Marriage, Merlot & Murder (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 4)

by Gemma Halliday

  While his words were meant to be comforting, the official jargon only served to drive home the fact that a murder had taken place there, making my pizza suddenly churn in my stomach.

  "Thanks," I said, "but by perpetrator, I'm assuming you still mean Juliet?"

  Grant sighed. "I mean whoever the guilty party is."

  "Very diplomatic," I said. "Points for that."

  The concern was replaced by the smile returning to his face. "I try," he said before taking another bite.

  "Though I'm guessing that means you haven't gotten any other hot leads today?"

  He shook his head, but when he opened his mouth to speak, his answer felt purposefully vague. "We're following up on several lines of inquiry."

  "What about the bridesmaid's boyfriend?" I asked, picking a piece of ham off my slice and popping it into my mouth. "The one who saw Freddie going to the terrace. You talk to him yet?"

  "I did," Grant said, swallowing before he elaborated. "His name is Brady Willows. He said he was chatting with the band when he noticed two people heading toward the terrace. About half an hour before the ceremony was to start."

  "And one of them was Freddie?"

  "Possibly, but he said he was far away enough that he couldn't be sure. The man he saw was wearing a tux, so presumably he was at least one of the wedding party."

  "So we can make a healthy guess it was Freddie."

  Grant shrugged. I had a feeling he didn't often guess. He was more a just the facts, ma'am kind of guy.

  "Was Brady Willows able to tell you who the other person was?" I asked.

  I watch Grant's face go from enjoying a slice of ham and pineapple to Cop Mode in seconds flat. "We have yet to ID the second individual."

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Geez, I'm not with the Times. No need to go all official on me."

  Cop Face cracked a little, the corner of his mouth hitching up. "We don't know who was with Fred—the man in the tux," he quickly corrected himself.

  "Well, was the person with him in a wedding dress?" I asked pointedly.

  Grant took a beat before answering. "No," he admitted.

  I couldn't help the triumphant smile I felt spreading across my face. "Ha! Then it wasn't Juliet!"

  "I'll admit, Brady Willows didn't see Juliet enter the terrace."

  "I feel a 'but' coming on."

  "But," he said, the corner of his mouth hitching upward again, "that doesn't mean she didn't enter the terrace from another direction later."

  Dang. He was right. It didn't.

  "Could Brady at least tell you if Freddie went to the terrace with a man or woman?" I asked.

  "Woman. Brady said she was in a dress." He paused before adding, "In a short red dress." I could see the hazel flecks in his eyes infusing all sorts of meaning into that description.

  "It was a wedding. Lots of women were in dresses," I pointed out.

  He nodded. "Can you think of any reason Freddie would slip off to a secluded area alone with one of them just before the ceremony?"

  I bit my lip. I had to admit, the first reason that sprang to mind was not a pleasant one.

  Grant must have seen me coming to the same conclusion he had. "Yeah, me too."

  "Okay, so it is possible Freddie was…chatting…with another woman before the ceremony," I said.

  "It would appear that way."

  "So maybe she killed him?" I offered.

  "Or Juliet spotted them and killed Freddie in a jealous rage," Grant said, stabbing a slice of pizza in the air for emphasis.

  "Or," I countered, "Juliet's dad spotted them, and he killed Freddie in a fit of anger."

  "Juliet's dad?" Grant's eyebrows drew down.

  I licked my lips, not wanting to cast the elder Somersby in a bad light—especially before I was paid in full—but the truth was I could see him in the role much more easily than Juliet.

  "Is there something about Mr. Somersby I should know?" Grant asked, eyebrows still hunkering.

  I did more lip licking, making a mental note to ChapStick before bed tonight. "Maybe. He didn't like Freddie. Like, really didn't like him. And he…he lied to me about his alibi."

  The frown deepened. "Alibi?" he asked.

  I cleared my throat. "Uh, yeah."

  "Since when are you interrogating suspects for their alibis?" The line of his jaw was hard, the look in his eyes akin to the one my mom used to use when I'd gotten sent to the principal's office. For that matter, he was doing a spot-on impression of the angry principal too.

