Dressed in White Page 4

  The good news is there are several ladies on diets. I get a second piece, this one is amaretto, and it’s good with the whipped cream. It’s sweet, and the alcohol is beginning to affect me. I think that’s good—all the alcoholics will be thrilled.

  In fact, I hear a lot of compliments. They don’t know I made it, and that I don’t know anything about baking. Monica’s home-made liqueur is a great hit.

  “This is the best wedding cake—ever!” a guest comes up to Charlie and slaps him on the back.

  Monica looks at me with a grin and whispers, “Congratulations, you did it!”

  6

  Search for the Cleaners

  The wedding went well, in spite of everything Aquamarine threw at us. I wonder if it was Heather acting on her own, or if her step-mother, Alana, had a hand in it.

  I’m leaving early for work. I need to pick up Freddie’s shirt from Buttonwood. With everything going on, I left it on the picnic table at the pond. Half of us went down to the tasting room and had a private tasting with the winemaker. She was entertaining and made it understandable because she explained her process in laymen’s terms. We had a great time, and it was after 8:00 when we finished. Then I took a nap in my truck to recover.

  Anyhow, that’s my excuse about forgetting about it until last night at 2:30, when I woke and started to panic. I motor along the dirt road, past the carriage that’s still there. The poor thing. It looks abandoned and lonely.

  Whew, there’s the white cotton draped across a bench. I park and dash over. It smells faintly of fish, from being spread across my legs. But it also has a hint of cologne. Wow, I’m not sure I’ve smelled cologne on him before.

  Holding it up for inspection, I examine the front pocket. Darn, it’s empty.

  But, oh—here’s a faded dry cleaning tag at the hem. I wonder if I can find him by this number. I hold it up to my nose once more, then hop in the cab and drive the rest of the way to Solvang.

  * * *

  It’s a busy day for code enforcement. There’s a beer festival in Buellton, and traffic is heavy coming through town. I don’t have a minute to call any dry cleaners to find out about their marking system. Finally at 5:00, I’m done. Both mentally and work-wise.

  There are two cleaners in Solvang, and three in Lompoc. They all close at 6:30. That gives the working man time to drop off his shirts on the way home.

  I call Solvang first. I have to ask about their tags. The first one is an easy answer, the second is too busy and doesn’t know. They don’t clean on the premises, the tags are put on and removed by the cleaning company. This girl has no idea what they look like. I’ll have to go in to see. I’ll do it now since I don’t have time to go to Lompoc.

  I dash out the door, drive a mile, find parking, and hurry into the cleaners.

  “Hi, I called about the tags.” I hurriedly pull out the shirt and show her the hem. “Is this your tag?”

  She looks at it for a moment, “No. But would you like it cleaned—it smells.”

  “Yeah, I know… like fish. No thanks.” I head out the door. I’m not depressed—yet. I still have Lompoc.

  Freddie, where are you?

  Does he still have the GPS on my truck? I wonder if I can bring him out of hiding if I go somewhere out of the ordinary.

  Damn. Now what? I could stake out the condos in Lompoc where he used to go at night. Or, I could watch the hotel, here in town, where Alana stayed—Heather may be there with her. I’d ask at the front desk but they won’t tell me. I can’t come up with a good enough reason for them to release their private information. The police probably already know it.

  I just got an idea. Rick Shay, the arson investigator, will know. I wonder if he’ll let me do a little checking on my own. I give him a call and it rings through to voice mail.

  “Hi Rick, it’s Jess Wilcox. Heather, your arsonist, struck again yesterday at Buttonwood Winery. She punched me in the head as we fought for control of the wedding carriage. It crashed, Heather got away, and I have a headache.” I pause to let him absorb that. “Can you tell me where Alana lives? Heather may go to her house. Thanks, bye.”

  The sheriffs want to find Heather too, but I think I’ll have better luck getting the info from Rick. In fact, he’s my best bet. He’s a fireman, they love everyone. Maybe he’ll be happy to help me find her. The police are so uptight about rules and regulations. There’s no chance of getting any info from them.

