and opening the door a bit wider. “You’re at the wrong house.”
Out in the country, it’s rare to see well-marked house numbers, especially in the dark, and I didn’t even have a mail box since there was no mail delivery service on my road. All my mail went to a post office box. “The Zuckers live next door.”
The woman took a paper from her pocket and checked it. “This isn’t 46589?”
Shaking my head, I peered around her at the SWAT team members hovering behind the Idaho Locust tree I’d planted last year. “No. Can you tell me what this is about?”
As she put the paper back in her pocket, she said, “Just a routine parole check.”
She motioned to the hulk next to her and he retreated to gather the snipers who were hiding in my bushes. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
I’d seen my fair share of Law and Order episodes and I couldn’t ever remember a scene where a parole check involved SWAT teams in the middle of the night. Drug busts, yes, but routine visits? Daphne Zucker was Dash’s teenage daughter, who, I’d learned from Millie, the lady who puts up the mail at the post office, recently had a falling out with her mother, Dash’s ex-common-law-wife, and moved back in with him. I didn’t know she was on parole, so it seemed she was following in Dad’s footsteps. I could hardly wait to pick up my mail in the morning. Once I told Millie, the news would spread faster than an outbreak of nematodes.
“How’d you get through my gate?” I asked as they headed toward the driveway.
“We just pushed it open enough to get through,” the woman said.
“Let me open it,” I called back to her, searching for an opener I’d put in a kitchen drawer. All I needed was for them to break it.
“You should know that Dash Zucker’s been drinking—and he has a rifle,” I warned.
She and the big officer exchanged glances, then she nodded a thank you in my direction.
The gate opened and the woman and men in black filed out, climbed into a couple of dark-colored SUVs and headed up the road toward the Zuckers’place. I was struck with my second smug smile for the day.
Chapter Twelve
“H e fired at you?” Detective Obermeyer’s voice sounded angry over the phone.
“No,” I reassured him. “He was shooting at rabbits.”
“Why are you protecting him?
“I’m not protecting him. I—“
“He’s an ex-convict. He’s not even supposed to have a gun.”
“That’s why I called you.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Through my front window, I watched grape trucks roll to a stop in front of my house. Andy’s pickup arrived shortly after.
“Any more news on the stuff they found in my pond?”
“Forensics team is still working on it. We did get a little more information on cause of death.”
“And?”
“She was shot. In the back.”
Pacing, I watched out the window as Andy got the picking crew organized for the day’s harvest. When he finally turned them loose and came up to my house, I was off the phone and gathering the vine cuttings I’d taken the night before from Dash Zucker’s vineyard.
“You okay?” He looked long and hard at my face.
“I’m fine.” The suitcases under my eyes must’ve been more noticeable than I realized. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His expression told me he wanted more information. I explained about the raccoon fiasco and the late-night visit from the SWAT team.
“Are these Zinfandel?” I handed Andy the cuttings.
He studied the leaves closely, then motioned for me to follow him. Making a stop at his pickup, he opened the passenger side door and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a worn paperback. “Hold this,” he said.
The book was A Practical Ampelography: Grapevine Identification by Pierre Galet, and from the looks of the dog-eared pages, was well used.
“Ampelography?” I said.
“A dying art,
Out in the country, it’s rare to see well-marked house numbers, especially in the dark, and I didn’t even have a mail box since there was no mail delivery service on my road. All my mail went to a post office box. “The Zuckers live next door.”
The woman took a paper from her pocket and checked it. “This isn’t 46589?”
Shaking my head, I peered around her at the SWAT team members hovering behind the Idaho Locust tree I’d planted last year. “No. Can you tell me what this is about?”
As she put the paper back in her pocket, she said, “Just a routine parole check.”
She motioned to the hulk next to her and he retreated to gather the snipers who were hiding in my bushes. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
I’d seen my fair share of Law and Order episodes and I couldn’t ever remember a scene where a parole check involved SWAT teams in the middle of the night. Drug busts, yes, but routine visits? Daphne Zucker was Dash’s teenage daughter, who, I’d learned from Millie, the lady who puts up the mail at the post office, recently had a falling out with her mother, Dash’s ex-common-law-wife, and moved back in with him. I didn’t know she was on parole, so it seemed she was following in Dad’s footsteps. I could hardly wait to pick up my mail in the morning. Once I told Millie, the news would spread faster than an outbreak of nematodes.
“How’d you get through my gate?” I asked as they headed toward the driveway.
“We just pushed it open enough to get through,” the woman said.
“Let me open it,” I called back to her, searching for an opener I’d put in a kitchen drawer. All I needed was for them to break it.
“You should know that Dash Zucker’s been drinking—and he has a rifle,” I warned.
She and the big officer exchanged glances, then she nodded a thank you in my direction.
The gate opened and the woman and men in black filed out, climbed into a couple of dark-colored SUVs and headed up the road toward the Zuckers’place. I was struck with my second smug smile for the day.
Chapter Twelve
“H e fired at you?” Detective Obermeyer’s voice sounded angry over the phone.
“No,” I reassured him. “He was shooting at rabbits.”
“Why are you protecting him?
“I’m not protecting him. I—“
“He’s an ex-convict. He’s not even supposed to have a gun.”
“That’s why I called you.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Through my front window, I watched grape trucks roll to a stop in front of my house. Andy’s pickup arrived shortly after.
“Any more news on the stuff they found in my pond?”
“Forensics team is still working on it. We did get a little more information on cause of death.”
“And?”
“She was shot. In the back.”
Pacing, I watched out the window as Andy got the picking crew organized for the day’s harvest. When he finally turned them loose and came up to my house, I was off the phone and gathering the vine cuttings I’d taken the night before from Dash Zucker’s vineyard.
“You okay?” He looked long and hard at my face.
“I’m fine.” The suitcases under my eyes must’ve been more noticeable than I realized. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His expression told me he wanted more information. I explained about the raccoon fiasco and the late-night visit from the SWAT team.
“Are these Zinfandel?” I handed Andy the cuttings.
He studied the leaves closely, then motioned for me to follow him. Making a stop at his pickup, he opened the passenger side door and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a worn paperback. “Hold this,” he said.
The book was A Practical Ampelography: Grapevine Identification by Pierre Galet, and from the looks of the dog-eared pages, was well used.
“Ampelography?” I said.
“A dying art,
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