  I straightened my shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling of being a kid in trouble. "I was talking with Mr. Somersby this morning about a financial matter, and the subject came up."

  "Where he was when his future son-in-law was killed just happened to come up?"

  I nodded emphatically. "Yep."

  His eyes narrowed, never leaving mine, the hazel flecks flashing now with a challenge. "And what makes you think he lied about where he was?" he probed.

  "Well…I was chatting with someone else later in the day who mentioned that Mr. Somersby was not where he said he was."

  "Chatting." His look was unreadable.

  I nodded. "Just chatting."

  "Been doing a lot of chatting lately."

  I shrugged. "I'm a chatty gal."

  Grant sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a two count. Only when he opened them again, the hazel flecks didn't look any calmer. "Okay, tell me—where did Edward Somersby tell you he was when Freddie was killed?"

  "Well, I guess it wasn't specifically when Freddie was killed, but he said he was with his wife all day. The entire time from the moment he got to the winery to when I retrieved him for the ceremony."

  Grant nodded, as if he'd probably gotten much the same story. "And this other person you 'chatted' with?"

  "Justin Hall."

  His eyes narrowed. "You happened to run into Justin Hall this afternoon?"

  I picked up my wineglass to avoid his hard stare. "Small world, right?" I mumbled.

  "Emmy…"

  How he could infuse one word with such a threat was a skill.

  "Okay, fine!" I cracked, setting my wineglass down on the counter with a clink. "Baker said Justin hit Freddie, so we went to talk to him."

  "We? Oh this just gets better and better, doesn't it?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Let me guess—you and Ava playing Charlie's Angels again?"

  I wasn't sure whether I loved or hated that he knew me so well. "You can't tell me you don't find it suspicious that Justin attacked Freddie the day before he died?"

  "No, I can't," he admitted.

  "And Justin was at the wedding. Uninvited." I paused. "I think."

  Grant shook his head. "Okay, what did Justin tell you about Somersby?"

  "Justin said he was talking with Meredith Somersby for a full twenty minutes when Edward wasn't with her. Plenty time enough to sneak onto the terrace and kill Freddie."

  "When was this?" Grant asked, though I couldn't tell if he was taking my theory seriously or just humoring me.

  "Just before I went to ask Mr. Somersby to line up with the wedding party. Justin actually ran into me as I was approaching Somersby."

  I could see Grant mentally logging that bit of information.

  "I assume Edward Somersby didn't mention this to you?" I asked.

  Grant shook his head. "No. He didn't." He paused again. "But, that doesn't mean he killed Freddie."

  "Innocent people don't usually lie."

  "Innocent people lie all the time," Grant corrected me.

  "But why lie about this unless Edward was doing something he didn't want the police to know about?"

  "That is a great question."

  I felt that triumphant beam hit my cheeks again.

  "But," Grant went on, "it's one I'll ask him. I'd prefer it if you refrained from chatting with him about it."

  I did a zipping the mouth closed and throwing away the key thing.


  Grant chuckled, taking a step toward me. "You know, you're kind of adorable when you do that."

  I swallowed, the sudden change of subject catching me off guard. Though I didn't totally mind my adorableness being Grant's focus. "Do what?" I asked.

  "That." He took another step forward. "Act all innocent when I know you're cooking up some scheme to interfere in my investigation again."

  "I'm not cooking up anything," I protested as he took another step closer. So close that he was well within my personal space and we were practically touching. He leaned in toward me, and all I could think about was how good he smelled and how close his lips were moving to mine. Close enough that I could almost taste them…

  "See what I mean?" he whispered, his breath tickling my cheek.

  "Huh?" I'll admit, my brain was a little foggy at the moment, having been taken over by surging hormones.

  "Innocent people lie all the time," he whispered. Then his lips curled into a wicked smile as he chuckled softly.

  My hormones froze, suddenly feeling like maybe we'd been played.

  Only they didn't have a chance to find out for sure, as the sound of a small gasp came from the kitchen doorway.

