In the heat of the day, Sarah walked across Sonoma Plaza in search of Roger LaRue, the man who knew everything that went on around town. How he knew was a mystery. He spent all his time at the massive fountain in the park and slept in the rough on the outskirts of town. Apparently, he watched all the comings and goings and listened in on conversations of unsuspecting visitors to the park. Maybe others spoke to him like she did.
Sarah found the down-on-his-luck dentist lying in the grass near the gurgling fountain. His eyes were closed, and his delicate hands were linked over his chest. He looked more peaceful than she’d ever seen him. She paused above him, wondering if she should bother him or let her questions go for another time. But Roger made the decision for her.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re standing there staring at me, Ms. McKee?” he asked, without opening his eyes. His curly salt and pepper hair was in dire need of a cut.
“Just checking to see if you’re dead,” she shot back.
“Not yet.” He rose to his elbows. “I’m trying to have a decent siesta here. It’s too hot for anything else.”
“What about cooling off somewhere and getting some lunch?” Sarah inquired. “I’m buying. Anywhere you like.”
He sat up. “The EDK?”
“Really?” Surprised, she propped her hands on her hips and stared at him. He’d chosen one of the most expensive restaurants in town. One of her clients, too. “You want to go to the El Dorado Kitchen?”
“Used to be my favorite,” he said.
“If that’s what you want.”
“A nice juicy steak sounds good.” He sat up. “Or maybe a chunk of halibut.”
“If you can eat that much in this heat.”
He stood and swiped the grass out of his hair. “I can eat anytime when someone’s picking up the tab.”
“Okay, but there’s a price, pal.”
“Always is.”
“I’ll pick up the tab if you let me pick your brain about the 1960s in Sonoma Valley.”
“I was just a baby then.”
“Did you know the Harrises when you were young?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Everyone knows them. I did Jean-Paul Harris’ orthodonture work.”
“Then it’s lunch. Come with me.”
Roger trudged next to her toward the EDK on the northwest corner of the square. He didn’t seem bothered that he wore the same lavender polo shirt and black jeans that he’d been wearing every time she’d talked to him. He smelled okay, though. He must launder his clothes and bathe regularly. She wondered where.
Maybe at the spring up at Depot Park. The spring ran all year, even in July when most other streams went dry. The spring formed a deep pool under a wooden bridge at the park where the old Chinese worker tunnels had been filled in at the turn of the century. Maybe Roger found enough water and privacy to bathe there.
“You’re not saying much,” he commented as he stepped into the crosswalk.
“I was thinking about how you live.”
“Just do.” He shrugged. “But it’s not for everyone.”
“Do you ever think of doing something else?”
“What’s there to do? And why bother?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Everything I worked for, everyone I loved, went up in flames.”
“But you could contribute so much still, Roger.”
“Why? It isn’t worth the effort.”
“Because you think something like that wildfire will happen again?”
“I’m not a lucky man.”
“You never know, pal.”
“I do.”
Sarah asked for a table for two, and they followed the snooty hostess of the El Dorado Kitchen to a place in a far corner under a window. Their seats were screened by a planter stuffed with yucca and geraniums, probably designed to hide select people from public view.
The hostess didn’t say anything, but she made significant eye contact with Sarah while Roger shuffled to his chair. She obviously recognized the vagrant from across the street. Sarah smiled cheerfully at the young woman and thanked her, squelching any more disparaging innuendo about her lunch companion.
Annoyed, Sarah sat down and picked up the menu. Roger sank to the chair opposite her and sighed happily, oblivious to the tension in the air.
“This is nice.” Roger shifted to settle deeper into his seat. “I haven’t been in a restaurant for years. You kind of miss sitting on padded chairs, too.”
“Can’t you find a place to live?”
“I have one. Sonoma.”
“No, I mean a house or apartment. Wasn’t there insurance money?”
“I didn’t want to profit from the fire. Or deal with it. And I don’t want to talk about it, either.”
“Okay. Good enough.”
Roger narrowed his eyes. “I thought you asked me here for a history lesson.”
“I did.”
He sat back in his cushioned chair, his fists on the table, looking like a king—a king that could use a shave and a haircut and bucket of sunscreen. “So, what do you want to know?”