  I need to get this resolved, and I’d like to find Freddie. Yeah, he’s stimulating my interest. Each time I see him he’s different. He always changes his look. He adds or loses facial and head hair, and adds or loses muscle. If I were out of the U.S. I’d wonder if he was in the CIA. I know he isn’t that, but he is definitely more than he’s letting on.

  I don’t want to blow whatever he’s doing, and I can’t sneak around worth a darn. My truck is a diesel Ford dually. And I’m not exactly invisible, being tall and blond. But I could wear a wig; I wore one when Nikki and I were following her cheating husband. Yes… that’s what I’ll do. I’ll get those wigs, change my look, and go a-hunting.

  * * *

  “So it started with wanting to find out who and what Freddie is, but it’s turning into a quest to track down Heather and her step-mother,” I explain.

  “It doesn’t sound safe,” Nikki worries.

  “I’ll hang back and call the police as soon as I find her. I won’t get into a confrontation.”

  “It sounds like a dumb idea to me. But I’d also like to know who Freddie is. He saved me from the two gunmen. I like his tattoos too. He looks like a dangerous type, but he’s working for the good-guys.” She hesitates, “Unless you’re interested—I don’t want to step in your territory,” she adds.

  “I’m intrigued. And if he’s with law enforcement, that’s a definite plus.” Plus his chest and back are amazing to behold.

  “Don’t you have Deputy Ken?” She raises her eyebrows.

  “Uh, not really. His interest level waned a couple of weeks ago. I’m not going to pine for a man who is apathetic. I’m moving to greener pastures.”

  7

  The Necklace

  I have my two ugly wigs, the drab clothing that goes with them, and my running shoes. I’m ready. Yup, I’m ready and waiting. Come on, Rick Shay, call me!

  Nikki has been leading the trail rides for more than a month. I was originally hired to lead rides Monday-Friday, but my time has now been reduced to weekends only. Because the wedding was Sunday we rescheduled my ride for today.

  It looks like I have a small group of riders. It will allow me to mellow-out and breathe from the back of my Juliette. She has lots of energy after days off, hanging out in the pasture with her friends. She’ll be a fun ride.

  I’m in the barn slinging western saddles on four of our horses. Each saddle weighs around 40 pounds. That’s a lot to lift and swing onto a 15.3 hand horse.

  I can almost feel the deep growl as a very expensive car inches up the dusty driveway. There are two of them that change the atmosphere.

  There’s a difference between this ride and my usual ones. It feels like they’re stepping into the country to see how the others live. They’re from Silicon Valley. I’m surprised they’re not in Napa. I know our wines are good, but are they that good? It’s not my job to question a client. Though, if it comes up, I’ll ask.

  The woman is definitely High-Maintenance. She’s wearing something I swear I’ve seen in the Santa Ynez Valley magazine from a local boutique. The clothes are artistic and suit a millionairess. That may have been their first stop. I wonder if she’s going wine country for the day. She’s doing it justice, that’s for sure.

  And her man… he’s in slim pants, without a hint of flab. He’s actually skinny. He may be a computer entrepreneur—with no time to do anything except create the next-generation device.

  I have my welcome smile in place. “Hi, I’m Jess, I’ll be your trail boss. Come meet your horses.” I turn and point, indicating they should fo
llow me this way.

  I hear murmuring and giggles as they follow. I always wonder about that. Does it mean they’re questioning my butt, the barn, or something completely unrelated? Why do ultra-wealthy people make me squirm?

  I have them fill out releases—in case someone falls off. It may put a tiny road-block in their lawsuit.

  I’m holding Cory for the lady in her new clothes. Her long necklace catches my eye. “That’s a pretty necklace. May I suggest you tuck it in your blouse—so it doesn’t come off? We’ll be riding under some trees.”

  “Thanks, but Matthew just gave it to me. I want him to see me wearing it,” she sounds normal.

  “I see what you mean.” I glance at Matthew. He hasn’t stopped gazing at her.

