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Lack of sleep from the previous night made Wednesday unusually tedious. The lengthy hours of teaching distracted students coupled with the forty-five minute drive from the community college seemed more tiresome than it usually was. Thank goodness there were only a few final days of the school year left. Next week was finals week, and after that Sheila could concentrate on the reopening of the winery. By the end of the summer the harvest season would be upon her.
Emily stayed with a friend after school. Since Oliver Lindstrom’s death, Sheila hadn’t allowed her daughter to stay at home after school because Emily would be alone. In light of the events the day before with the stranger, Sheila was more grateful than ever that she could trust Emily with Carol Dunbar, the mother of Emily’s best friend, Joey. Emily was waiting for her when Sheila arrived, and after a quick stop at the market, mother and daughter finally headed home.
Sheila had contemplated calling the police about the trespasser, but had decided against it. No harm had been done, and if the man was still hanging around, Sheila hadn’t seen any evidence of him. When he turned up again, then Sheila would alert the authorities, but right now, due to the unsolved arson and the suspicion cast upon her father, the last thing Sheila wanted to do was talk to someone from the local sheriff’s department.
An unfamiliar car was sitting in the driveway near the house when Sheila and Emily arrived home. Sheila’s thoughts turned back to the stranger and she felt her heart leap to her throat. Trying to appear calmer than she felt, she braked the small wagon to a halt near the garage and tried to pull together a portion of her poise. Who was he?
“That’s the man I was talking to yesterday, Mom. You know, down at the duck pond.” Emily was openly staring at the individual who was sitting, slump-shouldered, behind the wheel of an old Chevrolet.
The stranger had been waiting. At the sound of the approaching vehicle he had turned in his seat, pushed back the brim of his felt hat and blown out a final stream of smoke from his cigarette. He tossed the hat onto the front seat as he pulled himself out of the car.
“Wait here,” Sheila told Emily.
“Why?”
“Just for a minute. Stay in the car.” The authoritative ring in Sheila’s voice gave Emily no room for argument. Sheila grabbed her purse and hurried from the car, intent on meeting the man out of earshot of her young daughter. Her gray eyes were cool as she focused on the rather average-looking, slightly built visitor.
“Ms. Lindstrom?” the man in the worn suit coat asked. He strode boldly up to her and extended his hand.
Sheila nodded as she accepted the brief handshake. “I’m Sheila Lindstrom.”
“Anthony Simmons,” he retorted with a shadowy grin. He acted as if the name might mean something to her.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked calmly. The man looked trustworthy enough, but still she was jittery. It was his eyes, light brown and deep set over a nose that had obviously once been broken; they didn’t quite meet her steady gaze. Instead, he seemed to be studying the angle of her face.
“I hope so,” he replied, shifting from one foot to the other. His face broke slowly into a well-practiced and slightly uneven smile. “I work with Noah Wilder.”
Sheila couldn’t keep her heart from skipping a beat at the sound of Noah’s name. This man standing before her was a friend of Noah’s? Sheila doubted it.
“Mr. Wilder sent you?” she asked with a dubious and reserved smile.
“That’s right. He wants me to look into that fire you had here a while back.” Reading the skepticism on Sheila’s even features, Simmons reached into his back-pocket, extracted a wallet and withdrew a white card. He offered it to Sheila. Along with his name the card was inscribed with the nationally known logo for Wilder Investments.
Sheila kept the card and began to relax. “What is it exactly you’re to do here?”
Simmons shrugged as if his job were entirely routine. “Mr. Wilder is hoping that I can speed up the investigation of the arson, help clear up the whole mess, in order for the insurance company to pay off on the policy. Didn’t he tell you that I was coming?”
Sheila hedged. “He did mention that someone might be coming.” Anthony Simmons was not what Sheila had expected.
The investigator’s smile widened. “Then we’re all set.”
“For what?”
“Well, first I thought I’d check over the burned wing of the winery. Didn’t the fire start in the aging room?”
“According to the fire department.”
“I thought so. After I’m through poking around the burned building—”
“Are you sure you should go in there? What about the warnings posted by the sheriff’s department?”
“I’ve taken care of that.”
Sheila couldn’t help but be dubious. The deputy had been adamant about the restraining orders surrounding the winery. “You have?”
“Sure. Don’t worry about it. After I’m done with the building I’d like to take a look at Oliver Lindstrom’s books,” Simmons replied.
“Wilder Investments has copies of the winery’s records. Didn’t Mr. Wilder give them to you?” Sheila was puzzled.
