Wine and Punishment

by Sarah Fox

  When I saw the amusement in his eyes, I realized what I’d said.

  Oh, for the love of Dame Agatha, why was I talking to this man about ecstasy and silk sheets?

  I knew I was about to blush fiercely, so I hurried to say something more in the hope that he wouldn’t notice. “Any chance you’ll share the recipe?”

  “Sorry,” he said, not looking very apologetic. “It’s top secret.”

  “You won’t even hint at the ingredients that make it unique?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I couldn’t help but frown with disappointment.

  “But maybe I’ll bake one for you sometime.”

  My frown faded.

  Several people surrounded Grayson then, everyone trying to praise him at once, inadvertently shoving me aside. He accepted their congratulations, but as he shook hands, his eyes met mine, and he sent a smile my way.

  My heart resumed the crazy dance it had started earlier.

  I turned away, trying to calm my heart as I walked across the green.

  I am not falling for Grayson Blake, I told myself. I’m really, really not.

  Deep down, I knew that was a lie.

  Chapter 22

  I had to wait twenty minutes at the police station before Detective Marquez was able to see me. When she finally appeared in the reception area, she led me to a large room with several desks, only two of which were currently occupied. One officer was on the phone, while the other was focused on his computer screen, typing away on the keyboard.

  Marquez offered me a chair next to her desk, which was neat and tidy, a small potted plant sitting at one corner. Judging by its healthy green color and lack of dust, Marquez was a far better plant caretaker than I was. Many a houseplant had died under my watch. I always felt guilty when I lost one, so now I avoided bringing any home.

  “I understand you have some information to share about the fire at the antiques shop,” Marquez said once we were both seated.

  “It might have to do with the fire,” I qualified. “I’m not sure, but I thought you should hear about it.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  I told her about my conversation with Rhonda and how Frank had lied about not having plans for the piece of property destroyed by the recent fire. As I recounted the information, I watched the detective’s face, trying to assess her reaction to what I was telling her. As usual, however, I couldn’t read much at all from her expression.

  “It seemed odd that he would lie about that,” I said to finish. “Don’t you think?”

  Marquez tipped her head to one side in a barely perceptible movement. “A lot of people lie about a lot of things. That doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”

  “I know that,” I said, trying not to get annoyed. “But it seemed suspicious. And the fire happened around the same time as Eric was killed. Maybe there’s no connection, but I thought that should be for you and your colleagues to determine.”

  “Again, I appreciate that. Truly.”

  “So you’ll look into it?” I pressed.

  “I will.”

  “Rhonda was uncomfortable about tattling on her boss, so that’s why I’m here in her place. I warned her that you might want to speak with her at some point, though.”

  “If that’s necessary, we’ll do so when Mr. Fournier isn’t around.”

  I relaxed with relief, knowing I could reassure Rhonda with that news. I asked Marquez if she could share any new information about the murder investigation, but I wasn’t the least bit surprised when she replied in the negative. After I thanked the detective for her time, I went on my way, texting Rhonda to bring her up to speed as soon as I was out of the police station.

  It was the middle of the afternoon by then, and I was itching to stop by the tent to see how Aunt Gilda was doing. I also wanted to get over to the Inkwell to see how things were going there. I knew Mel would phone me if there were any problems, but I didn’t like to be away from the pub for long when it was open. At the same time, with Mel at the Inkwell and Aunt Gilda taking care of things at the festival, I had more freedom than I would the next day, when I’d have to be either in the tent or at the pub all afternoon.

  While it was good to know the police would be looking at Frank Fournier as a suspect, that didn’t put my mind completely at ease. What if he was the arsonist and the killer but the police didn’t find enough evidence to charge him?

  I couldn’t get that thought off my mind. I sent a quick text message to Rhonda, asking if Frank was back in the office. While I waited for her response, I wandered over to the nearest food truck, deciding to indulge in a funnel cake topped with powdered sugar. When I had the tasty treat in hand, I took a large bite and savored the delicious flavors.

  This wasn’t exactly my healthiest day of eating, considering that I’d filled up on pumpkin pie a short time ago, but I’d at least started the day out well with oatmeal . . . and chocolate chips.

  Hopefully I could balance out my indulgences with a few more bike rides during the week.

  With my funnel cake in one hand, I checked my phone.

  He’s here, Rhonda had responded. Why?

  I tapped out another message with my thumb. I thought I’d check out his place . . . see if I can find any clues.

  Are you sure that’s a good idea? she wrote back. Maybe you should leave that to the police.

  She was probably right, but I asked her for Frank’s address anyway.

  I didn’t receive a response right away, but by the time I’d finished my funnel cake, she’d sent me the requested information. Fortunately, Frank didn’t live too far away, so I set off toward Willow Street.

  The weather was no longer as bright and welcoming as it had been earlier in the day. Gray clouds had rolled in, obscuring the sun, and a chilly wind whipped my hair into my face. I really needed to start remembering to wear gloves when heading outdoors. I’d at least put on a jacket before leaving the mill, but I had to tuck my hands inside my sleeves to keep them from going numb in the wind. I didn’t let the weather deter me from my plan, however. That probably would have taken torrential rains or a hailstorm.

