Wine and Punishment

by Sarah Fox

  “We don’t yet know what happened. It’s early days, and we’re still waiting on the postmortem.”

  “But you know enough to believe Eric was murdered.”

  “We’re confident it was a homicide, yes.”

  “How was he killed?” I asked the question with a good deal of apprehension, wanting to know the answer and not wanting to know it at the same time.

  “I’m afraid I can’t disclose that at this time.”

  I twisted one of the silver rings on my right hand. “So what did you want to ask me?”

  “Yesterday you said you had no idea that Mr. Jensen was coming to Shady Creek.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And although you knew he was in town soon after his arrival, you didn’t see or speak to him.”

  “Right,” I said again.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.” I met Marquez’s dark, steady gaze and a thread of anxiety quivered its way along my spine. “I was at Louie Edmonds’s place all evening, celebrating my aunt’s birthday. She’ll confirm that. So will everyone else who was there.” I hated that I sounded like I was defending myself. I didn’t need to do that.

  Did I?

  Marquez glanced down at her notebook. “And you left Mr. Edmonds’s house at around ten-fifteen?”

  “Yes. Just as I told you yesterday.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but I could hear that it was becoming strained by anxiety.

  “And after that?”

  “As I said before, I realized that the antiques shop was on fire. I watched the firefighters for a while, and then I walked home and went to bed.”

  “You walked home by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “After parting ways with Mr. Grayson Blake.”

  I hadn’t mentioned that in our first conversation. Had she spoken to Grayson about that evening, or had someone else filled her in on my movements?

  I nodded, and the detective continued.

  “Eric Jensen was found on the border between your property and Mr. Blake’s. You didn’t see or hear anything when you arrived home?”

  “No, nothing. Why? Was Eric already dead by then?” My stomach gave an unpleasant squeeze at the thought of Eric lying there all night.

  “We don’t have a precise time of death at this point,” was the detective’s non-answer. “So you had no contact with Mr. Jensen while he was in Shady Creek?”

  “None.” Frustration mingled with my increasing concern. “Why do you keep asking me the same questions?”

  “I’m merely trying to get a clear picture of the events surrounding Mr. Jensen’s death. How about before he arrived in Shady Creek? When’s the last time you had any contact with him?”

  “About four months ago, a few days after we broke up.”

  “What did you talk about on that occasion?”

  I wanted to ask how that could possibly be relevant, but the no-nonsense expression on the detective’s face kept me on track. “I was retrieving the last of my belongings from the apartment we shared in Boston. Eric asked me to give our relationship another chance, and I told him we were done for good.”

  “Had you broken up before?”

  “Once, about a year before that.”

  “And what was the problem—or problems—in your relationship?”

  This time I couldn’t stop my own question from bursting out. “What does any of this have to do with his death?”

  “Please answer the question, Ms. Coleman.”

  “His gambling addiction. His lies. That’s what came between us.”

  “And when you broke up again four months ago, the reasons were the same?”

  “Yes. He hadn’t been getting help for his problem like he’d promised. He was lying to me again. Still.”

  “And stealing from you.”

  I stared at her in astonishment. “How did you find out about that?”

  “We’ve been in touch with his family.”

  Of course. I didn’t know if Eric’s parents knew about that particular incident, but his sister did. Natalie and I had been friends since I’d first met her through Eric, and I’d told her about the theft soon after it happened. It was the final straw, the one that drove me to ending my relationship with Eric once and for all. There was no trust left by that point, nothing at all that could sustain a healthy relationship.

  “He stole one of my credit cards and used it for online gambling,” I told Marquez, though she probably knew all the details already.

  “That must have made you angry.”

  Alarm bells rang in my head.

  “Hold on a moment. Am I a suspect?” My astonishment and wariness were evident in my voice.

  “I’m just trying to get a picture of Mr. Jensen’s life and the circumstances surrounding his death.”

  Her carefully worded response wasn’t fooling me.

  My stomach twisted into a tight, bulky knot, and my throat went dry.

  “I didn’t kill Eric. I didn’t even see him here in Shady Creek until he was dead.”

  “I never said you did.”

  I felt like I’d been backed into a corner without realizing it. I’d foolishly had my defenses down, and now I had to scramble to protect myself.

  “I don’t think I should answer any more questions, not without a lawyer present.”

  Detective Marquez snapped her notebook shut. “If that’s your preference.”

  “It is,” I said firmly, despite my almost paralyzing trepidation.

  Marquez pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Coleman.”

  I didn’t move, sitting there stiffly while she left the Inkwell. When the door latched behind her, I realized that my hands were clasped so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. I released them, but then they trembled, so I pressed them flat against the tabletop. As I stared at my splayed hands, my fear and worry slowly morphed into indignation and irritation.

  How could anyone think even for a second that I might have killed Eric?

  Okay, so the police here in Shady Creek didn’t know me. I was an outsider to pretty much everyone here, aside from Aunt Gilda and a couple of friends. Still, the thought that I could be suspected of murder was preposterous. Frightening too, but most assuredly preposterous.

  I frowned and let my hands drop down to my lap. First, Eric attempted to disrupt my life here in Shady Creek by showing up unannounced, and now, even though he was dead, he was still causing problems for me.

