He scoffed, but it held more humor than anger. "I should be checking up on you. How's the budget coming for harvest this year?"
I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Please. Don't ruin a perfectly good morning with spreadsheet talk."
He laughed, the sound washing over me like a warm, familiar blanket in the crisp air. "Fair enough."
"They're looking pretty good this year, aren't they?" I asked, tipping my chin toward the Zin grapes.
He nodded. "Yes, they are." He lifted one of the vines, and I could see the rich purple color deepening and the stem starting to turn from green to brown. "They're almost ready."
I carefully fingered a couple and popped one particularly plump one into my mouth. "I hope they'll get a little sweeter."
Hector nodded. "They will." He looked up at a large oak tree offering its branches as shade. "I'll wait until the birds tell us it's time."
I glanced up, hearing a couple of faint chirps but not seeing much activity. I knew Hector relied as much on modern machinery and science as he did Mother Nature and the tried and true methods of past generations of farmers. Increased bird activity in the vineyard was a sure sign the grapes were ready—when the birds wanted to eat them, they were perfect for human consumption too.
"How are the Chardonnay grapes coming along?" I asked, gesturing to our right where the south pasture lay.
He shrugged, gazing out onto the horizon. "We might be a little light this year."
"How light?"
"I wouldn't worry about it, but you might want to label your runs limited edition this year."
"'Limited edition'? Have you been talking marketing with Eddie?"
He laughed out loud. "Yeah, he mentioned something the other day about some lady online. Sunrise or something?"
"Dawn. Aurora Dawn. Apparently she has a lot of followers on Instagram."
He shook his head. "Well, I don't know anything about that, but as long as they drink Oak Valley wine while they do their internet typing, I'll be happy."
"That makes two of us," I agreed as we came to the end of the row. "Any other good news about this year's crop?" I almost hesitated to ask. "How are the Pinot Noir grapes?"
"Good, good." He nodded, eyes on the ground as we walked. "Had the motion sensor lights go on last night over there though."
"Oh no," I said, knowing that was not good. Normally they were triggered when large animals got into the vineyard—like deer. While most people thought of deer as cute, innocent creatures, they were the biggest pests we'd had to contend with yet, eating our profits right off the vines before we'd even had a chance to harvest.
"You think it's deer?" I confirmed.
"Most likely," he responded.
"Any idea how they're getting in?"
He pointed to an area just east of where we were standing. "The fencing over there needs to be reinforced. And we could use some additional barriers up on the ridge."
I felt my stomach clench. This was not good news. Fencing was pricey. Correction—good fencing was pricey. But I knew the cost of not putting a fence up could be even higher if the deer damaged the vines. "Don't suppose you can do a few repairs with what we have?"
Hector shot me a look. "I'll do what I can. For now," he added.
"Okay, okay. I'll see if Schultz can help me find a magical pot of gold somewhere in our books." Gene Schultz was my accountant, and if there was anyone who hated expensive news more than I did, it was Schultz.
Hector smiled and gave me a clap on the back. "You're doing great, kid. Your dad would be proud."
That comment unexpectedly choked me up, and it was all I could do to nod and give Hector a watery smile before I headed back to the main winery building.
I almost had my emotions in check again by the time I'd poured a second cup of coffee from the main kitchen and said good morning to Conchita, who was elbows deep in pie dough. I snitched a couple of cinnamon-sugar apple slices from her bowl of filling before she chased me out and I settled myself behind my computer screen in my small office.
Luckily, spreadsheets sucked any emotion right out of me, and I spent the next couple of hours with mind numbing numbers as I did, as promised, work on the harvest budget. Problem was, as much as I worked at trimming it down, our expenses still outweighed our assets. As per usual.
I was just wondering if vintage wine could be used as collateral for a small business loan, when my phone rang out from my desktop beside me, jarring me from the unpleasant task.
Seeing Ava's name come up on the screen, I swiped the call on. "Hey, Ava."
