The Case of the Voracious Vintner

by Tara Lain

  “Sorry. I had a concussion, remember? I turned off my ringer. I forgot to turn it back on.”

  “I need to talk to you. Can you come in now?”

  “I gather it’s important?”

  “Vital.”

  “I’ll be there in a half hour.” He clicked off, turned the Prius, and started driving to Paso Robles, concocting his story as he went.

  Twenty-five distracted minutes later, he pulled into the police department parking lot and walked resolutely in to the desk and asked for O’Hara. When the detective showed up, he redefined frowning. “Thanks for coming. Get in here.”

  Bo followed him through the door to the busy department and entered the room O’Hara directed him to. Yes, it did have a mirror on one wall, thank you.

  O’Hara pointed at a chair. “Sit. Need coffee, water?”

  “No, thanks.”

  O’Hara sat opposite him. O’Hara’s interesting mix of tan skin, probably from some Hispanic blood, and light blue eyes made for a startling combination. Those eyes fixed on Bo. “Where were you last night?”

  Bo matched O’Hara’s frown. He did get right to it. “I was at home in bed until somewhere around two, and then I got worried and drove over to Jeremy Aames’s house.” Dear sweet God, he’d done it. He’d just lied to the police.

  “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “I’d tried to call him, and he didn’t answer. Since I figure whoever hit me probably thought I was him, I got spooked and couldn’t sleep. I drove over to check on him.” He shrugged, real noncommittal.

  “And what did you find?” O’Hara looked plenty skeptical.

  “I knocked and got no answer. The door was unlocked, which scared the fuck out of me, so I went in. I found Jeremy passed out cold on his couch. I tried to wake him, but he didn’t even stir. Then I smelled the alcohol and guessed he was dead drunk. He was still wearing his jacket, so I figured he might have been out, got drunk, made it home and inside, and collapsed.”

  O’Hara’s eyebrows pressed against the top of his eyes. “What did you do?”

  “I was still worried, so I left, locked the door, and sat in my car for quite a while. I think I fell asleep for a bit but finally woke up, drove home, and slept a couple hours before I got up and went to work.”

  “When you woke up, was Aames’s car still there?”

  “Yeah. I was blocking it, so he couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to.”

  O’Hara sat back and folded his hands across a flat stomach. “Is this the truth?”

  Bo adopted his best confused face. “Uh, sure. Why is this odd?” His heart beat to the rhythm of liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “Because.” O’Hara leaned forward and propped his forearms on the table. “Most people don’t get up in the middle of the night because they’re worried about a random friend. You got hit, maybe in his place. I’d think that would be an excuse to stay far away. Not go hanging around where it could happen again. So why should I believe you?”

  “I don’t understand why my motivations are even in question by the police.” There. That sounded convincing.

  “Because, Mr. Marchand, as I suspect you very well know, Mr. Aames is being questioned on suspicion of murder. A murder that was committed sometime last night.”

  Bo leaned forward, scowling, and it was no pretense. “Fuck that, sugah. Jeremy Aames wouldn’t kill anyone, and I’m here to say he didn’t.” He sat back. “Who’s dead?”

  “Ernest Ottersen.” He gave Bo that sidelong glance again. Bo just nodded. O’Hara said, “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “If you think Jeremy had a reason to kill someone, it makes sense it’d be Ottersen.”

  “So you think Aames had a motive for Ottersen’s murder?”

  Bo shrugged. “I know Jeremy was distraught over all the crappy tricks and deals Ottersen was pulling, most of them focused on Jeremy’s business. And you know that too, I’m sure. In fact, I was there in a restaurant when Jeremy got so angry he said he’d kill Ottersen, so yes, I expect you might think Jeremy had motive. But as I say, Jeremy would never kill anyone. Plus I happen to know where he was last night, so I think that’s that.” His heart felt like it was beating in his mouth, so he shut it.

  “Jeremy threatened Ottersen?”

  “Ottersen made a snarky remark to him, and Jeremy lost it.” Bo shrugged expansively. “Anyone could have said it, in my opinion.”

  “And you say he was asleep on his couch at home?”

