"Oh sure." She blinked at us a couple of times. Then her face lit up with recognition. "Hey, you're David Allen, right? You show at Salavence?"
The smirk of pride on David's face was unmistakable as he answered. "In the flesh."
"Wow. Cool." She nodded her head as if star struck into muteness. "Well, uh, totally look around, and let me know if I can help you with anything. There are prices next to each canvas. And, uh, if you want to know more about a piece, just ask. Several of the artists are here right now." She gestured to the back.
"Thanks. Will do," David assured her.
As the purple-haired woman went back to her splattering, Ava leaned in close to David. "Wow, you're kind of a celebrity," she said quietly.
"Drop the 'kind of,' babe." David grinned at her.
I wasn't sure why David calling Ava "babe" should cause my stomach to clench around my pizza indulgence, but it did. I tried to ignore the sensation as I approached the man painting in the back.
"Justin Hall?" I asked.
"Just a sec." He barely looked up, too absorbed in his work.
"No rush," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm just browsing." While he was preoccupied with his art, I took the opportunity to subtly look him over.
Justin appeared a few inches taller than Freddie Campbell had been, with a lanky build that looked more born of genetics than a dedication to the gym. His eyes held an intensity as he stared at the canvas, and his hand was as steady as a surgeon's.
"Some of his work," Ava whispered to me, pointing to the wall at our right.
I took a step closer, seeing his name written on slips of paper stapled to the wall just below a couple of the canvases. While I could see technical skill in the realism of his work, the subject matter was distinctly dark and sad. One painting featured a tree on fire, blood dripping to the ground from its limbs. Another was of a river flowing through a forest of skyscrapers, small drowning figures caught in the rapids. A third was an amazingly detailed image of a child's playroom, where toy soldiers were missing limbs and grimacing in agony. While the social commentary was interesting, the creep factor was way too high for my taste.
"Nice stuff," David said, nodding his approval. Clearly David's creep meter went higher than mine.
"Thanks," Justin said, suddenly at my side. "You're an art lover?" he asked David.
"I am. Something of an artist myself, even," David replied, sticking a hand out to shake. "David Allen."
Justin wiped his palm on his jeans before taking David's hand. "Sorry, I guess I'm not familiar with your work."
If I expected David to be put out by that, I was wrong. He just smiled and shrugged. "I like your sense of irony." He nodded toward the burning tree.
"I appreciate that." Justin swiped the hair out of his eyes. As he did, I noticed a light purple bruise on his cheek, and I wondered if it had been courtesy of his parking lot brawl with Freddie Campbell. "Are you in the market for a piece?"
Before I could dispel him of that idea, Ava jumped in. "Yes, we are!"
I shot her a look.
"Uh, Emmy here owns a winery, and she's always looking for local art to spruce up the place. Right, Emmy?" She sent me a wide smile with teeth and everything.
"Riiight," I said slowly.
"What sort of piece were you looking for?" Justin asked.
"About love," Ava again jumped in before I could answer. "You know, like lost love, unrequited love, fighting to win back a love…"
I could see Justin's jaw tensing. "Sorry. I don't paint about love," he said stiffly.
"Oh, all art is about love, isn't it?" Ava went on, unfazed. "I'm sure you've loved and lost, right, Justin?"
I narrowed my eyes at her. I should have known that Charlie's Angel Ava could get in trouble with "just talk."
"Uh, why don't you show me what you do paint," I suggested, taking a step between the increasingly agitated painter and my hapless friend. "And Ava and David can go look around. Over there." I pointed to the far side of the room, where Purple Hair was now using her fingers to smear the splatters.
I could see Ava about to protest, but before she could, David slung an arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Let's browse, babe," he told her.
"O-okay," she said, eyes still on Justin. "But if you need anything—" she started.
"We're fine," I assured her, giving her a wide, innocent smile of my own.
If Justin found our interaction strange, he didn't say anything, his intense gaze bouncing silently from me to Ava as David led her away.
