“He thought she came across as insecure and shallow,” Derek said, frowning. “She talked too much, and that made him wonder what she might really be hiding.”
“Wow,” I said. “Way to make a good impression.”
But as soon as I said it, I felt a tug of sympathy for Colette. I immediately gave myself a stern internal lecture. Feeling pity for Colette was stupid and contrary to my own best interests, considering how she’d practically slandered my own sister.
There. I felt better. “What did he say about Margot?”
“He liked her,” Derek said. “She made him laugh. She also offered to cook for him, which is apparently the way to touch his heart.”
“Mine, too.” I shifted in my seat to get a better look at Derek. “Did he say anything about Savannah?”
Derek reached for my hand and I took that as a really bad sign.
“Something’s wrong,” I said. “What did Jaglom say?”
He squeezed my hand. “He said he liked Savannah very much and hoped she wasn’t guilty.”
“Oh, great.” I made a grouchy face. “That means he’s not sure yet.” I refused to dwell on that detail. I knew Savannah was innocent and it was only a matter of time before the police realized it, too. “Did he say anything else? Any dark secrets? Did he tell you who his chief suspect is?”
“Give me a minute,” he said, checking the rearview mirror again. The car ahead of us was moving too slowly, so Derek waited a few more seconds until he got a clear view of the road ahead, then revved the engine and passed the car. Once we were back in our own lane, he said, “Except for Colette, Jaglom didn’t single out anyone else in a negative way.”
“Okay, did he give you any positive impressions of anyone?”
“Yes. Raoul is madly in love with his wife. Kevin is obsessed with an old cookbook.”
“He still didn’t mention anything about blackmail, did he?”
“No, nothing,” Derek said, as his eyes narrowed in deliberation. “And that’s interesting. You heard her say the word, yet Jaglom said nothing. It makes me think the subject of blackmail might be a hot topic for the police. We’ll have to keep our eyes and ears open for any hints.”
“Yes, we will.” I settled back in my seat and spent the next few minutes lost in thought, absorbing the news. Before I knew it, we had reached the small town of Glen Ellen, where live oak trees sheltered the highway like a tunnel. I loved these old trees with their dark, gnarly branches that twisted and turned and dipped before spreading up to the sky.
For me, the crooked old oaks typified Sonoma County and its rustic, rugged terrain. Our wine country was not the manicured green hills and refined tourist mecca that Napa was famous for. No, we were still the Wild West compared to our more civilized neighbors over the hill. And that worked for us.
Another mile farther and we turned onto Montana Ridge Road and headed toward Dharma.
Things had improved around here since the first time my family had traveled up Montana Ridge to our new home. Back then, this had been a pitted one-lane gravel road lined with flat-roofed farmhouses whose front yards featured rusted-out appliances and automobiles on cinder blocks.
At the time, we kids were not impressed. Where in the world were our parents taking us?
Nowadays, though, Montana Ridge Road was two—count ’em, two!—lanes wide and freshly paved. We’d come a long way, baby. Stately oak trees lined the winding road at intervals, and those boxy old farmhouses had either been spruced up or torn down to make way for more vineyards. The fact that Dharma was now a popular wine country destination spot had helped spur the beautification effort.
More twisted, knotted live oaks shaded our way as we drove down Shakespeare Lane—Dharma’s main street, known far and wide as “the Lane.” We passed through the charming center of town and began the climb up Vivaldi Way to my parents’ home, situated at the crest of the hill.
As soon as we parked, I heard the screen door slam and watched Mom and Dad come rushing down the front porch steps.
“You made it!” Mom cried as she dashed for the car. Today her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed sedately in a homemade tie-dyed sage green skirt that swirled down to her calves, a pale yellow sweater, and a snug, deep green vest that I knew she’d knitted herself. Rugged brown boots completed the outfit. And yes, for my mother, that was considered sedate.
Dad wore his usual plaid flannel shirt with worn blue jeans and work boots. As soon as I opened my car door, he had my small weekender suitcase in his clutches.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said fondly, dropping the suitcase to pull me into his arms for a tight hug. “Missed you.”
“Missed you, too, Dad.” I breathed in the familiar hints of wood smoke, peppermint, and Old Spice, and knew I was home.
Mom had gone around the car to greet Derek with a hug, but was back to grab me as soon as Dad let me go.