“First off, were you personally acquainted with Landon Harris?”
“I was.” Roger picked up his napkin. “I did a few crowns for him. The man had excellent teeth. Told me he ate an apple a day. Without fail. Maybe there’s something to that old saying. An apple a—”
“Ready to order?” A waitress as equally frosty as the hostess interrupted Roger, as if purposely ignoring the man’s existence.
“Excuse me, hen,” Sarah interjected. “We were talking. I don’t think we’re ready yet.”
“It’s okay,” Roger handed his menu to the haughty waitress. He must have become immune to public opinion after years of being homeless. “I know what I want. Rib-eye steak, please. Medium. Easy on the pepper. Ranch dressing on the side. Fries. Twice cooked, if possible.”
Trying hard not to roll her eyes, the waitress tapped the requests into a handheld device. Then she took Sarah’s order of soup and grilled cheese. As the waitress reclaimed their menus, she shot Sarah a pointed look as if to convey that they should eat and leave the premises as soon as possible. Then she vanished behind the yucca. Sarah could see the top of her blond head bobbing as she stomped to the kitchen.
After the waitress left, Roger leaned forward. His thin arms were brown from sun exposure and covered with freckles and curly gray hair.
“When I heard Landon Harris died the other day,” he said. “I was shocked.”
“Me, too.”
“I saw him just last Sunday at Best of Sonoma Valley. He was in a wheelchair but still flirting with the ladies.”
“I know.” Sarah nodded. “It’s suspicious. His passing. That’s why I’m talking to you. I’m trying to find out what happened to him.”
“I’ll tell you all I know. Just ask me.”
“Okay. Here’s the curious thing. Before he died, Landon asked me to find someone for him.”
“Who?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. We didn’t get the chance to talk. Do you know anything about his past or his family? Something that might have troubled him?”
Roger pursed his lips and considered the yucca swords beside him. “Old Man Harris, Landon’s father? I heard stories about his dad. He was strict. A mean one. But God-fearing. Didn’t even drink wine, ironically enough.”
“Someone told me Jean-Paul Harris doesn’t drink either.”
“I can’t see owning a vineyard and not loving wine,” Roger mused. He picked up the water glass and rattled the cubes inside. “Wow,” he grinned. “Ice.”
Sarah smiled back, marveling at how little things like chairs and ice could be such a treat to a person.
“From what I could learn,” Sarah pressed on. “I think Landon Harris might have had a young romance that got squelched by his dad.”
“Makes sense. The Harrises always marry up. Old Man Harris married an heiress to a railroad fortune. Landon married a famous Parisian fashion designer. And then there’s Jean-Paul. He snagged a senator’s daughter a few years ago.”
“So, Landon’s father wouldn’t have wanted him to marry just anyone.”
“That’s right. In fact, I think Landon was shipped off to Europe when he was pretty young so he could sow his wild oats far away from this valley. And to get a proper education. I think that’s when he acquired his love of painting.”
“I’ll bet that didn’t make his dear old dad very happy.”
“I’ll say.” Roger gave a dry chuckle. “From what I’ve heard, Landon couldn’t have made his father happy anyway, no matter what he did. So, he quit trying.”
“Do you have any idea who Landon might have had a young romance with? Her name started with an ‘M’.”
Roger fiddled with the handle of his fork. “That would have been before I was born, Ms. McKee.”
“So, you never heard about that part of his life.”
“No. Sorry.”
The waitress slipped their plates in front of them and whisked away before Roger could make more demands. Sarah fell silent as Roger relished his still-sizzling steak. As she stirred her soup to help it cool, she watched him cut his meat into little pieces.
The man possessed an amazing facility with a knife and fork and a finicky way of keeping his potatoes and broccoli in separate piles from the meat. Then again, he was a dentist. Had been a dentist. Precision was his forte. Maybe even the foundation of his personality.
After he’d consumed half his meal, Sarah continued with her questions.
“What about that party place up on Alice Creek? Do you know of any homes within walking distance of it?”
“What party place?”
“The ghost winery. It’s an abandoned house where local kids hang out and drink.”
