Page 32 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“I work for Hamlet Gilbody Investigations. I’m—we’re, actually, working for the Wiltons, through the winery. Investigating the woman who was suing them.”
“Oh, that bitch. Yeah?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Tubby Wilton.”
Okay, gotta be honest. He didn’t look tubby at all. He looked like he’d just come from twelve hours at the gym, thought protein powder and Clif bars were food groups and would have been confused by a Krispy Kreme doughnut, having forgotten that sugar even exists.
“Nice to meet you, Tubby. So, you’re…”
“Grandson. I’m taking care of my grandparents. They’re not doing well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I need to give them a report on the case. Can I come in? It’s a little cold out here.”
Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Not because it wasn’t cold, but because there was a lot of heat wafting out of the condo. Tubby stepped back, saying, “You can’t stay long. I got things to do.”
I stepped inside. At the back of the condo was the kitchen and a powder room, then there were the living and dining rooms in the front, both with amazing views of the lake. There was a stairway that led upstairs to the bedrooms, probably three.
The living room was empty. An oxygen tank sat next to one recliner and a walker next to another. On the floor, along one wall were barbells in different sizes.
“My grandparents are napping. You can give your report to me.”
“Um, okay…”
He didn’t ask me to sit down. Not that I wanted to. I had the feeling if I did, I might be assigned a random medical device.
“We were able to establish that Bobbie put her foot into the sink to wash off some blood and that was the cause of her fall. Not water on the floor, nor the wine she was drinking.”
“So, she’s not suing?”
“The suit hasn’t been officially dropped. But she also died sometime during the night.”
“Bummer.” He nodded. Then, “Wow, um, the bitch is dead. Cool.”
The bitch is dead really made me want to add a ding-dong, but I resisted. His casual disregard seemed sincere. I mean, if he’d killed her, he’d at least pretend some kind of regret, wouldn’t he?
“So… um, do you own part of the winery or is it just your grandparents?”
“It’s in a trust. My grandparents and my cousin Cassie. Cassie is Uncle Eddie’s kid. She’s eight.”
That wasn’t helpful. The only one physically able to kill Bobbie was Tubby and he didn’t have a motive. I mean, it would be a kindness to kill Bobbie for his family, but he wouldn’t benefit directly.
Basically, this had been a waste of time. I started to say good-bye so I could get out of there, but Tubby asked, “So, did Melanie kill the bitch?”
“Why do you ask that?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s cold-hearted. Uncle Eddie killed himself over her.”
“She said your uncle died in a hiking accident.”
“He was hiking. But it wasn’t an accident. He jumped off a cliff.”
“Because of Melanie?”
Honestly, she hadn’t struck me as the kind of woman you kill yourself over.
“Yeah, because of her. She was having an affair with Eddie, telling him she was going to leave her husband for him and then she changed her mind. Decided to stay with her husband.”
