with the bedazzled heels, I noticed an ominous black van in the side rearview mirror. It seemed to be barreling down on us.

  “Hey, Yo! Watch out for the van!”

  Yolanda glanced into her mirror and yelped. “Why do people tailgate?”

  “It’s too close,” I said, whipping around to look at the driver.

  The van suddenly lurched into the right lane. I strained to catch a glimpse of the driver as the van speed off. The driver was small, like a woman. The only feature I could make out was a pair of aviator sunglasses and baseball cap with a logo on it.

  Could that have been Darla?

  * * *

  When I arrived at the hospital, I was pleasantly surprised to find Rachel awake. The curtains in her room had been opened and with the sunlight washing her face, she seemed almost recovered.

  She smiled to see me. “Maggie! I’m so glad you’re here. I’m bored out of my mind.”