"Girls, get up," David said from behind us.
I spun around to find his eyes on the shards of emerald. He leaned down to help Ava off the floor. "Come on. It's okay."
"No, it's not okay!" Ava protested, though she did let him help her to a standing position. "You don't understand. I needed that emerald!"
David shook his head. "No you didn't."
"Yes I did!"
"Not that emerald."
Ava opened her mouth to protest again, but something in David's tone must have caught her attention the way it did mine.
"What do you mean, not that one?" I asked him.
"I mean," he said, his voice calm, "emeralds don't shatter."
Ava frowned, gaze going from me to Eddie to David. "Wh-what?"
"Emeralds are some of the hardest gemstones. They're rated at a 7.5–8 on the Mohs scale."
I blinked at him. Being that I could barely afford costume jewelry, I knew little about precious gems. "So, that means they don't break easily?"
"Correct. It would take some force. If I hit it with a hammer"—he shrugged—"yeah, it would chip. But not shatter like this," he finished, nodding to the floor.
"So you're saying that was not actually an emerald." I looked down at the sparkling green slivers on the tiles.
"It was a fake?" Eddie said. I could see the relief flooding through him. "I broke a fake?"
David nodded. Then he cocked his head to Ava. "Sorry, hon."
Ava shook her head. "No. I mean, I-I guess that's good news, right?"
"Then what was this one made of?" I asked, crouching down again to pick up a green shard.
"If I had to guess? Glass," David said.
I stood back up, holding the small piece in my hands. It had shattered a lot like a wineglass would.
"It must have been the fake that Gia planned to swap into the necklace after she stole the real one," Eddie surmised.
"So, if Gia still had the fake emerald in her bag, that means she hadn't yet switched them when the killer attacked her," I said.
"Which means the real emerald is still out there somewhere," Eddie added.
Ava sighed deeply. "The killer did take it after all."
We were all silent a moment, contemplating that depressing thought.
David opened another bottle of wine and poured all of us a refill, along with a glass for poor Eddie, who was still shaking. Ava slumped at the counter, looking like the emotional roller coaster had drained her. I grabbed a broom and swept up the mess on the floor.
I was just putting it away, feeling reasonably sure there was no green glass left on the floor that Conchita could step on in the morning, when the sound of tires crunching on gravel outside the window grabbed my attention.
"Now who could that be?" Eddie asked. He glanced at his watch—a Rolex replica his husband Curtis had given him for his birthday. "It's late for wine tasters."
David looked out the window. "Black SUV."
My stomach dropped as I realized I had a pretty good idea who it could be. "Grant," I breathed.
Ava's eyes lifted to meet mine. "You told him to meet you here!"
I did a mental forehead thunk. I'd forgotten all about that. I glanced at the trash can where my very urgent stolen evidence now sat.
"What are you going to tell him?" Ava asked.
I bit my lip. "I don't know."
David set his wineglass down. "When the boyfriend arrives, that's my cue to go." Something in his voice was difficult to read, but considering I was in the middle of a mental meltdown, I didn't try very hard.
"Ava, wanna give me a ride back to my car?" he asked.
Ava shot me a questioning look, clearly asking if she should stay or go.
I nodded. "Go ahead." No sense in both of us getting arrested for tampering with evidence.
Then shattering it.
"What?" Eddie's gaze whipped from one of us to the other, clearly sensing he was left out of the loop on something.
"Nothing. Never mind," I told him. "I'll, uh, fill you in tomorrow."
His pudgy face broke into a smile, and he waggled a finger at me. "You better. I can only imagine what that tall drink of water is doing here so late."
Yeah, not that.
In a matter of minutes, the three had made themselves scarce and I'd stashed their wineglasses in the sink. I was just rinsing out the last one when Grant appeared in the doorway.
He was wearing the same boots, jeans, and blue button up shirt, though the top few buttons were undone now and the sleeves rolled past his elbows. The stubble on his jaw was pronounced, and his hair looked as if he'd run his hands through it several times that day, leaving it tussled and enticing enough that I felt my hormones kick up at the sight of him.