"Finish up whatever you're doing. I'm on my way to pick you up," my best friend said, a note of command in her voice.
"Good morning to you too."
She laughed. "Good morning, Emmy. Now, grab your purse and meet me out front." In the background I could hear her radio playing a country station and the sounds of cars passing by her windows.
"Where are we going?" I asked, glancing up at my computer screen. But it wasn't as if I needed much excuse to table that task. I quickly hit Save and closed my files.
"Janet called me. Hughie Smart is at the Valley View B&B."
I raised my eyebrow at the phone. "And you're headed there?"
"We're headed there. I'll be out front in ten."
I opened my mouth to ask more, but I realized she'd already disconnected, apparently having issued her decree and hung up before I could say no.
Not, honestly, that I would have. I was almost as curious as Ava to hear what Hughie Smart had to say about his dead model.
I had just enough time to change from my sweater and boots into a soft pink sleeveless blouse and a pair of wedge sandals before Ava pulled into my gravel-lined parking lot in her baby—a vintage 1970s olive green convertible Pontiac GTO. Some people had pets—Ava had her GTO. Being that it was top-down weather, Ava had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and a white tank top nicely displayed her tanned shoulders atop a paisley printed skirt in shades of turquoise and pale blue.
"Ready?" she asked, leaning across the car to open her passenger side door.
"Barely, but yes," I agreed, slipping into the seat. "Have you talked to Hughie yet?"
She shook her head as she pulled back down the driveway. "No, but Janet said he just finished breakfast and looked like he'd be there for a while. Perfect time to ambush him."
"Ambush makes me nervous," I said, remembering Grant's warning from the night before about not upsetting potential murderers.
Ava shot me a grin. "Okay, let's go with quietly catch him off guard with our polite questions."
I rolled my eyes, but I was pretty sure that my hair flying around my face covered it.
"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Ava asked.
"Just drive," I mumbled.
* * *
The Valley View Bed & Breakfast was located only a few minutes south of Oak Valley Vineyards, nestled in a small residential neighborhood of older homes and stately Victorians. The outside of the building was painted a cheery yellow and sported a large wraparound porch outfitted with inviting rocking chairs and a bench swing. Several cars lined the street in front of it, and we had to park two doors down on the opposite side of the street.
I followed Ava to the carved wooden front door, propped open to catch the morning breeze before the midday temperatures rose too high. Like most older buildings in the area, this one didn't appear to be upgraded with AC.
Beyond the door, the foyer had been outfitted with a small check-in desk, manned by an older woman in a blousy, floral printed dress that almost felt period to the house itself.
"Can I help you—" she started. Then she focused on Ava, and a bright smile hit her soft features. "Oh, Ava. So nice to see you, dear."
"Hi, Janet," Ava said, giving the woman a couple of air kisses and a hug. "This is my friend, Emmy."
"Nice to meet you," I told her, shaking a proffered hand.
"He still here?" Ava asked.
Janet nodded. "He's on the ba
ck porch. Said his room was too stuffy and he needed to make some calls." She shrugged and pointed down a short hallway.
"Thanks!" Ava gave the older woman a wave before heading in the direction she'd indicated.
Down the small hallway was a screen door that led to another wooden porch, this one looking out over a garden blooming with colorful roses, snap dragons, and tall sunflowers. To our right sat a wrought iron table and chairs, and beside it a man pacing back and forth as he yelled into a phone.
Hughie Smart stood about six feet tall, with a slight build and skin that looked like he'd invested heavily in spray tanning. A short sleeved black silk shirt hung loosely on his frame, and his hair color looked dyed to match. His phone was glued to his ear, and I could hear him barking at whoever was on the other end.
"No, that's not the price we agreed on," he said. "No, it does not include travel time."
Ava and I stood awkwardly to the side, waiting for him to finish.
He must have noticed us, as he told the person on the other end, "Look, I'll have Maureen send over new contracts, but I've got to go." He paused only long enough for the person on the other end to respond before stabbing his phone off and turning an expectant expression our way.