  Although I knew it was unlikely that I’d find a bloody sword lying on Frank’s back porch, I wanted to take a look around anyway. As far as I knew, the police still hadn’t found the murder weapon, so it had to be somewhere. If Frank had killed Eric, maybe he was too dumb or too confident to have disposed of the weapon somewhere nobody would ever find it.

  Maybe.

  Realistically, I didn’t expect to find anything, but I couldn’t leave any stone unturned.

  When I arrived on the right street and approached the small but well-kept gray-and-white house, I slowed my steps. Ideally, I would have approached the property from a back alley, reducing my chances of being seen by someone, but there was no such back access to the lot.

  Time for Plan B, then.

  I glanced around and noted with relief that I was the only one out and about on the street. Doing my best to look as though I had every right to be on Frank’s property, I followed the narrow concrete path to the gate at the side of the house. While the front lawn was tidy and free of debris, on the other side of the gate, weeds poked their way up through the cracks in the pathway, and fallen leaves from a tree in the next yard lay scattered about.

  I moved quickly but cautiously toward the back of the house, trying to avoid the driest of the fallen leaves, not wanting to make any noise that might draw the attention of Frank’s neighbors. When I reached the backyard, I was glad to see that a couple of tall trees helped to shield me from any potential prying eyes.

  The back porch was my first destination. I crept across it and over to a window. Shading my eyes, I peered through the glass and into Frank’s kitchen. A newspaper lay on the table, and a coffee cup sat on the counter by the sink, but otherwise everything was neat and clean.

  It occurred to me that I didn’t know if Frank was married or not. I should have asked Rhonda if anyone else might be at
the house even though her boss was at the office. Since she hadn’t warned me of any such thing, I hoped it was because Frank lived alone.

  I moved over to the next window, this one larger than the last, and leaned close to the glass. This time I was looking in at a small den with a leather couch against one wall and a large television mounted above a gas fireplace. As with the kitchen, there wasn’t much to see. A closed laptop sat on the coffee table, but there were no swords in sight. In fact, there wasn’t anything remotely suspicious within view.

  I was about to draw back from the window when dry leaves crunched close by. I whirled around, my heart leaping up into my throat, expecting to find myself facing an irate Frank Fournier.

  “Do you make a habit of peering in people’s windows, Parker?”

  Grayson stood by the corner of the house, without his trophy now, but with an amused light in his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” I practically hissed at him, annoyed by the nickname and by the fact that he’d caught me snooping again.

  “Probably the same thing you’re doing. Looking for incriminating evidence.”

  “Keep your voice down,” I admonished in a whisper as I descended the porch steps to approach him. “So you think Frank Fournier could be the killer too?”

  He shrugged. “It’s possible. He could have burned down the antiques shop, hoping to get rid of his tenant and collect the insurance money. If your ex saw him starting the fire, Frank might have killed him.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking too,” I said, forgetting my annoyance for the moment. “You mentioned that Barry had some antique swords in stock. Frank could have grabbed one and used it to kill Eric.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Barely hearing him, I rested my hands on my hips. “But that still doesn’t explain why Eric’s body was all the way over by the creek.”

  “Maybe Fournier chased him a ways before catching up to him and killing him.”

  “That could explain it,” I agreed.

  “So, did you find anything while you were snooping?” Grayson asked, inclining his head toward the back windows.

  “You’re here to snoop too,” I reminded him. “If I’m a nosey Parker, so are you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But, no,” I said once we had that straight. “There’s still that shed, though.” I pointed to a small structure in the back corner of the yard.

  We crossed the grass together. Grayson tried the shed’s door, but it was locked, so I moved around the side to take a look through the small window. That didn’t prove very helpful. The glass was covered with dirt and cobwebs on the inside, making it impossible to see much other than shadows.

  “I can’t see anything,” I said quietly as I returned to the front of the shed.

  I stopped in my tracks when I saw Grayson open the shed door with one hand while slipping a credit card into his pocket with the other.

  “You picked the lock?” I was half surprised and half impressed.

  “I’d have no idea how to do such a thing,” he said, feigning innocence.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Once again, I wondered about his supposedly criminal past. He’d laughed at the rumor, but maybe there really was some truth to it.

  He was about to step into the shed, but I slipped in ahead of him. It didn’t do me much good. There wasn’t much to find inside the small space. The shed housed a lawnmower, a couple of rakes, and a weed whacker, but nothing else. No swords, bloody or otherwise, were tucked away in the corner.

  “Not much to see here,” Grayson echoed my thoughts.

  He was standing so close behind me that his breath tickled my ear.

  “I guess it was always a long shot,” I said, trying my best to sound composed and completely unfazed by his nearness.

  Dry leaves crunched beneath someone’s feet again, the sound drawing closer as it repeated. I spun around, my eyes wide.

  “Someone’s here!” I whispered.