  As soon as that thought formed in my head, guilt poked at my ribs. It was a terrible thing to think, even if there was some truth to it. It wasn’t as if Eric had planned to get murdered.

  Nevertheless, his death could now be threatening the new life I’d so carefully built over the past few months. I didn’t see how the police could possibly find enough evidence to arrest me for a murder I didn’t commit, but even if it didn’t get to that point, my reputation, my business, and my place in the community could all end up irreparably damaged.

  That thought nudged me close to the edge of panic. I jumped up from my seat and paced back and forth between the tables, trying to release some of my anxious energy. My gaze fell upon the books lining the exposed stone walls, the cheerful light holders Rhonda had given me, the pumpkins and gourds. I’d only owned the Inkwell for a matter of weeks, but I loved it with all my heart and soul already.

  This place meant so much to me. This life meant so much to me. I couldn’t stand around worrying, letting it slip through my grasp. I needed to clear my name, to chase away the cloud of suspicion gathering above my head before it overshadowed everything good in my life.

  And if I could help get justice for Eric and his family in the process, so much the better.

  The question was, where should I start?

  Chapter 8

  I cuddled a reluctant Wimsey and scarfed down a bar of dark chocolate before I decided on a plan of action. I needed information, and I knew where to look
for it, but I couldn’t leave the mill quite yet. The pub was due to open in half an hour, and I didn’t want to leave any customers on the doorstep, contemplating other places to spend their time and money.

  Fortified with the delicious dose of chocolate, I changed into a long-sleeved, dark green dress and wove my hair into a side braid. That done, I returned to the lower level, just in time to greet Mel as she arrived for her shift. The first customers of the day were right behind her, so I spent a few minutes chatting with a group of leaf peepers and serving food and drinks. Once everyone had been taken care of for the time being, I asked Mel if she could hold down the fort for a bit.

  “Sure thing.” She lowered her voice. “I heard about the murder investigation. How are you doing?”

  “I’m coping, but it hasn’t helped that the police seem to have their sights on me as their number-one suspect.”

  “No way.”

  I appreciated the incredulity in her voice.

  “That’s the message I got from all the questions the detective was asking me this morning.”

  “You shouldn’t answer any questions without a lawyer then.”

  “That’s my plan from here on out.” I glanced around the pub, noting that everyone still appeared to be occupied with their food and drinks. “Call my cell if you need me back here. Hopefully I won’t be too long.”

  “I left the scarecrow out front. Take a look on your way, and let me know if you want any changes.”

  I thanked her and hurried out to see her creation. As soon as I saw the scarecrow, a smile spread across my face. He wasn’t the least bit creepy, and to my delight, Mel had decked him out to look like Sherlock Holmes. The scarecrow wore a tweed suit and a deerstalker hat. A pipe stuck out from between his painted-on lips, and he held a magnifying glass in one stuffed hand. He was posed behind the handles of the old wheelbarrow, and it looked like he was inspecting the pumpkins for clues.

  I ducked back into the pub and gave Mel two thumbs-up as I mouthed, “I love it!”

  When she grinned in my direction, I waved and stepped back outside. Wimsey had appeared in my brief absence and was stalking carefully toward the scarecrow. When he reached it, he leaned forward for a cautious sniff of Sherlock’s leg.

  “What do you think, Wims?” I asked.

  He sniffed the tweed again, and then sat down on the grass, gazing up at the straw-filled detective.

  “All good?” I gave Wimsey a pat on the head. “I think so too. See you later, buddy.”

  I left my cat there with his new companion and set off up the street in the opposite direction from the Spirit Hill Brewery. Beyond the pub’s small parking lot, I passed by Rhonda’s house and three other houses before reaching the Creekside Inn.

  Built in the Queen Anne style when the town was still in its early decades, the Creekside Inn had once been a large and stately private home, but at some point, it had been transformed into accommodations for visitors to Shady Creek. I wasn’t sure if that was the doing of the current owner, Grace King, or if it had happened sometime previously. Either way, I’d heard that it was a popular place for tourists to stay, and I’d been hoping for a chance to get a look inside. It was so beautiful and charming from the outside, and I suspected the interior was just as gorgeous. Taking in the architecture and the character wasn’t my purpose at the moment, but catching a glimpse of the interior would be a bonus.

  I was about to head up the walkway to the front porch when a voice hailed me from down the street. When I spotted Joey Fontana heading my way, I didn’t know if I should be wary or glad to see him. Joey was the reporter for Shady Creek’s community newspaper. He’d done a story on the Inkwell when I first took over the pub, and I appreciated his help with getting the word out about the changes I’d made to the business. He was in his mid-twenties, energetic, and enthusiastic, but I’d heard that he was also tenacious, and I didn’t think he was hurrying this way to ask me about my plans for the Autumn Festival.

  “Hey, Sadie.” Joey ran a hand through his dark hair, raking it off his forehead. “I was hoping I’d be able to track you down.”

  “I think I can guess why. In fact, I’m surprised you’re only showing up now.”