"Sorry. She gets carried away," I said, trying to smooth things over.
Justin grunted but didn't say anything.
"Soooo…these are yours," I said, gesturing back to the macabre collection.
He nodded. "I have a few more over here," he said, leading the way to the opposite wall, where another cluster of canvases were labeled as Justin Hall originals.
"This one might work for you?" he offered, gesturing to a piece about eye level that featured two shadows entwined in what looked like a struggle to the death. A river of red paint bled down from one of them, dripping into a wineglass. "I call it Dance with a Demon," he went on. "It's my interpretation on the difficulties of battling addiction—in this case, alcoholism."
"It's…very intense," I said slowly, looking away so he couldn't read my expression. The last thing I wanted my patrons to think about while enjoying our varietals was the evils of overindulgence. Plus the blood was just kinda gross.
As I looked away, my eyes landed on a canvas propped up against the wall, not yet hung. "Is this one of yours too?" I asked, taking a step toward it.
"Uh, yes. But it's not for sale," he informed me.
"No?" I crouched down, taking a close look at it. To my surprise, it was a bright, sunny landscape in pastel hues. The tone and subject matter seemed a complete contrast to the other works hanging on the walls, depicting a field of flowers beside a bubbling stream. "This is beautiful," I said, meaning it. There was something about it that felt familiar, and while I hadn't actually come here looking for art, I could easily picture it hanging above the tasting room bar.
"I told you, it's not for sale," Justin repeated, more firmly this time.
"That's a shame," I said. I studied the picture again. "It's such a lovely piece. Do you have more like it?" I asked, straightening up.
But Justin just shook his head. "No." I had the distinct feeling I was losing him.
"Uh, maybe I could see what you were working on when we came in?" I suggested, hoping to get him talking.
He shrugged but led the way to his easel. "It's not done. And I don't know how it will turn out. I never do until the canvas finishes speaking to me."
I nodded, pretending to understand the artist's process, as I looked down at the half finished painting on his easel. Unlike the one I'd been admiring, the colors were all shades of black and gray, and while I could tell it was still taking shape, I could make out the face of a woman, partially obscured by some figure in black. Maybe it was my imagination, but she looked an awful lot like Juliet.
"This is…interesting," I said.
"It's not done," he reminded me. "But I could set it aside for you?"
"I, uh, I'm not exactly sure it sets the right mood for our winery," I hedged. "It's maybe a little dark?"
He glanced at the canvas, his eyes lost in thought. "Yeah. I get that." Then something I must have previously said seemed to click with him, as his expression changed, his head swiveling to face me. "Which winery was it that you said you owned?"
I swallowed. "Uh, Oak Valley Vineyards."
Recognition set in immediately at the name, and his jaw clenched, eyes going flat. "What's going on here?" he asked, his fists clenching at his sides.
"G-going on?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder to where Ava and David were now deep in conversation with Purple Hair over her splattering masterpiece.
"Yeah, going on. You didn't just randomly walk in here, did you?"
&nb
sp; "Uh, no?" I said, though I had a bad feeling that wasn't the right answer.
"Juliet told you about me, didn't she? I know she was supposed to have her wedding at your winery."
I glanced over my shoulder again, reasoning that help was just a couple of steps away if need be. And, surely, Justin Hall wouldn't start throwing punches in his own studio, right?
"Yes, she was supposed to be married at my winery yesterday." I sucked in a breath of courage. "And you were there too, weren't you?"
The fire in his eyes kicked up a notch, and I could feel him getting ready to deny it.
"I saw you," I told him. "You bumped into me just before the ceremony was about to start."
If he had any recollection of the incident, it didn't show on his face. Though, he'd seemed distracted enough at the time that I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't remember me.
"So what?" he finally spat out. "So what if I was at Juliet's wedding?"
"What were you doing there?"
"Waiting to wish the bride and groom well," he said, though the sarcastic undertones led me to believe that was the last thing he'd intended to do.