  By my standards it’s a good ride. They’re chatting among themselves and occasionally ask a question when I circle around to see how they’re doing. For dinner? There are lots of options. From fine dining to rustic, from beer-pub to Italian.

  We’re in the home-stretch. They’re still happy, and I’m looking forward to grabbing lunch then starting my hunt for Heather.

  “It’s gone!” A woman’s cry.

  I hear bits of conversation: “Where did you last see it?” “It can’t be.” “Are you sure—look in your shirt?”

  I pull Juliette to a stop and wait for them to catch up. It’s evident something is causing a stir. “What’s wrong?”

  “My necklace is gone!”

  “The one I just gave you?” Matthew sounds anguished.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not here.” She frantically looks down at her chest and the ground. “We have to go back!”

  “I’ll go back to the trees and see if it’s on the ground. You go ahead. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  Juliette is happy to move faster than a walk, even though it isn’t toward home. “Come on, Jule—let’s go.” I pick up a trot and keep my eyes down.

  I’m flipping them back and forth across the trail. The necklace has chunky gold beads and a thick gold link. I’d say it cost a fortune. How much of a fortune? Well, the last time I heard, gold was at $1300 an ounce. Though I don’t know how heavy an ounce is. I bet this thing weighs half a pound.

  We trot up the long hill, across the plateau, and down to the oak woodland. Nothing is sparkling at me. I thought it would be under the trees, but it isn’t. I don’t think she went off the trail. Could a crow have found it already? Since I’m half way through, I may as well keep going, and retrace the entire ride.

  We swing back to the barn—without the necklace. The group is standing in a cluster, holding the horses. I guess they don’t know how to halter them.

  “I’m sorry, I checked under the trees, and I think, the whole trail.”

  “Thanks for looking. We appreciate it.”

  I tie up my horse, the take each of theirs and lead them to the halters hanging from the stalls in the shade.

  “Would you like your wine tasting in the barn, or on the lawn with a view?” I try to sound compassionate.

  “I guess the picnic table will be fine.”

  I bring out two bottles and four glasses. “This Cabernet was grown here. It’s the first vines you come to after riding down the hill.” I point west, way down at the road. “The white is a Sauvignon Blanc. It’s grassy and citrusy on the nose. The flavor is citrus and honeysuckle. It’s grown a few miles away.”

  I answer very few questions. The happiness has gone from their day. I leave the bottles and let them do their thing without me hovering over them.

  About ten minutes later, I peek out and see they’re getting ready to leave. I walk over, “I’m sorry about the necklace. I’ll tell the other wrangler to watch out for it. I’ll be leading another ride in an hour. I’ll retracing the same trail.”

  “Thanks, you have our number?”

  “Yes, the one on your forms?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll let you know either way.”

  “Thanks for looking,” he pulls out a couple of bills and puts them under the wine bottle.

  She wraps her arm around his waist. The subdued couples hopefully check the ground on the way to their magnificent driving machines.

  I stand for a moment, watching beauty drive away. They were decent people. It’s a shame their day ended badly.

  I go to pick up the glasses and receive a shock. Sometimes people leave a $10 tip, which I appreciate. Matthew left $200. Holy Cow! I guess he appreciated that I rode back over the entire trail.

  8

  Oh, Look!

  The next riders are happy. I even catch a whiff of alcohol on them. Yes, a little wine makes me relaxed too. I get two more horses saddled and ready. I run through my routine of how to stop, turn, and make the horse go. Then we head north into the hills.

  I’m keeping my eyes on the ground, and figure I’ll have them look too. “A lady lost a gold bead necklace on a ride. Can you keep an eye out for it?”

  I don’t mention that it probably cost a fortune.

  It’s a fun ride, with joking and light-hearted laughter. I keep looking down, but I allow myself to enjoy the group. I can look for the necklace without feeling the pain of losing it.

  The ride ends well. The tasting is fun. They enjoyed it, and so did I. They didn’t leave a tip, but I don’t mind. They probably figure it’s built into the cost.

  I have seven horses to unsaddle and clean up. By the time I get to Cory, I’m losing steam. I skipped lunch. I’ve slimmed down to where I look a bit too thin. I’ll be happy to eat more, especially since I’m doing such physical work.

