“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fletcher,” she said.
“Real sorry to hear about Sara and Mary.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said quietly.
“Good morning, Lucy,” Mason said. “Jillian. Mind if we join you?”
Jillian opened her mouth in what Lucy was pretty sure was going to be a no.
“Please do,” Lucy said.
Neither man hesitated. They each grabbed a chair from a nearby table, snapped it into position and sat down.
Jillian looked seriously irritated, but she was trapped and she knew it. The table was Lucy’s, after all.
Deke inclined his head at Jillian in a crisp, military-style acknowledgment of her presence that gave away nothing of what he was thinking.
“Jillian,” he said. “Surprised to see you here this morning.”
“I heard Lucy was in town,” Jillian said. Each word was chipped from ice. “She and I have some private business.”
“Is that so?” Deke looked at Lucy, brows raised.
She smiled. “Trust me, it’s nothing that can’t wait.”
Jillian got a pinched look and rose quickly.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “I’ve got an appointment. Lucy, I’ll get in touch with you later to set up a private meeting.”
“I’m going to be quite busy for the next few days,” Lucy said. “But I’ll check my calendar and see if I can free up some time for you.”
“You might want to do that,” Jillian said evenly. “There is a considerable amount of money at stake, and you stand to do very well out of the deal if you manage to find the time to discuss the details.”
“Sounds good,” Lucy said. “I like to talk about making money as much as the next person. But right now I’m a little busy.”
Jillian looked torn. Then she appeared to come to a major decision. She smiled.
“I understand,” she said. “Listen, Quinn and I are having a reception at the winery to celebrate Warner’s birthday this evening. We’ll be opening the first bottles of the Colfax Reserve. Everyone at the winery feels it will set the wine world on fire. I know it’s awfully short notice, but I would love it if you could join us.”
“Wow, déjà vu all over again,” Lucy said. She smiled. “Got a surprise in store for me this time, too?”
“Good question,” Mason said.
Jillian looked blank. “I’m afraid I don’t get the joke.”
“The last party you invited me to wasn’t intended to end well for me, was it?” Lucy said. “I was just wondering how this one is slated to finish.”
Jillian’s eyes went very cold. “That was a long time ago.”
“And Brinker is dead,” Lucy finished quietly.
Jillian’s hand tightened around the strap of her purse. “Yes. I doubt if there is anyone who will mourn him.”
An acute silence descended on the table. Lucy knew they were all waiting for her reaction.
“Thank you for the invitation to the reception,” she said. “But I’d feel very awkward attending alone. Okay if I bring someone with me?”
Jillian was almost pathetically relieved. “Yes, of course. You’re more than welcome to bring a date. But I thought you were here in Summer River on your own. Is someone joining you?”
“My date for the evening will be Mason.” Lucy looked politely at Mason. “Assuming he’s willing.”
Mason watched her with a steady, calculating expression. “He’s definitely willing. I’ve never been invited to one of those classy winery receptions. This should be interesting.”
Jillian did not look thrilled, but she managed a determined smile. “Fine. We’ll see you both tonight, then. Seven-thirty.” She paused to give Lucy one last bright smile. “Dress code is the usual—wine-country casual.”
“I’ll make sure to clean my boots,” Mason said.
Jillian ignored that. She adjusted her shoulder bag and walked briskly toward the door.
Lucy looked at Mason and Deke. “Wine-country casual?”
Deke chuckled. “Don’t look at me, I’ve never been invited to any of those shindigs at the wineries.”
Becky appeared at the table. “Neither have I, but I can give you one piece of advice, Mason: Whatever you do, don’t wear a suit and tie. You’ll stand out like a tourist.”
“Wouldn’t want to do that,” Mason said.
Becky took herself off to seat two more customers who had appeared in the doorway.
Mason looked at Lucy and lowered his voice. “Just out of sheer curiosity, what the hell were you thinking by accepting Jillian’s invitation?”
“I’m thinking that a Colfax family gathering is an excellent place to start asking a few questions,” she said.
“Damn,” Mason said. “I was afraid of that.”
Deke looked interested. “What kind of questions do you plan on asking?”
Mason exhaled slowly. “She doesn’t think that the car crash that killed Sara and Mary was an accident.”
“Well, hell,” Deke said. He said it very, very softly.
“I was willing to accept that verdict at first,” Lucy said. “Accidents happen. But now I’m working on the theory that Sara’s and Mary’s deaths are linked to the shares of Colfax Inc. that I inherited.”
“Huh,” Deke said. He looked intrigued.
“Must be something about being back in Summer River,” Lucy said. “Brings out my suspicious side.”
“Yeah, mine, too,” Mason admitted.
Deke looked at him. “Hell, you’ve been suspicious your whole life.”
“Same with you,” Mason said. “Probably in the blood.”
“Probably,” Deke agreed. He turned back to Lucy. “Got any evidence of this theory of yours?”
“Three dead people, all of whom are in one way or another connected to Colfax Inc.”
