A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery Read Free Page A

around the familiar old kitchen with muscle memory. Her bare feet on the cold wood floorboards felt safe and grounded. The smells of the house all emanated from the kitchen; from the subtle aroma of baking bread to the sourness of the current batch of pickled vegetables in the huge crock on the metro rack under the window. They were all familiar and comforting. A half loaf of bread lay on the cutting board on the island next to a colorful bowl of tomatoes. The kelly green walls glowed with a vibrant freshness and reminded her of the day when Clarence picked out the color. He had chosen a butter yellow. But she was feeling snarky that day and chose the bright green in a juvenile act of subtle rebellion. He quickly embraced it and learned to love it with the grace of a man who would sacrifice everything for love.
    She moved to the stove and filled the coffee press with boiling water. From the window she watched Jim Yesler swing her heavy bag like an airy satchel, crunching down the steep gravel road from the winery in long-legged strides. His hat was back on his head and he wore the Sheriffs' uniform that she remembered as a child. He looked exactly the same.
    He came into the house without ceremony and placed her suitcase in front of her in the middle of the kitchen. She raised the roller handle and rolled it into the back bedroom without a word.
    When she returned she was wearing jeans, flip flops, and an old red WSU sweatshirt. Jim had already pressed the coffee plunger and was pouring it into the hand-thrown ceramic mugs she had set out. She heard the muffled chime of the Westminster mantle clock downstairs and patiently counted ten chimes.
    “I need you to ID the body,” Jim said after a full five minutes of looking for words in the bottom of his coffee mug. Syd nodded and smiled apologetically.
    “I don't know where my keys are,” she said. She looked him in the eyes with controlled despair. The terrible weight in her chest that had been nagging at her since she jumped out of bed felt heavier by the minute. She began to wonder if she could walk at all, let alone drive. She couldn’t remember where she left her purse, her keys, or her phone. She vaguely remembered the day before; the work in the winery and her breakdown last night. The fogginess in her head was as consuming as the hole in her chest. She felt worse than hungover. She felt wretched.
    “I'll drive,” he said paternally. He was the sheriff now. She looked at him curiously, wondering how difficult it must be for him to regulate his emotions at a time like this.
    “But how will I get back?” she asked. She was surprised by how young she felt when he used this voice.
    “I'll take you back, Siddy-biddy,” he said. He smiled sadly and pulled her to his chest again.
    ~
    The half hour drive to the coroner's office gave Jim plenty of time to explain the details of the night before last: the 911 call, the response time, the list of people who were at the winery when he showed up. He was on duty and he was the first responder. He had always kept a special eye out for Blackwell Winery and the folks who lived there, so he wasted no time getting to the scene. But Clarence was already dead when he arrived. There was nothing he could do, he said helplessly. The assistant winemaker had found her uncle submerged in a tank of red wine, drowned. He kept the worst details to himself. He called her around midnight after two torturous hours spent trying to figure out what to say.
    She looked at his dry rough hands on the steering wheel while he talked. He fit in the cruiser like a puzzle piece, all six-foot-four of him. The cruiser smelled like leather and sweet male sweat, a smell she always thought belonged to the man. She was a little afraid of him as a child. He was her best friend Charlie's father and the only source of envy she had for her friend. Charlie and Jim were extremely close, especially after Charlie's mom died of cancer when they were teenage girls. He was