"Hey," he said. Gone was the hard Cop Mode I'd seen earlier at the Links, and in its place was a warmer, softer tone that had me almost melting to a confession right on the spot.
I tried to clear the guilt out of my throat while simultaneously checking the floor for any lingering green sparkles. "Uh, hey yourself. What's up?"
He raised a pair of eyebrows at me. "You tell me. I got a message something was urgent."
"Did I say urgent?" I laughed. It sounded a lot like Ava's had at the club. I gave myself a mental shake. "Uh, sorry. I hope I didn't tear you away from anything."
"No." He shook his head slowly. "I was knocking off for the day anyway." He cocked his head at me. "Was something on your mind?"
I licked my lips. Boy, was it. "Uh, I actually, just…" My brain ran in circles, trying to come up with a plausible lie, gaze roving the kitchen until it settled on the counter near the stove. "Conchita made pie!" I pointed to the pastry she'd been working on that morning, now neatly baked and sitting on a glass plate beside the range.
His eyes followed my gesture, a note of suspicion in them.
"It's Mama Halliday's Apple Pie recipe. I thought you might like some." I sent him a big smile.
He paused, and for a second I thought he could see right through me. Finally, he nodded. "Who would turn down pie?"
I tried not to audibly sigh in relief as I turned my back to him to grab a knife from the butcher block.
"So, what have you been up to today?" Grant asked as he took a seat on one of the tall wooden stools at the counter.
"Up to?" I asked, willing my voice not to raise an octave.
"Yeah. What did you do today?" he asked. Still eyeing me.
"Oh. Uh, yeah. I walked the field a bit. Turns out we have deer in the south vineyard. They triggered the motion lights last night," I said, cutting two slices of apple pie and setting them on plates.
"That's trouble."
"Don't I know it." I added a fork to his plate and slid it across the counter to him.
"Then what?"
"Hmm?" I asked, taking a big bite of pie. I was momentarily distracted by the tangy apples and sweet, spicy cinnamon wrapped in flaky crust that held just the slightest hint of nuttiness from the walnut oil—the secret ingredient.
"That all you do today?" Grant asked. "Just walk the fields?"
Why did this feel more like an interrogation than a conversation?
"Uh, no. I…went with Ava to visit a friend. Janet. She runs a B&B nearby." Which was true, if leaving out a few key details.
"Sounds pleasant."
"It was." Okay, that part was an outright lie. Nothing about questioning Hughie Smart at the B&B had been what I'd consider pleasant.
"You visit any other friends today?" he asked, forking a mouthful of tender apples. "At the Links maybe?"
"The Links?" I tried to think fast. Unfortunately nothing came to me. Where was Ava and her amazing story-on-the-spot talents when I needed them? Oh yeah. She'd fled. Lucky her.
"Uh-huh," Grant added. "I ran into Ava there. Said she was waiting for a friend."
I shook my head slowly. "Must have been another friend. I'm not a member of the Links."
"I know." He pinned me with a look.
Oh boy.<
br />
"Uh, so how was your day?" I asked, turning my back to him as I poured myself another glass of wine. A big one.
"Busy," he said around a bite. He swallowed before continuing. "Had Gia's autopsy this morning."
"Oh?" I poured a glass for Grant as well, setting it in front of him. "How did that go?"
"Fine." He gave me a grin. "Sorry, not sharing."
"Then why bring it up?" I asked, teasing him.
He shook his head at me and took a sip of wine. "Okay, honestly? Nothing came up you don't already know. She died of asphyxiation, bruising consistent with strangulation."
"So, conclusion is she was strangled with the necklace she was wearing?"
He nodded, stabbing more pie with his fork. "Everything supports that theory. We finished up witness statements, so everyone associated with the fashion show headed home. I was just releasing the crime scene as well, gathering up the last of Gia's personal effects, when you called."