Mason picked up his coffee cup. “As the only professional investigator present, I feel obliged to point out yet again that one of the deaths occurred thirteen years ago and in all probability is unrelated to the deaths of Sara and Mary.”
“I’m aware of that,” Lucy said. “And as I told you, I agree with you. But still, there are three deaths.”
“Are you going to mention your theory to Chief Whitaker when we talk to him this morning?” Mason asked. His tone was neutral, but there was a sharp, watchful curiosity in his eyes.
“No, not yet,” Lucy said. “He’ll want proof. In my experience, the cops and the courts prefer a nice chain of evidence.”
“In your experience?” Deke asked.
“A large part of my job with Brookhouse Research consists of gathering solid evidence to prove or disprove the claims of a lost or missing heir. Trust me, that requires a clear trail, because there is usually a lot of money at stake. People are always willing to fight very hard in court to get their hands on hard cash.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Deke said. “Folks get killed on the street for a few bucks or a little dope. No telling what they’d do for a cut of a multimillion-dollar inheritance.”
“It’s true I don’t deal in gunshot residue and blood-spatter patterns,” Lucy said. “But I have to track down things like birth, marriage and death certificates that can be used to build a family tree that might go back several generations. I use immigration and census records. Draft registration records. Military service papers. Property records and wills and trusts and so on. Believe me, I know what it takes to build a case.”
Mason glanced at the yellow pad. He did not look impressed. “And that’s what you’re going to try to do here in Summer River?”
“Yes.” Lucy pulled the yellow pad closer in a protective gesture. “In my line, it always comes down to the family.”
Deke narrowed his eyes. “Given t
hat the family you’re dealing with controls a fortune—not to mention a lot of what goes on in this town—it might be a good idea to keep your little theory just between the three of us, at least for now.”
“Don’t worry, I intend to do just that.” Lucy collected the yellow pad and her tote. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.”
“Where are you going?” Mason asked.
“Got a big day today. First I have to get ready for our interview with Chief Whitaker, and then I go shopping.”
“You want to shop?”
“For something to wear tonight. I didn’t bring any evening clothes with me. I need to find out what wine-country casual means. Enjoy your coffee, gentlemen.”
She went briskly toward the door, but she was not quite out of earshot when she heard Mason’s low-voiced comment to Deke.
“Damn,” he said softly. “This is going to get complicated.”
“No kidding,” Deke said. “I think we just got stuck with the check.”
12
It’s impossible to describe wine-country casual,” Teresa Vega announced. “But around here you know it when you see it. The look covers a lot of territory, especially when it comes to women’s wear. Think elegant, laid-back chic—expensive elegant, laid-back chic. You want to look as if you were born to the vineyard life, as if your family has been in wine for generations.”
“You know the rule,” Lucy said. “You can’t go wrong with a little black dress. I’ve got several in my closet at home. Too bad I didn’t bring one with me.”
“There’s an exception to every rule. Wine-country casual happens to be the exception to the little-black-dress rule.”
“I am putting myself into your hands, Teresa.”
Lucy studied the artfully displayed clothes that filled Teresa’s Closet, a small, colorful boutique just a block away from the inn. Teresa had recognized Lucy the minute she walked through the door. Her delight at the reunion had been genuine. Her condolences had been sincere.
Lucy had been surprised by the little burst of warmth that she had experienced when she and Teresa exchanged hugs. It had, after all, been thirteen years since they had last seen each other. Teresa had been Teresa Alvarez in those days.
Part of the bond between Teresa and herself that last summer had hinged on the fact that both of them had been excluded from the cool-kids list. But they had other things in common as well. Teresa’s parents had also separated. Although Lucy’s folks had split up three years earlier, she had still been grappling with the fallout. Teresa had been able to offer some pragmatic teenage advice. The first and most useful bit had been Don’t waste your time hoping your folks will get back together. That’s just a fantasy for little kids. The second Teresa saying had proven equally valid: Don’t bother asking them why they got divorced. They’ll tell you everything but the truth. Lucy remembered asking, “What is the truth?” To which Teresa had replied with clear-eyed wisdom, “One of them got tired of being married to the other and started sleeping with someone else.” That, too, had proved to be true.
Thirteen years ago, Teresa had been a shy teen with big brown eyes and glasses. She’d had an obsession with fashion and design, and had spent hours online studying the latest trends and style blogs. Even on the limited allowance her struggling single mother had provided, she’d had a knack for looking put-together. Today she appeared effortlessly chic and casually elegant in a way that was somehow just right for the proprietor of a clothing boutique in wine country.
“The wine country doesn’t do little black dresses,” Teresa said. “If you show up at the Colfax reception in a black dress you’ll stand out like a tourist.”
“I’m getting the impression that is not considered a good thing.”
“Well, it does imply you are not a local. And while it’s true that you were not born and raised here, you’ve still got deep roots in Summer River.”
“Those roots are not in the wine industry. Aunt Sara owned an apple orchard, remember?”
“So what? It’s not like the Colfaxes have several generations of wine-making in the blood, either. Their money comes from a hedge fund. Everyone around here knows the winery is just a hobby for Warner Colfax.”