  He grinned and shrugged. “It’s been an eventful couple of days.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “So what’s the chance you’ll give me an interview?”

  “Zero.”

  “Come on. You found the body along with Grayson Blake, and the guy was your ex. You’re at the heart of the story.”

  “I know you’re just doing your job, Joey, but I don’t want people gossiping about Eric any more than they probably are already. He deserves some respect.”

  Joey held up his hands in surrender. “I can be respectful. The Shady Creek Tribune isn’t a tabloid, you know.”

  “I do know that,” I said with a sigh. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but I really don’t want to give an interview right now.”

  “Right now?” he said, latching onto those words.

  I walked toward the inn, leaving him by the road. “Probably never,” I called over my shoulder.

  “Probably?”

  I ignored him.

  The hand-painted sign on the inn’s front door invited visitors to go right in, so that’s what I did. Fortunately, Joey didn’t follow me. I hoped that meant he’d given up on the idea of interviewing me, but I doubted it.

  When I stepped inside the inn, I found myself in a spacious foyer with beautiful hardwood floors and an elegant staircase curving up toward the second story. To my right was an antique wooden bench, a side table next to it holding a vase of bright flowers. On my left, a large wooden desk sat unoccupied.

  I paused for a moment, listening. I couldn’t see anyone, but I thought perhaps I heard a murmur of voices somewhere in the distance. A silver bell rested on the desk, so I gave it a tap, the chime sounding loud in the quiet of the foyer.

  The bell had the desired effect, footsteps immediately heading my way. A second later, a young woman appeared in the hallway leading toward the back of the house, smiling as she hurried toward me.

  “Hello!” she greeted cheerily. “I’m Cordelia King. How can I help you?”

  Like me, Cordelia had red hair, though hers was more orange than copper, and while mine was straight, hers was crinkly and formed a soft cloud around her face before reaching all the way down to her waist.

  “I’m Sadie Coleman,” I said to begin.

  Cordelia’s blue eyes lit up. “The new owner of the pub!”

  “That’s right.”

  “I just love the idea of a literary pub,” she enthused. “I heard you’re hosting book clubs. Will there be one for mystery readers?”

  “Absolutely. That’s my favorite genre.”

  “Mine too!”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the energy she exuded.

  “I’d love to join the club.”

  “No problem. I’ll sign you up. And if you give me your e-mail address, I’ll add you to the mailing list so you get all of the meeting reminders and other information.”

  “Perfect.”

  She fluttered behind the desk and grabbed a slip of paper, jotting down an e-mail address. “But that’s not why you’re here,” she said as she handed me the paper. “Sorry about that. My gran’s always telling me that getting off track is my superpower. Luckily, she lets me work here anyway.”

  “The owner is your grandmother?”

  “That’s right. I just moved back to town recently, and I’ve been helping her out since . . .” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “She’s not exactly getting any younger.” She held up a hand. “But wait. There I go, getting off track again. What can I do for you?”

  “I understand Eric Jensen was staying here.”

  Cordelia’s face paled to the point of leaving her looking like a ghost, her freckles standing out like bright specks, although with her skin tone, that didn’t take much. She pressed a hand over her heart. “Th
at was the most tragic thing. I’m the one who checked him in. And then the next day the police showed up on the doorstep to tell us he was dead.” She glanced down the empty hallway and then up the stairs before lowering her voice once more. “And now they say he was murdered! In Shady Creek! Gran and I were completely shocked.”

  “It came as a shock to me too.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Of course! You found his body, didn’t you? Along with Mr. Blake from the brewery.”

  “He was my ex-boyfriend. Eric, not Grayson Blake.”

  Her eyes widened again, this time to the point where I thought they might pop right out of her head. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. And here I am gossiping away like an insensitive fool.”

  “It’s all right,” I rushed to assure her. “But I’m trying to fill in some blanks. I never actually spoke to him before he died. But I understand he was in town to see me.”

  “Yes, he was. He told me and Gran how he was here to win back his girlfriend. And he showed us the ring.” She gazed heavenward for a second. “So beautiful.”

  “Ring? What ring?”

  “Oh, of course, you wouldn’t have had a chance to see it. It was gorgeous. Silver with such a brilliant sapphire. I mean, I’m no expert, so I don’t know if it was real or not, but it certainly looked amazing. It’s so sad he didn’t get a chance to give it to you.”

  Had Eric meant it as an engagement ring? He had to have been delusional to think I wanted to marry him. Even if it was just meant to be a gift, I never would have accepted the ring. I didn’t bother to mention that to Cordelia.

  Its purpose aside, how had Eric afforded a ring of any sort, having driven himself into a deep hole of debt?

  “Did he say anything else?” I asked. “Did he mention that he knew anyone else in this town?”

  “No, sorry. He only spoke about you. Oh.” She smacked herself on the side of her head. “He did mention the job.”

  “Job?”

  “At the brewery. Apparently, he had experience working in that field?”

  I nodded. At the time of our breakup, he’d been working for a large chain of breweries, dealing with distribution.

  “Well, right after he arrived in the late afternoon, he said he was heading straight over to Spirit Hill to see if he could get a job there so he could be closer to his girlfriend.”