  “That’s what I saw.”

  “What time did he get there?”

  Bo shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “Did he drive himself home?”

  “His car was there and no one else, so I guess so. But I don’t even know if he went out. I only know he was wearing his jacket.”

  “You willing to write all this down and sign it?” O’Hara reeked mistrust.

  “Sure.”

  “Mr. Marchand, why are you doing this?”

  Bo narrowed his eyes. “You asked me to come here and answer your damned questions. I’m doing that.” He met O’Hara’s eyes. “Are you going to let Jeremy go?”

  He fiddled with the papers in front of him. “Probably. We were just holding him for questioning, and our time will be up soon anyway.”

  “I could take him with me.”

  “It will take more time than that.”

  “If you call me, I’ll come and get him.” Bo stood.

  O’Hara gathered his stuff and stood across from Bo. “You certainly are a dedicated friend.”

  “Is there a problem with that?”

  “Probably not.” He smiled coolly. “I’ll call you when he’s ready to go, unless he chooses to contact someone else.”

  Bo nodded and walked to the door. O’Hara reached around him and opened it, then led Bo to the entrance. Bo said nothing as he walked out into the early-afternoon sunshine. His sterling reputation as an upstanding pillar of the community just shattered in a gazillion pieces.

  But maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten away with that.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “AGAIN, MR. Aames, can you prove where you were last night?”

  Jeremy leaned back in the chair and sighed—loudly. “Is there something about ‘I was passed out’ you don’t understand? I remember nothing, absolutely nothing after I felt myself falling on the porch of the Backstreet Bar.”

  “No idea how you got home? If you drove yourself? If anyone saw you?”

  “No. If I thought someone could corroborate my story, don’t you think I’d be yelling it at the top of my lungs? Yes, someone might have seen me. There were an assload of people in that bar. But I have no idea who.” He grabbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed. A whole day sitting in an interrogation room had not ranked on the top of his favorite things list. Suddenly he looked up. “Hey, since I presumably had means, motive, and opportunity, why aren’t you charging me?”

  “Who says I won’t? Do not leave town without informing me first, understand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So your friend”—he said the word with emphasis—“Bo Marchand offered to pick you up when you were released. Since you didn’t request someone else, I called him. You can call him off if you act quick.” He handed Jeremy back his phone that had been confiscated under some made-up rule of no cell phones in the interrogation room.

  “How did Bo know I was even here?”

  “I called him in for questioning.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not the only one who hated Ernest Ottersen.”

  “Actually, Bo owns one of the least affected wineries in the region. His growing methods are hard to duplicate. Plus you can’t believe that sweet man would ever hurt a sugar cookie.”

  “Speaking frankly, to defend you, I don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do.”

  Jeremy coughed to cover his own indrawn breath. “He’s a protective kind of guy.”

  “Is Bo Marchand your lover, Mr. Aames?”
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  Jeremy frowned. “Bo’s straight, more’s the pity.”

  “I’ve been unable to determine any long-term relationships he has with women.”

  “You’ve been asking?” He stared daggers at O’Hara.

  “It’s my job.”

  “To pry into people’s love lives?”

  “Love lives are frequently connected to murder.”

  “Bo’s my friend. I never said I don’t wish it were more.” He put his wallet in his pocket. “Can I go?”

  “Yes.”

  Jeremy stood. Jesus, he felt like he’d been sitting forever. O’Hara marched him out to the lobby of the building. Bo sat in a chair, flipping through his phone, looking better than ice cream. It took almost more willpower than Jeremy had to keep from running to him and planting a kiss on those patrician lips.

  Bo looked up, smiled, visibly adjusted his expression to one of concern, and stood to his considerable height. He walked forward. “Are you okay?”

  “As good as can be expected. Thanks for coming to get me. I could have called Christian.”

  O’Hara, who stood behind Jeremy, snorted. “Considering how certain he was that you killed Mr. Ottersen, you might want to question your relationship.”

  Bo gave O’Hara a scathing look. “The man’s a twit.”