  I instinctively took a step back and cut my eyes to the sound to find my winery manager, Eddie Bliss, standing in the doorway.

  "I, uh, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Eddie asked, clasping his pudgy hands in front of him as his eyes went from me to the deceitful detective.

  "No," I said, my voice just a little higher than I would have liked. I tried clearing my throat. "Uh, no, not at all."

  If Grant disagreed, he didn't say anything, his eyes still twinkling at me with amusement as the grin played on his luscious lips.

  "I left my jacket in the tasting room, and I wouldn't have worried about it, but Curtis wanted to go out for drinks, and nothing else really goes with these pants," Eddie explained, gesturing down to the pink and green checked slacks he'd paired with a magenta button down shirt. "I mean, I guess I could have changed pants, but then I'd need a whole new shirt, and why get an entirely new outfit dirty when I could just pop over here and get my jacket…but I can come back later, I guess…"

  "Actually, I was just leaving," Grant said. "Thanks for the pizza." He nodded to the open box on the counter before stepping around me toward the door. "I'll be in touch," he promised.

  I'd be lying if I said I didn't watch him leave with a little sigh of reluctance.

  One I heard mirrored from Eddie as Grant disappeared from view. "Oh, my, he's a cool drink of water, isn't he?" Eddie said, fanning himself. Then he frowned. "Goodness, don't tell Curtis I said that!"

  I grinned. Edie Bliss had to come to work for me after spending the last twenty-plus years as a house husband to his partner Curtis. When Curtis had been forced to take early retirement after a heart attack, Eddie had bravely stepped up as the breadwinner—even though he had zero skills at anything. And he was not exactly what you'd call a fast learner. More like he caught on at the pace of a snail on Valium. But, he was cheerful, friendly, and always optimistic, and customers seemed to like him even if he did often pour them the wrong wines. Plus, I couldn't afford anyone with actual skills, so I considered myself lucky to at least have a cheerful person bumbling through the winery.

  "My lips are sealed," I promised him. They were also feeling a little lonely at Grant's departure, but I kept that to myself.

  "Anyhoo, I'll just pop into the tasting room and grab my jacket," he said, going that direction. "Want me to lock up behind myself?"

  "Please," I asked him. "I'm calling it a night."

  "Will do!" he promised cheerfully. He stopped in the doorway, turning back toward me for a second. "You sure I didn't interrupt anything?" he asked again.

  I shook my head. "No. I don't think you did."

  He shook his head. "Shame."

  My hormones wholeheartedly agreed with him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next morning came much too quickly, and I had a mental war with myself as sunlight filtered tauntingly through my bedroom curtains. I had a brief vision of sleeping in, lingering in my pajamas over a cup of coffee, and binge watching reruns of Sex and the City as I generally ignored the rest of the outside world. Then reality set in, reminding me that our tasting room was open (if anyone dared venture in while CSIs were still meandering around the grounds), I still had a stack of vendor bills sitting in my office to deal with, and winter being the low season for tourists, I knew I had some fancy juggling to do with our accounts to keep us out of the red this month.

  That last thought finally burst my binge-watching fantasy bubble and propelled me out of bed and into a hot shower. I did a quick blow dry and minimal makeup thing and dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, which fit just that much more snuggly after all the pizza the night before, a cute asymmetrical sweater with a cowl neck I'd picked up last time I'd been shopping in The City, and a pair of black leather boots with low heels that hit just below the knee. In fact the boots looked cute enough in my full length mirror that they prompted me to add a pair of hoop earrings and do another swipe of lipstick before I made my way down the stone pathway from my cottage to the main winery buildings.

  After a quick pop-in to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and reluctantly refuse the cinnamon rolls Conchita was making—in deference to my too-tight jeans—I slipped into my office, determined to hit the ground running.

  Unfortunately, after a couple of hours, I realized I was just running in circles.