"Did Juliet invite you?"
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Yeah," he said. But I could tell by the challenge in his voice that he was more than likely lying.
"Really? You two broke up on such good terms that she wanted you there to see her marry someone else?"
His jaw worked back and forth some more. "Sure. Why not?"
"Maybe because the groom didn't want you there," I said, watching his reaction carefully, gauging just how far I could push before he resorted to actual physical violence like he had with Freddie.
But Justin surprised me by laughing out loud. "'Maybe'? Heck, there was no maybe about it. That guy didn't want me within ten miles of Juliet."
"And why is that?" I asked.
But his eyes narrowed again. "That's none of your business. That's between me and Freddie."
"Only Freddie's dead now."
Justin took a step toward me. "Are you implying something, Ms. Oak?"
"Not at all," I said, instinctively taking a step backward to match his slow advance. "I just find it interesting timing. You and him getting into a fistfight the night before he shows up dead."
"It was hardly a fight," Justin protested.
"That's not what I heard."
"Well then, you heard wrong, get it?" he asked, his fist clenching at his sides again, as if physically reliving the moment. "I threw one punch, okay? And let me tell you, the guy deserved it."
"Oh? What did he do?"
"He—" But he caught himself and shook his head, as if trying to shake the memory of it away as well. "Never mind. It doesn't matter now."
"It might matter to Juliet," I said softly. "She's heartbroken."
At her name, his entire expression changed, softness suddenly lighting his eyes. "She okay?" he asked, displaying genuine concern that took me off guard.
"I haven't talked to her since the day of the wedding," I admitted. "She was pretty shaken up then. But her parents are with her."
He sucked in a breath and nodded. "Yeah, she and her mom are close. Mere will know how to comfort her."
Mere? This was the first time I'd heard anyone refer to Meredith Somersby that way. The nickname spoke to a closeness. "You know Juliet's mother well?" I asked.
Justin sucked in more air, as if he suddenly couldn't get enough of the stuff to sustain the onslaught of memories. "Yeah. I mean, I did. Juliet and I dated all through high school, you know."
No, I hadn't known that. "How long ago did you break up?"
He shrugged. "Maybe a year ago."
Just before she'd started dating Freddie, I noted.
"I mean, we were sort of off and on for awhile," he continued. "She—well, Juliet's dad wasn't my biggest fan."
It seemed Edward Somersby wasn't a fan of anyone his daughter dated. Then again, wasn't that the way it was supposed to be with daughters and fathers?
"So she broke it off because of her father?" I asked.
His eyes hit the floor. "Something like that."
"But you remained friends?" I pushed, still skeptical.
He was silent a beat then seemed to make a decision, raising his eyes to meet mine. "Look, the wedding was the first time I'd seen any of the Somersbys for months. Freddie and I…didn't see eye to eye. We argued. But Mere will tell you, I apologized for that at the wedding. I just—I'd had a couple of drinks the night before and got carried away."
Which really told me nothing about what he'd been doing at the rehearsal dinner, let alone the wedding, or what he and the dead man had fought about. Only that Justin had a tendency to lose control after "a couple" drinks.
"Meredith will tell you," he continued, as if pleading his case. "I found her as soon as I arrived at the winery. She said she was happy I was there, and she probably would have even invited me to sit with them for the ceremony if her husband hadn't walked up just then. That's when I took off and ran into you. I thought it best to make myself scarce around dear ol' dad."
I wasn't sure how much of what he was saying was the truth, but one thing he mentioned had my mind backtracking a bit. "Wait—you said her husband walked up while you were talking to Meredith Somersby?"
Justin frowned at me but nodded.
"Where had he been?"
The frown deepened in confusion, and he shrugged. "How should I know?"
"How long were you talking to Juliet's mom?"
He blinked at me, as if trying to recall. "I don't know. Maybe twenty minutes?"