"Uh, Mr. Smart?"
"Yes," he said, looking past us as if the answer to who we were and why we were bothering him might be there.
"My name is Ava Barnett. I left you a message yesterday?" She stepped forward and offer a hand in greeting.
He shook it, apprehension still in his gaze. "Did you? Sorry, I, uh, haven't called in for my messages this morning."
"Yes, well, I'm in charge of special promotional projects at Oak Valley Vineyards," she said, forging ahead with the same lie she'd concocted the day before. "And this is the owner of Oak Valley, Emmy Oak."
I gave him a little wave. While Ava was quick with a cover story, I was a terrible liar. I figured the less I said the better.
"Anyway," Ava went on. "We wanted to talk to you about possibly hiring models for a social media campaign."
"Oh?" His face broke into a welcoming smile. "Well, then, why don't you have a seat?"
"Thank you," Ava said.
Hughie gallantly pulled out chairs for Ava and me at the table before settling opposite us. "So, what sort of ads are you looking to shoot?" he asked.
"What sort?" Ava gave me a hesitant look. Apparently she hadn't worked the story out that far yet. "Uh, just some photos of people enjoying our wine, maybe? You know, to entice weekenders our way?"
Hughie nodded. "Sure. Sure. I have several young ladies who would fit the bill. I assume you're looking for more character models than fashion?"
"Is there a difference?" I asked.
Hughie gave me a patronizing smile. "Fashion models are generally a certain weight, height, body type. They have a certain look that lends itself to runway. Our character models are more like just average people, like you and me. But, you know, better looking." He shot me a wide smile, showing off a row of veneers that could blind a person from space.
"I see," I said, trying not to take offense to being just an average person.
"Uh, actually, we were interested in a couple of specific models," Ava said, shooting me a sidelong glance. "Ones we saw walk in the show this weekend at the Links."
At the mention of the tragic event, Hughie's smile fell, veneers hiding again behind his thin lips. "You were at the show, then?"
I nodded. "Yes, Ava was actually showing her jewelry there."
His eyes shot to Ava. "I thought you said you worked at a winery?"
Oops. See what I meant about not being good with lies?
"I do," Ava said, covering quickly. "I, uh, just design jewelry part time. On the side. It's a hobby." She matched his shark-like smile with one of her own. Even if her teeth were just "average person" white.
"Huh." Hughie didn't look totally convinced. But he didn't throw us out either, so I forged ahead.
"You were at the charity show as well, weren't you?" I asked. I tried to keep the note of accusation out of my voice, but it must have crept in, as the previously welcoming look in his eyes was still tempered with a healthy dose of suspicion as he turned my way.
"I had two models walking the show. Why shouldn't I be there?"
"One of those models was Gia Monroe?"
He nodded. "She was," he said hesitantly, as if not sure what he was admitting to.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." Ava reached out and put one of her dainty hands over his unnaturally orange ones.
The gesture of sympathy must have caught him off guard, as he stammered, "Uh, th-thank you."
"Had she been with you long?" I asked.
"A couple years," he said. "But she booked out a lot. She was popular."
"Costello seemed to like her look," I said, feeling him out.
Hughie nodded. "Yes, he used her quite often."
"Even though she could be difficult to work with."
"Who said that?" he asked hotly.
Costello. Jada. Pretty much everyone I'd talked to. But, instead I went with "Just an impression I got."
He made a sort of noncommittal grunt in the back of his throat. "Gia was a professional. She was in high demand."
"What was your relationship with Gia like?" Ava asked.
Hughie's eyes turned on her. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, it's such a tragedy. Were you close?" she asked, still going for the sympathy angle.
"She worked for me." His words were clipped, and I feared we were losing him.
"Wasn't it more like you worked for her?" I asked. "I mean, at least until she fired you."
"Fired me!?" Hughie shot up from his seat, his voice booming across the small yard. "Who told you that?"