  No matter how much money I juggled around, there just wasn't enough in our accounts to make payroll for all the field workers who'd been diligently pruning our dormant vines and cover the Somersby-Campbell wedding without that check from Mr. Somersby. And while some of the vendors I called were very sympathetic and let us stall for a few days, others sounded like they'd heard every excuse in the book already and expected to start charging interests on our late payments. After ending a conversation with one particularly unsympathetic florist, I slammed my phone down on the desk maybe a little more harshly than it deserved and let out a string of curse words that would have made my grandmother Emmeline wag a finger at me in shame.

  "Whoa. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

  I looked up to find Ava in my doorway and felt a blush hit my cheeks that she'd witnessed my tirade.

  "Sorry. But, trust me, she deserved it."

  "Rough day at the office?" she asked, clicking her tongue.

  "Rough week." I sighed, trying to shove those thoughts aside. "What's up?" I asked, focusing on Ava instead as she came into the room, a light, flowy caftan in floral silks trailing behind her. She'd paired the retro look with a slimming black bodysuit underneath that gave the ensemble a modern chic feel. Especially with the silver jewelry accents she had at her ears and wrists.

  "After the pizza last night, I was in the mood for something light for brunch." She held up a shopping bag. "I brought stuff for Brie and Baby Spinach Omelets."

  "Brie? That's your idea of light?" I asked with a grin.

  She shrugged, answering my smile with one of her own. "Okay, really I was just in the mood for brunch and was hoping you'd cook."

  "You had me at Brie," I agreed. Hey, there was no shame in buying a larger size of jeans, right?

  I shut down my computer and followed Ava into the kitchen, where she snagged one of the cinnamon rolls Conchita had left out and nibbled at the bar while I unpacked her grocery bag.

  "So, I heard you had a visitor last night?" Ava said, popping a bite into her mouth. "Grant stopped by?"

  I shot her a look as I pulled a carton of eggs from the bag. "You heard?"

  "Ran into Eddie on my way in," she confessed.

  "Figures," I mumbled, extracting a large wedge of cheese and a bunch of fresh baby spinach.

  "So, what did Grant want?" Ava waggled her eyebrow up and down as if she was hoping the answer was me.

  I shook my head to dispel her of that. "Nothing, really. He jus
t stopped by to let me know the CSIs were almost done." Though, even as I said it out loud, I wasn't sure he'd ever really clarified why he'd stopped by.

  "I don't suppose they've found anything interesting?" Ava asked.

  "Not that Grant shared. Though, he did talk to the guy who saw Freddie heading to the terrace." I relayed the gist of the conversation I'd had with Grant to Ava about the woman seen with Freddie as I began cracking eggs into a bowl and separating them. I whisked the yolks with milk and a liberal amount of salt and pepper before pulling out my hand mixer to beat the whites before folding them all together.

  When I was done, she was nodding her head up and down furiously. "I knew it. I knew Freddie was seeing someone on the side."

  "We don't know that for sure," I said, trying to halt her runaway theorizing as I poured the egg mixture into a hot pan. "He was walking to the terrace with a woman. That's all we really know."

  "Yeah, walking to a secluded area with a woman in a short dress. A red one. Isn't that the color hookers wear?"

  I shot her a look.

  "What?" Ava shrugged, popping another bite of cinnamon roll into her mouth. "She could have been a hooker."

  "Or she could have been any one of our wedding guests. One of Juliet's aunts. A friend of the family."

  "Yeah, a very good friend." Ava waggled her eyebrows up and down again.

  "You're incorrigible," I told her, turning my attention back to the omelet, taking care not to brown the eggs.

  I melted some Brie and added baby spinach to the mix before toasting some ciabatta bread in the oven to go along with it. As we ate, I shared with Ava my financial woes in the wake of the wedding that wasn't. "I fear I have the unpleasant task of tracking Edward Somersby down for that check. Again," I finished.

  "He didn't bring it by yesterday?" Ava asked around a bite of omelet.

  I shook my head. "I hate to bug him, but I'm not sure how long I can hold off the vendors. Some are threatening to charge interest." Which, if they did, could very well eat up our tiny profit margin on the entire thing—possibly even put us in the red.

  "Want me to be your backup again? I've got Mandy watching the shop today."