  My first instinct was to hide, but Grayson grabbed my hand and tugged me out into the daylight just as a thin woman with gray hair rounded the corner of the house. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, and she was slight and bony, but she still managed to look as intimidating as heck. Maybe it was the deep scowl on her face, or maybe it was the fact that I already felt guilty for getting caught where I didn’t belong.

  The woman pointed a gnarled finger at us. “Who are you people, and what are you doing in Frank’s yard?”

  I stared at her like a deer in a car’s headlights, trying desperately to come up with some sort of innocent explanation for our presence. It was only when Grayson squeezed my hand that I realized he was still holding it.

  “We’re looking for our cat,” he said smoothly, sounding completely innocent and believable. “He’s been missing for two days, and we were walking around looking for him when we saw a cat like him disappear into this yard.”

  “That’s right,” I added quickly. “Only we haven’t found him.”

  Some of the woman’s suspicion faded, though not all of it. “What does your cat look like?”

  “He’s black,” Grayson said, just as I was about to say, “White.”

  “We call him Binx,” Grayson added.

  “As in Thackery?” I asked.

  He squeezed my hand again, and I realized what I’d done.

  “As in Thackery Binx,” I said, this time making it a statement rather than a question.

  The woman eyed me like she thought I was odd, which she probably did. “I don’t know what that means, but I haven’t seen a black cat around here lately.”

  “We’ll try the next street over,” Grayson said. Still holding my hand, he led me toward the gate. He held it open for the elderly woman. “Is that your house next door with the beautiful garden out front?”

  For the first time, the frown left her face. “It is. It’s not at its best right now, given the time of year. You should see it when the roses are in bloom.”

  Grayson latched the gate. “It must be spectacular then, because it looks incredible now.”

  The woman beamed at him. “I’ve got a garden around back as well. Stop by sometime in the spring or summer and I’ll show you around.”

  I noticed she only looked at Grayson when she extended the invitation.

  “I’d love that,” he said, giving her a smile.

  I almost expected to see animated hearts pour out of her eyes. From the way she was gazing at Grayson, it was clear she was completely smitten with him.

  She pressed a hand over her heart. “Good luck finding your cat.”

  “Thank you.”

  I thanked her as well, but I doubted she’d heard me.

  Grayson bestowed another smile upon her before we turned to leave.

  We were halfway down the street when I realized that my hand was still in his. I tugged it away, suddenly self-conscious.

  “You seem to have a new member of your fan club,” I said as I tried not to think about how I missed the warmth of his hand over mine.

  “I wasn’t aware I had a fan club.”

  “Made up of half the town. Although a few have probably dropped out since you beat everyone in the baking contest.”

  “What about you?” he asked, sounding both amused and curious.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you a member?”

  “Hardly.”

  As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I realized how rude it sounded. I shot a glance his way, but he didn’t appear the least bit insulted. On the contrary, his eyes practically danced with silent laughter.

  I should have been relieved that I hadn’t offended him, but instead I only felt a familiar prickle of annoyance creeping over my skin. Why did he find me so amusing?

  “That was a waste of time,” I grumbled, wanting to change the subject.

  “It wasn’t too likely that Fournier would leave incriminating evidence lying around his yard.”

  �
�I know that,” I said, even more annoyed now. “But I had to check, just in case. You clearly wanted to do the same.”

  He didn’t respond to that, and we crossed the street toward the village green in silence. I caught sight of a flash of red hair and realized that Cordelia was hurrying toward us.

  “Oh, good. You found her,” she said to Grayson. “I left your trophy in the tent like you asked.”

  “Found me?” I said before he could thank her. My suspicion meter had gone from zero to a hundred in half a second.

  “He lost you in the crowd here on the green,” Cordelia told me. “I mentioned that I’d seen you heading off that way.” She pointed in the direction we’d just come from.

  I swung around to face Grayson. “You followed me?”

  “You had a look on your face, like you had something planned,” he said, not anywhere near as sheepish as I thought he should be. “I wanted to keep you from getting into trouble.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of keeping myself out of trouble, thank you very much,” I fumed, choosing to ignore the fact that I’d been caught both times I’d gone snooping.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I was just trying to help.”

  There was so much I wanted to say in response, but I was determined not to lose my temper so I bit my tongue. Literally. When I felt sure I could control the words that would come out of my mouth, I eased up on my tongue and kept my voice even.

  “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need a keeper. Or a sidekick.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched at that last word.

  I smiled at Cordelia, who’d watched our exchange with wide eyes. “It was nice to see you again.”

  Without another word, I struck off across the green, glad to leave Grayson Blake behind me.

  Chapter 23

  It wasn’t until I’d reached the far end of the green that I managed to shake off my irritation. When I entered the tent, I forced myself to stop scowling, not wanting to scare off any tourists, but Aunt Gilda and Juliana were the only people present. I took over the Inkwell’s table for a while so Gilda could have a break, but only a handful of visitors wandered in while I was there. Aunt Gilda returned half an hour later, shooing me off to the Inkwell, ensuring me that she’d be fine for the rest of the day.