I watched as he took another bite. Those personal effects would include the makeup bag that I'd taken the glass gem from. While the CSI might have overlooked the jar of beauty cream at first glance, there was a chance Grant might have found it upon closer inspection and realized what Gia had been up to. Had we not botched that.
"You know, I've been thinking," I said, trying to sound casual and offhand.
Grant's eyes lifted to meet mine. "That's never good," he joked.
I shot him a look. "I've been thinking about Gia's spending habits. I mean, you said she had a lot of charges on her accounts…"
He nodded. "She seemed to enjoy the good life."
"Well, I would imagine a Bay Area model wouldn't be making as much, say, as someone in New York or Paris."
"What do you mean?" he asked around a bite.
What I meant was he should look for Gia's illegal side hustle. But I wasn't sure how to say that without admitting to breaking and entering and theft from a crime scene.
"Well, I guess I was just wondering where Gia was getting all that spending money. I mean, it sounds like she was spending more than she was making."
While I had hoped to gently lead Grant's thinking down the same path Ava and I had traversed to realize what Gia's real business was, I was surprised when he answered me with, "No, she was making quite a bit."
I blinked at him. "She was?"
He nodded. "Well, I can't say if it was payments for modeling or something else, but she had a healthy income."
I frowned. "Her agent said she only made about a grand a show. She'd have to be in a lot of shows to make enough to afford a Ferrari."
His bite paused on the way to his mouth. "How do you know what kind of car she drove?"
I rolled my eyes. "She posted a picture of it on social media. Don't you cops go online?" I teased.
He shook his head at me. "Don't you vintners have anything better to do?" he countered.
"Touché."
He gave me a grin before shoving the bite into his mouth.
"But, seriously, was her agent lying?" I pressed.
He swallowed and shook his head. "No, we ran Gia's financials, and we did find several payments around that amount from Smart Models. So chances are that was her going rate."
"But she was making more than that?"
"She was. We found there were other deposits."
"Other deposits?" I asked, leaning my elbows on the counter. "From where?"
"Puerto Rico."
I raised an eyebrow his way. "For?"
"Not sure yet. They were anonymous wire transfers. Maybe payments for some job she did down there."
I frowned. "I don't know. I don't think Gia would do that. I mean, take jobs on the side. Word would get back to Hughie, and it would ruin her reputation in the industry," I said, repeating what Jada had told us earlier.
Grant shrugged. "Well, she was getting paid for something. We found several large deposits to her account."
"And you have no idea who was sending the payments?"
"It's an off-shore bank, and they're being less than forthcoming. Without a whole lot of paperwork to force their records, it doesn't look like they'll cooperate."
"But you can force the paperwork, right?" I asked.
He let out a deep breath, eyeing me. "Not sure there's a real reason to."
Right. I paused. "What about Gia's stalker?" I asked, changing gears. "Did you get a chance to look into him?"
Grant turned his attention back to his dessert. "No stalker." He shoveled more apple pie onto his fork. "Gia never filed any charges against anyone. No restraining orders, no officers called to her residence."
"Nothing?" I couldn't help the note of disappointment in my voice.
Grant shook his head. "Sorry. If the guy was following Gia around, she never told anyone."
"Or never noticed," I mused. "He's good at blending in. I almost didn't notice him today."
"Today?" Suddenly Grant's pie was abandoned and all his attention was on me.
"Uh…"
"Did you see this guy today?" he asked, his eyes pinning me with a look that could scare a confession out of just about anyone.
Me included.
"Yeah," I admitted.
Gone was amiable Maybe-Boyfriend Grant, and in seconds flat he was replaced with Angry Cop Grant. "Where?" he demanded.
"Uh, at the hotel. Where the designers and models were staying."
Grant stood up and let out a couple of swear words. Really good ones.
I felt myself involuntarily taking a step back, coming up against the sink.
"What were you doing there?" he asked, his voice rising in volume like he was chastising a teen who'd broken curfew.
"I-I was just visiting a friend."
"What. Friend."
"Costello?" Though it came out more of a question than an answer.