  I don’t have anyone micro-examining my fat stores anymore. My ex did that. Boy it used to piss me off. I already watch my own fat, he didn’t need point it out.

  I’ve dragged a total of 240 pounds of leather off the horse’s backs: 6 horses at 40 pounds each. Juliette’s is a lightweight dressage saddle, so that doesn’t count. I pick their feet to make sure no one has a stone wedged in. Then I lead them to the pasture. When I get back to pick out Cory’s feet…

  On the ground is the gold bead necklace. And wow, is it ever a big one. I wasn’t paying close attention when I suggested she tuck it in her blouse. But now, in my hand, the beads look sculpted and diamonds are embedded in the biggest one in the center. The little spring ring next to the clasp has twisted open. The clasp is strong, and the necklace is strong. The weak-link was the round ring holding them together. There’s always a weak link somewhere.

  I put the last two horses away, then make a phone call.

  It goes straight to voice mail, so I leave a message. “Hi, this is Jessica from the trail ride. I found your necklace. The spring-ring is twisted open. I think it fell into the gap under the saddle horn. Cory carried it around for two more hours with another rider.” I also text them.

  There’s no immediate reply, so I head to the house to eat.

  My phone rings a few minutes later; it’s Rick. “Jessica, I’m sure I shouldn’t be giving this out, but since you’re formerly with law enforcement, and it’s for your safety… this is the last known address for Heather.” He gives me an address in Santa Barbara.

  I write it down. “And the step-mother?”

  “She was staying at the inn in Solvang. But her address is in Napa. Do you know that area?”

  “No, not at all. I’ve never been.”

  “I suggest you look for the mother. Heather is always close by.”

  “Fine, I’ll go poke around. I have two wigs and ugly, invisible clothing.”

  “Just be careful, she’s dangerous and sly,” he cautions.

  “Thanks, I will.”

  I settle down to a bowl of chunky vegetable soup. I made two big pots a few days ago. I froze most of it and only pull out enough for a week at a time. It’s a bit warm for it, but it’s easy to make. And I’m all for that.

  My phone rings: “Jessica, this is Alyssa. Thank you for finding my necklace!”

  “You’re welcome! I’m glad it wasn’t smashed under the h
orse’s hoof. It was directly underneath him.”

  “We thought it was lost forever.”

  “So did I. Especially after two trips over the same trail.”

  “We’re headed for San Diego. We’re going to a cigar shop in Santa Barbara for our men to get some good tobacco. We won’t be back for a week,” she gives a heart wrenching sigh.

  “That’s fine. I’ll hide it.” A thought comes to me, “Actually, I’ll be driving down there in about an hour. I can meet you?”

  “Oh! That would be terrific. Would you do that?”

  “Yeah, I’m going that way anyhow.” They left me $200, so I’d like to earn it.

  I get the address and we agree to meet at 5:00.

  Later, it occurs to me. I wonder if they thought I’d keep the necklace if I found it. It’s heavy gold with diamonds. No I wouldn’t do that. It isn’t mine, and Karma has been VERY good to me. I plan to keep it that way.

  9

  Cubano Cigars

  I fit the long, curly, brown wig on my head, just I case Heather sees me. I swing by the address she gave when she was arrested on the warrant. I don’t see her car in the condo complex, nor the street. Freddie is tracking it, so I assume it’s the same car she had a few weeks ago. Fine, I’ll come by later. There are a million places she could be. I guess this won’t be a quick fix.

  When I’m out of the area, I pull off the wig and fluff my hair. I pull off the dull, gray blouse to reveal a black slinky top. I slide the equally hideous thick cotton skirt off, revealing my nice jeans. I’m out of my disguise. The funny thing is, it’s like I’m in another one: the cute woman. It feels almost as fake. My hair is in a ponytail, so that’s normal for me. If I were sprucing up, I’d have it loose, down my back, and waved. I know it enhances the look, but I usually couldn’t be bothered with the effort.