  O’Hara actually laughed. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, but don’t quote me.” He nodded to Bo. “Don’t either of you—”

  Jeremy wanted to strangle O’Hara. “—leave town without informing you. We know!”

  “Just checking.”

  Bo gave O’Hara a head bob back, then took hold of Jeremy’s forearm with his big, strong hand and guided him toward the door. Outside, the sunlight felt like heaven, but not as good as that warm body beside him. He wanted to hurl himself into Bo’s arms and get hugs and kisses. Fat chance with half the Paso police watching—or maybe it was just O’Hara, but same thing.

  Bo’s Prius looked like a port in a storm. Bo beeped the lock as they approached, and Jeremy walked to the passenger side and got in. Bo was already behind the wheel. Without even looking at Jeremy, he pulled out of the police department parking lot and headed toward the wine country. Ooooookay. Doghouse city.

  “Are you pissed at me?”

  Bo held up a finger toward Jeremy and kept driving.

  Hmm.

  When they’d left the town proper and pulled onto Highway 46 toward the wineries, Bo seemed to take a breath and lighten up—a little. Before Jeremy could say something else, Bo made a sharp right-hand turn onto one of the more remote tracks off the highway, bumped down the road a short distance, slammed on his brakes, turned off the car, and reached for Jeremy all in one move.

  One moment Jeremy was forming his lips to ask a question and the next those lips were consumed by Bo’s hot, demanding mouth. Oh, much better than talking.

  Jeremy wrapped his arms tightly around Bo’s wide shoulders and tried to crawl across the console. Clearly getting the idea, Bo hauled Jeremy onto his lap, simultaneously pushing the seat as far back as it would go. Still, it was a Prius, and neither of them was teeny. The laws of solid geometry were being tested. Jeremy didn’t care. The tighter the better. He straddled Bo as best he could manage, both legs awkwardly bent in the tight confines of the seat, but he still succeeded in splaying his thighs enough to get their cocks into proximity; then he just leaned forward and rode hard, never releasing Bo’s mouth.

  Bo moaned and slid a hand between them until Jeremy got the message. He leaned back enough to let Bo slide down his own zipper while Jeremy did the same. Bo dug inside Jeremy’s fly and released the ravening beast to meet his own big cock, then wrapped a paw around them and pumped, attacking Jeremy’s mouth again.

  For a minute Jeremy let Bo explore his tongue and the soft insides of his cheeks, but the divided sensation overwhelmed him, and he pulled back. “Too much.” He wrapped a hand partway around Bo’s package and increased the speed and pressure until his dick was ready to power into outer space beside the Falcon Heavy. “Oh damn, Bo. Can’t last much longer!”

  Bo rummaged in his back pocket with his free hand and brought forth his cloth handkerchief that he wrapped around the leaking heads of their penises. He gazed deep and intently into Jeremy’s eyes with that crystal green gaze and hit the blastoff button.

  Both of them breathed so hard there had to be an oxygen deficit in the car. Their grunts and moans just spurred on the jerking and the thrusting of their hips. Hell, he loved this. Like healthy young animals in heat, desperate for release.

  But somewhere under the lust, that other L word lurked. Think about that later.

  Jeremy threw back his head and surrendered to the fire in his loins and the bolts of electricity shooting out from his balls until one shot turned to orgasm, and his body froze as waves of pleasure washed over him, exploding the top of his head into the stars while juice spurted from his cock.

  Another shout, Bo’s this time, joined the chorus, and his body shook and trembled against Jeremy’s thighs.

  When Jeremy stopped shuddering, he opened his eyes and stared at the now soaked handkerchief. Oh man, maybe I can save it forever.

  Bo let his head fall forward against Jeremy’s. He wiped their softening shafts with the cloth, then tossed it on the floor, pulling Jeremy close against his chest. He spoke softly against Jeremy’s ear. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. At least I didn’t have to spend the night in jail. Although to tell you the truth, I’m not sure why they let me go.”

  Bo got very still.

  “What? What did you do?”

  “I, uh, lied to the police.”

  “What?” He sprang back, hitting the steering wheel and honking the horn, which made them both jump.