"Is it true?" I pressed.
"No!" he said emphatically. "Gia wouldn't dare fire me."
That was an interesting word choice. "Or else…?"
His eyes narrowed, and I could see a red angry flush tinting his orange skin. "I don't know what you're implying. It is a horrible tragedy that Gia was killed. But it had nothing to do with me."
"Of course not," Ava said, trying to soothe him. "That's not what she meant at all."
"No?" Hughie sputtered. "Her meaning seemed pretty clear to me."
I licked my lips. This was going downhill fast. "I didn't mean to accuse you. I just happened to talk to…someone," I hedged, not wanting to point a finger directly in Costello's direction, "who said they overheard Gia and you on the phone."
"When?" he asked, his eyes sharp.
"Backstage at the Links. Right before the showcase."
But Hughie shook his head. "No. Gia didn't call me before the show."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. And if anyone told you otherwise, they're a liar!" He stabbed a finger at me for emphasis.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn't entirely sure Costello hadn't been lying about what he'd heard. Especially since I had actually caught him in another lie the day before—about having been with his boyfriend when Gia was killed.
"Are you saying Gia did not fire you before she walked in the show?" Ava asked.
"Of course not! Gia wouldn't fire me. I made her into who she was. Without me, she'd still be doing catalogs." He narrowed his eyes, gaze going from me to Ava. "You're not trying to insinuate that I'd kill Gia over her firing me?"
I shrugged. "You did say she got booked a lot."
Hughie laughed, but it sounded hollow and filled with more anger than mirth. "Oh, that's rich. Look, yes, Gia was popular, but she was hardly a supermodel. The fifteen percent commission I made on her thousand dollars a show rate is nothing worth killing over."
Well, when he put it that way, it did sound like thin motive.
"Besides, the police think Gia was killed by some thief," he went on, turning a pair of hard eyes on Ava. "So if anyone at this table is to blame for her death, it's certainly not me."
Ava's cheeks went pale.
"That's not fair!" I
protested. "There's no way Ava could have known someone would steal that gem."
I didn't think Hughie really believed there was either, but the smug smile on his face said his comment had had the intended reaction—shift the blame and put someone else in the hot seat. "Well, let's just say I'm not going to risk putting any more of my models in harm's way by taking your winery on as a client." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Come on, let's go," I said, grabbing Ava by the arm and pulling her from the table. I'd had enough of Hughie Smart and his not-so-smart remarks.
Ava complied, not seeming to be able to find her voice again until we were clear of the B&B and back in her car.
"I'm so sorry about that guy," I told her, sliding into the passenger seat beside her. "He's a jerk. He was just trying to rile us up."
Ava took an unsteady breath. "Well, it worked."
"Ava." I put a hand on her arm.
She attempted a weak smile in response. "It's okay. I know it's not my fault Gia died."
"No, it's not," I said definitively. "It's whoever killed her that's at fault."
"I know," she said again. "At least, I know it in my head. My heart is a little harder to convince."
"Well, maybe this will help," I said, turning so I was facing her. "Hughie was right about one thing—the person who said he overheard Gia fire Hughie is a liar. Carl Costello."
Ava raised an eyebrow my way. "You really think Hughie was telling the truth?"
"About that?" I shook my head. "I don't know. But I caught Costello in another lie last night." I quickly filled her in on Daisy Dot's visit to my tasting room and her offhand comment about having seen Fabio alone at the reception when Costello had distinctly said he and his boyfriend had been in a private cabana by the pool at the time.
When I was done, Ava's soft blonde eyebrows were drawn down in a frown. "You really think Costello intentionally lied about his alibi?"
"You saw how adamant he was about the fact that he and Fabio were together."
She nodded. "Well, if he lied about his whereabouts and he lied about Gia arguing with someone else, I'd be curious to know what else he's lying about." I could see the previous guilt being replaced by a determined light in her eyes again. "I say we find him and interrogate him right now!"
Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6) Page 8