"Emmy, I told you to leave this alone," he said. Then he punctuated the statement with a couple more colorful words you can't say on television. "You promised to leave this alone."
I cringed. I guess I kinda had. And I hated breaking that promise. "You know I can't turn my back on Ava," I told him in my defense.
"I'm not asking you to turn your back on your friend," he said. "I'm asking you to be smart about this and let me do my job."
I paused. "Wait—did you just say I'm not being smart?"
"What do you call hanging around stalkers?"
"Hey, he was hanging around us." I paused. "Or maybe Jada."
"You were with Jada too?"
Oops. Did I say that? "Look, this a small town. I run into people."
"How about you try not to run into any more of my witnesses, huh?" he said hotly.
I was starting to get a little tired of his overprotective thing. I was a grown woman who had been able to take care of herself just fine for the last twenty-nine(ish) years without his help. "Well, how about you do your job and find my friend's emerald," I shot back.
"I'm trying!" he shouted.
"Well, good!" I yelled back.
"Thank you for the pie!" he shouted.
"You're welcome!" I yelled back.
He stood there for a beat, his eyes flashing fire, his breath coming hard enough to make his chest visibly rise and fall. Then he turned and stomped out the door and back to his car.
I listened to his feet fall on the gravel, car door open and shut, the engine of his SUV roar to life. Then I watched the beam of his headlights illuminate the room, arcing away from the parking lot and down toward the oak lined driveway.
Before the anger I'd held back erupted into hot, stupid tears.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I awoke the next morning feeling a mixture of guilt and anger, not to mention horror at the puffy eyes staring back at me in the bathroom mirror. After a hot shower, the anger dissipated a little, and with some cooling aloe and a lot of eyeliner, the puffiness was at least manageable. The guilt was another matter.
Grant had gone over the top with his protective routine, he'd been out of
line to tell me who I could or could not talk to, and the whole yelling and ordering me around thing had been nowhere in the vicinity of attractive. But he hadn't been totally wrong. I had broken a promise to stay out of the whole thing. Of course, it had been made in a moment of romantic lighting and elegant wine, but I was a person who usually held her word in high regard. Plus, there was the fact that I had tampered with his crime scene and not only taken but also destroyed a key piece of evidence that could right now be steering him in the right direction toward Gia's killer.
Assuming the murder was fueled by knowledge of her theft in the first place. Which was not a given.
I tried not to think about how I might have ruined the tentative bond of trust we had, let alone botched his entire investigation. Mostly because it was too depressing to add to the fact that Gia's killer was out there literally getting away with murder, and Ava's emerald was long gone…much like her entire business would be if we didn't find it. And fast.
I threw on a sporty black knit skirt, a pale pink cami tank, and some low heeled sandals before making my way from my cottage toward the kitchen. Where the delicious scents of freshly brewed coffee and sweet cinnamon buns told me I was not the first one up that morning.
In fact, as I entered the kitchen and spotted Eddie, Ava, and my house manager, Conchita, all hovering around the center island, I realized I might well have been the last person up.
Conchita spotted me first, her head lifting from their conversation and her face breaking into a soft smile that made me instantly feel better.
Conchita had dark hair shot liberally through with gray, warm brown eyes, and a soft shape that spoke to her love of baking. She'd adopted a mother hen attitude toward me even before my own mother had become unable to fulfill those clucking duties. Not that I totally minded. It was nice to have someone fuss over you now and then. Especially when it came in the form of cinnamon buns. "Good morning, mía," she said. "Sleep well?"
Before I could answer, Eddie chimed in, "Oh, honey, I'm hoping the fact you slept in means it was a spicy evening with your detective."
I scoffed as I grabbed a cup of coffee. "Not even close to spicy. Try ice cold."
"Oh." The disappointment in Eddie's voice was endearing. "Sorry, hon."
I shook my head and added cream and sugar. A lot of sugar. "No. It's fine. It could have been worse. I mean, I'm not in jail for obstruction."
Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6) Page 13