Twenty minutes. Edward Somersby had told me he hadn't left his wife's side at all from the moment he'd arrived at the winery to when I'd come to fetch him. But clearly he'd been absent for some time. For all the half truths I felt I was getting from Justin Hall, he had no reason to lie about that.
Which meant that Edward Somersby had lied to me. The question was, why?
CHAPTER SEVEN
After taking Ava home, David graciously gave me and the rest of the ham and pineapple pizza a ride back to Oak Valley Vineyards. With the best of intentions to put the pizza away in the commercial kitchen's fridge, somehow it ended up on the marble counter, being devoured by one tired blonde as she indulged in comfort food. Since I was already indulging, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with Pinot Grigio too. Let's face it, it had been that sort of day. Week. Maybe month?
Planning for our first wedding in a decade had been stressful enough that I'd had in my mind I'd take a couple of days off after the Somersby-Campbell nuptials were over to decompress and relax, even before tragedy had stuck. Now relaxing didn't seem to be in the cards, but at least I could take a moment to try at decompressing.
As I sipped from my wineglass, I pulled out my phone, shooting off a text to Juliet. I paused, trying to come up with the appropriate wording to convey my sympathy. I knew nothing I could say right now would ease her grief, but I just wanted her to know I was there for her. In the end, I went with a simple: Thinking of you. Don't hesitate to reach out. My shoulders are awesome for crying on.
While my official wedding planner duties hadn't included grief counselor, I figured it was the least I could do.
A couple of minutes later, her reply dinged in. Thanks :)
I itched to say more, but I held off. I took the smiley face as a good sign she was at least coping, but I knew unless she initiated it, she probably wasn't in the mood to chat with me. At least not yet.
"Anyone home?" I heard a male voice call from the winery's main entrance.
I immediately recognized it as that of Detective Grant, and put my phone down as a mix of emotions ran through me. As nice as the deep, familiar timbre was, the most likely reason he was visiting at this hour was related to the crime scene tape still fluttering around my courtyard terrace.
"In here," I called, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin. "Kitchen."
A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, and my first impressio
n was that he looked about as tired as I felt. The shadow on his chin was well past five o'clock, his tie was loose, and the top button on his shirt was undone. "Hey," he said, stepping into the room.
"Hey, yourself," I responded, trying not to get too giddy at the scent of his musky aftershave as he came up beside me.
"What's for dinner?" Grant asked, leaning over to peek at my plate.
"Leftover pizza?" I said around a mouthful.
Grant raised one dark eyebrow at me. "I expect better of you, Emmy."
As Grant knew, before Mom had become sick and I'd made the decision to come home and take over the day to day operations of Oak Valley, I'd been working as a chef in the competitive Los Angeles scene. While I couldn't necessarily say I'd been top dog, I'd been well on my way to making a name for myself with private chef gigs to the who's-who of Hollywood and the occasional pop-up restaurant around a seasonal theme. I'd tried to keep my skills sharp hosting dinners and events at Oak Valley, but the truth was sometimes I missed the cathartic hands-on creating in the kitchen that had largely been replaced with paperwork and marketing since I'd returned home.
But that wasn't to say I was above takeout pizza.
"Sorry, kitchen's closed. Long day," I told him.
"Ditto." He nodded his head toward the box. "Got a slice to spare?"
I grinned, pushing the box toward him as he reached for one and dug in. I grabbed a second wineglass from the cupboard and filled it, placing it in front of Grant.
"I assume you're off duty?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Close enough." He grinned at me over the rim of his glass before taking a sip.
"I didn't see the CSI van when I pulled up," I said, hoping I sounded like I was just making casual conversation. "Are they done?"
Grant nodded, setting his glass down on the counter. "Almost. They should be finished processing the scene tomorrow and then release it."
"Meaning my terrace will be mine again?"
"Yes. You'll be free to enjoy it."
"I doubt I'll be doing that again," I mumbled, suppressing a shudder.
Grant paused midbite, a look of concern on his features. "We have no reason to believe the perpetrator would return."
Marriage, Merlot & Murder (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 4) Page 7