Lucy smiled. “You don’t think Quinn and Jillian have an interest in making fine boutique wines with the Colfax name on the label?”
“Good question, actually. They don’t care about the wine, but they do enjoy playing the role of wine-country socialites. So does the second Mrs. Warner Colfax, by the way. You did hear about the divorce, didn’t you?”
“Mason mentioned it.”
“Rumor has it that Quinn was furious when his father dumped his mother for a woman who is younger than Quinn,” Teresa said.
“Second and third marriages usually don’t sit well with the offspring of the first marriage. I can personally testify to that truism. Also, I see a lot of family drama based on that dynamic.”
“Sara told me about your job with an investigation agency that specializes in finding lost heirs.” Teresa’s expression brightened with curiosity. “It sounds fascinating.”
Lucy recalled the scene in the bar when the Grieving Widow had tossed the contents of a glass of beer in her face. “It has its moments. Well, if the little black dress is out, what do you suggest?”
Teresa moved around the end of the counter. “I’ve got a couple of things, either one of which will be perfect for tonight.”
“Great. I certainly didn’t come prepared for this kind of party—or any party at all, for that matter.”
Teresa took down a summery, cap-sleeved, knee-length dress in a shade of blue that had summer sky written all over it. “Something along these lines with a light sweater or wrap will work. It turns cool after sundown.”
“I’ll need shoes as well.”
“Absolutely no heels. Wine-country casual means flats or wedges or sandals. Parties at wineries are often held at least partially outdoors or on a terrace, especially at this time of year. You’re supposed to look like you are prepared to tramp around the vineyards or go do some work in the tank room at any given moment.”
“Got it.” Lucy glanced at the ring on Teresa’s left hand. “Sara mentioned you were married.”
Teresa laughed. “Two kids, a couple of dogs, a mortgage and a husband—not necessarily in that order, I might add.”
“Congratulations. I’m glad it worked out so well for you.”
Teresa gave her a commiserating look. “Your aunt told me that your engagement had ended.”
“As everyone keeps reminding me, better to find out things weren’t going to work before the marriage than afterward.”
“True. Was he a total jerk?”
“I found him in bed with someone else.”
“Right.” Teresa nodded. “Total jerk. Think of it as an experiment that didn’t go well.”
“It was a mistake, not an experiment.”
“Uh-uh.” Teresa wagged her forefinger. “You know what they say, it’s only a mistake if you don’t learn from it.”
“I learned a lot from it,” Lucy said. “Saw a very expensive therapist for about six weeks afterward.”
“And?”
“Turns out I’ve got commitment issues.”
“Bullshit.”
“The implication was that it was probably my fault that the engagement ended. My inability to commit drove the total jerk to another woman.”
“I repeat, bullshit. A total jerk is a total jerk. Total jerks are incapable of change. On some level you must have sensed the total jerkiness of your fiancé, and that is why you couldn’t commit. So either consciously or unconsciously you tested him, and sure enough your suspicions proved to be correct.”
“Wow.” Lucy was impressed. “That is deep, Teresa.”
“Yes, I know.�
� Teresa smiled a smug little smile. “You should have consulted me instead of a very expensive therapist. I would have sold you the right clothes and sent you out to look for a replacement for the total jerk.”
Lucy laughed. “You’re right. I needed retail therapy after my engagement ended, not psychological counseling. What was I thinking?”
“I can tell you that your taste in men has already taken a quantum leap forward.”
“Meaning?”
“Mason Fletcher is taking you to the ball, Cinderella. How cool is that?”
“It’s not exactly a date,” Lucy said quickly.
“Yes, it is a date, your second one, according to my calculations. Mason was with you when you found Brinker’s body in your aunt’s fireplace, wasn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but I’m not sure finding a dead body together constitutes a date.”
“So dates with Mason are a little different than dates with other men. That’s a good thing, if you ask me.” Teresa took down a second breezy dress in the muted colors of twilight. “Have they figured out for sure if it was Brinker’s body in your aunt’s fireplace?”
“The verdict isn’t final, but there’s really not much doubt. When Mason and I gave our statements to Chief Whitaker this morning, I could tell that he was going on the assumption that the body was that of Tristan Brinker. They have determined that it is the body of a male about Brinker’s age. Whitaker said he couldn’t find any record of another man going missing in the vicinity of Summer River that year.”
“It’s Brinker. Has to be him.” Teresa shook her head. “Hard to imagine your sweet little aunt killing anyone, but as long as she did get into the mood, I can’t say I’m sorry she chose Brinker as her target. In hindsight, it’s clear he was a real sociopath. I don’t have any trouble at all picturing him as the Scorecard Rapist.”
“I agree.”
“Wonder why Sara did it, though. Do you think he attacked her? Maybe she defended herself and was afraid to call the cops because she had just killed Jeffrey Brinker’s son. Brinker senior would have made her life a living hell if he found out that she was responsible for the death of his precious heir. In his eyes, Tristan could do no wrong.”
River Road Page 9