  “Llewellyn and Blaise found out the bartender from the Backstreet brought you home, and I learned the murder occurred sometime between 2:00 and 5:00 a.m. I said I was worried about you and came to your house, your door was open, and you were sleeping on the sofa wearing your jacket.” He grinned. “Nice touch, right?”

  Jeremy frowned at him and shook his head. “I can’t believe any of this. What else?”

  “I said I sat in my Prius and fell asleep, but I was blocking your car, so you couldn’t have sneaked out.” He shrugged. “So I left a little before six, went home, slept an hour, and then got O’Hara’s call to come in.”

  “And none of this is true?”

  Bo shook his head like a guilty puppy. If ever there was cause for kissing— “I figured the story gave you an alibi, but you didn’t have to know anything about it. Plus I don’t believe anyone in my family can say I was or wasn’t there. I parked my car last night by my bedroom. There’s a small back door I use sometimes, though not often since Mama considers it antisocial. I’ve got to confess, I’ve got my fingers crossed on that detail.”

  The battle between kissing and killing raged in Jeremy’s chest. “So you risked yourself lying to the police to protect me?”

  Bo looked up, met Jeremy’s eyes for a second, and then stared at the console.

  The magnitude overwhelmed him. He dragged himself off Bo’s lap and into the passenger seat, his now very flaccid dick still hanging from his fly. “What are you? Nuts! Sweet freaking Christ, every time I breathe I get you into more damned trouble!” He threw his hands in the air. “How do you know I didn’t pretend to be drugged, drive to Ottersen’s, kill him, and take him to my tasting room?” The idiocy of what he’d just said struck him. “Okay, so maybe I found him in my tasting room and got so incensed I shot him.”

  “He wasn’t shot.”

  “Hit him with a hot poker. I don’t know, dammit, but you can’t go risking yourself on the chance that I didn’t do it.”

  “There’s no chance you did it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.” He set his very masculine jaw in a very stubborn line. “And even if there were, why on earth would you leave his body in your own tasting room?”

&nbs
p; “Drunk?”

  “If you were sober enough to kill him, you’d have been sober enough to dump him in the creek or the ocean or someplace.” Bo looked up, very serious. “O’Hara didn’t really believe my story. He as much as said so. But he used it as an excuse to let you go because he also knows it makes no sense for you to dump your victim in your own damned winery. He doesn’t think you did it.”

  “Couldn’t have proved it by me.”

  “I figured you’d maybe want to help me discover who did kill Ottersen and give ’em a thank-you note.” He gave a sideways smile.

  “Now that’s a plan.” He shared the smile but looked away. Unfortunately he was getting scared about who murdered Ottersen and why. He didn’t want Bo anywhere near involved. “But truthfully, I’m not sure either one of us should be poking around in police business. I could end up in jail with you beside me.”

  A frown flashed across Bo’s face. No wonder. He’s got to believe I’m wimping out on him. Still—

  The car got very quiet. Some kind of internal battle seemed to be raging in the driver’s seat. Bo skewered Jeremy with a stare. “Why did you go to the Backstreet Bar?”

  Jeremy sighed. “I wanted to get drunk. I just felt so defeated. All I could think about was drowning my sorrows.”

  “I told you we’d work it out together. I said I’d find a way to make this all okay.”

  Jeremy shook his head like an emphatic cow. “No, you can’t do any more for me. Somehow I’ve got to work this out for myself.”

  “Did you go there to have sex?” He spoke softly and stared at the gearshift.

  “No. Of course not. I haven’t had sex with anyone since I started mooning over you.” Jeremy gripped the bridge of his nose—again. Headaches seemed to be a part of his status quo.

  Suddenly Bo’s head snapped up. “I’ve been thinking….”

  “About what?”

  Bo took a huge breath, let it out slowly, and then met Jeremy’s eyes. “I know you don’t trust me, Jeremy, and I don’t blame you. I’m a chickenshit mama’s boy, and you can’t believe I’m serious in my feelings for you if I persist in this cowardice.”

  “Sweet Jesus, Bo. I should polish your boots with my tongue, you’re such a good and generous person. I have no right to ask anything from you.”