“I was a good boy, Ms. McKee. I wanted to get a college scholarship, so I didn’t do stuff like that. In fact, I didn’t start drinking until college.”
“Oh. Well, that’s a pity.” Disappointed at the dead end, she pushed the tip of her spoon into the creamy tomato soup in front of her, deep in thought.
“You could look at Google Maps,” Roger suggested. “Satellite view. See what else is around there.”
She glanced up in surprise. “Why didn’t I think of that? You’re a genius!”
He shrugged. “Also, I remember something else. Landon had a friend. A painter. You would see them together everywhere in town here, drinking and laughing. They were real pals. In fact, they were regulars at Trivia Night at Murphy’s. The Irish pub in the alley over there?” He pointed a thumb in the direction of the eastern side of the plaza. “The friend might know something. But I don’t know if he’s still alive. Haven’t seen him lately. Could be in a home or something.”
She took a sip of water. “Do you remember the friend’s name?”
“Charlie, I think.”
“What about a last name?”
“I don’t recall.” Roger cut off a piece of fat and slid it to the side of his plate. “But someone at Murphy’s might. The quizmaster’s been at that pub as long as I can remember. I’d start with him.”
“When is Trivia Night?”
“Every Wednesday.”
“Roger, you are a treasure trove.”
He sat back and spread a slender hand over his lean torso. “A very happy treasure trove. Excellent lunch. Excellent.”
“I owe you one.”
“You already paid.” He swept his other hand over his empty plate. “And my stomach thanks you.”
Roger might have been satisfied with lunch, but Sarah left the restaurant with more questions than ever. When she got back to her car, she pulled out her phone and looked up the Alice Creek area on Hood Mountain. She clicked around the map and focused in on the ghost winery but didn’t see any other structures near the old homestead. Maybe Landon’s girlfriend had been an equestrian and had ridden a horse up there.
Sarah scooted around the map, looking for areas that might be pastures or stables. As far as she could tell, no one kept horses in that part of the valley. Maybe there wasn’t enough water to sustain livestock in the north as there was in the south.
Another dead end. Sarah sat back and sighed. Landon’s young love had to have been living at the Diaz winery. Perhaps her family had been workers hired by the Diazes. She tapped the top of her wrist, considering what to do next. She would have to put her investigation on hold until Wednesday, if she planned to talk to the quizmaster at Murphy’s.
No way. That was far too long to wait. She was an impatient Scottish terrier. She wanted answers now.
Sarah decided to walk to Murphy’s and chat up whoever was working the afternoon shift at the pub. Maybe someone there would remember Landon and his friend. Most of the wait staff were young, so she knew it was a long shot. But it was her only shot. And if the waiters didn’t remember Landon’s friend Charlie, they would definitely know the name of the quizmaster. With a name came a phone number.
Sarah grabbed her purse and reached for the door handle when her phone rang.
“Zach?” she said, surprised.
“Got some information for you.”
“Great.” She waited for him to tell her what he’d learned from his former nanny Maria. But a pause filled her ear instead of details about the Diaz family.
“You want to meet somewhere, Sarah?” he finally asked. “Where we can talk? I could use a beer.”
She could hear resigned fatigue in his voice. Maybe he needed to talk to someone about Courtney, after his visit to the rehab center. Sarah was his friend. That was what friends did for each other. They listened.
“I’m on my way to Murphy’s,” she said. “Want to meet there?”
“Be there in ten.”
“See you then.” She got out of her sports car, locked the door and headed to the Irish pub, her thoughts churning.
Something was changing between her and Zach Sullivan. Something infinitesimal but definitely alive and awake. She could feel it, like a little green sprout deep inside.
What to do about it, though—if anything? Perhaps simply acknowledge it and move on.
She reminded herself of her propensity for attractive men and the misstep she had made with Sheriff Bradley while her marriage fell apart. She would never do anything rash like that with Zach.
Never Zach.
But the sprout remained. Hopeful. Oddly comforting. Born from a seed that had always been there.
“Get a grip,” she muttered. This meeting at Murphy’s was not a romantic rendezvous; it was a discussion about Landon Harris.
“High road, McKee,” she told herself. She looked both ways and crossed First Street to the French bakery. “Always take the high road.”