River Road

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  The lights gleamed on the large, stainless-steel fermentation tanks and the piping connected to them. The cold glow of the overheads revealed something else as well. Warner Colfax lay, unmoving, on the floor.

  “You killed him, too?” Lucy said quietly.

  “He’s not dead—not yet.” Beth smiled. “He drank some of my own private-reserve supply of bottled water. He should be coming around soon. I want him awake to witness the destruction of his precious winery. He’s going up in flames along with it.”

  “What happens now?”

  “As long as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.” Beth gestured with her free hand. “Take those bottles out of that rack and put them into the boxes that are sitting on the trolley. When you finish loading the boxes, you will wheel them outside and put them into the back of the van.”

  “You want me to pick up whole cases of wine and load them into a van?”

  “Why not? I do it all the time. You look strong to me.”

  Lucy went to where the bottles of Reserve were stacked in small clusters in the wine racks. She removed one bottle and placed it gingerly into the wine carton.

  “Faster,” Beth said.

  Warner Colfax chose that moment to groan. Beth glanced at him, frowning.

  There wasn’t going to be a better chance, Lucy thought. She grabbed two bottles out of the rack and flung one of them directly at Beth. Beth turned back quickly, yelped in panic and managed to dodge the missile. The bottle shattered when it struck the floor, splashing dark red wine on Beth’s pants and shirt.

  “Damn you,” Beth shrieked. “What have you done?”

  For a heartbeat or two, her horrified attention was fixed on the valuable wine spilling like fresh blood across the floor.

  Lucy was already in motion. Clutching the remaining bottle, she fled for her life, racing to put a row of gleaming steel fermentation tanks between herself and Beth.

  The gun roared. Lucy heard shots crack in quick succession. Some sounded as if they had struck the steel tanks.

  For the first time in her life she wished she knew something about firearms. As it was, she had absolutely no idea how many shots Beth could fire with the particular gun she was using. Then again, who could count under such stressful circumstances?

  She ducked behind a long row of casks stacked as high as her shoulders and tried to breath light, shallow breaths. Mercifully, the HVAC system hummed throughout the building. The low rumbling of the machinery provided some ambient noise.

  “How could you do that?” Beth screamed. “You have no concept of what you just destroyed, do you? It took me three years to get that blend the way I wanted it. Three years of my life.”

  Her footsteps echoed on the floor. Beth moved forward cautiously, stopping every few steps for a short time. Lucy could not see her, but it was all too easy to imagine what was happening. Beth was stalking her through the tank room.

  The occasional pause in Beth’s footfalls no doubt came when she stopped to peer underneath the fermentation tanks. They were elevated off the floor.

  It would not be long before she turned the corner and started down the row of casks where Lucy crouched. Just a matter of time.

  Time was exactly what she needed. She had to buy some for herself. Sooner or later Mason would realize that she had disappeared. He would find her.

  In the shadows she could make out a door set with translucent glass that looked like it opened onto an office or a storage room. She might be able to make it into the space and lock the door behind her, but she doubted it would do her much good. It would be only a matter of seconds before Beth blasted her way through the lock.

  Still, there were possibilities, Lucy thought.

  She took off her shoes and experimented with a couple of barefoot steps, hoping the background noise of the ventilation equipment would cover the faint sounds she might make.

  Luckily, Beth started talking again.

  “Everything has gone so wrong,” she wailed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was going to be a star in the world of wine.”

  Under cover of the chatter, Lucy managed a few more steps. She was almost at the office door.

  Beth was very close now, moving steadily along the tank aisle. In a moment she would turn the corner and see the glass-fronted office door.

  Lucy got down on her hands and knees and crawled to the door. She reached up and tried the handle, half expecting to find the room locked. But the knob turned easily.

  She opened the door. The interior lay in darkness, but light from the main room glanced off what appeared to be a lot of chemistry apparatus.

  “My lab,” Beth screamed. “No, don’t go in there.”

  She broke into a run. Lucy slammed the door closed and then retreated behind the casks. She gripped the neck of the wine bottle tightly in both hands.

  Beth rushed to the door and yanked it open. She fired wildly into the shadows. Glass shattered, popped and exploded.

  The shots stopped abruptly just as Lucy swung the bottle of Reserve at Beth’s head.

  Beth started to turn, automatically putting up an arm. She managed to deflect some of the force of the blow. But the impact, the breaking glass and the shock of the attack sent her reeling backward into the lab. She lost her balance, bounced off a metal bench laden with what was no doubt state-of-the-art wine-science apparatus and finally went down hard. She did not move. Blood mingled with the wine on the floor.

  Lucy struggled to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding. She braced one hand against the doorjamb, transfixed by the pools of blood and wine.

  Somewhere a small voice in her head was yelling at her to call Mason—no, 911. She had to get her priorities straight, but it was hard to think. One step at a time. Get out of the damn winery and then call for help.

  Okay, I can do this.

  Footsteps echoed in the shadows behind her.

  Help was already here. Relief washed through her.

  She started to push herself away from the doorframe.

  “I have to tell you, I didn’t see this coming,” Cecil Dillon said. “But a good CEO is nothing if not adaptable. I can work with this scenario.”

  49

  Nice work,” Cecil said. He glanced at Beth. “I was going to get rid of her anyway.”

  “I don’t think she’s dead,” Lucy said. “Not yet. She’s still bleeding.”

  “She’ll be dead soon enough, another victim of the fire that destroyed the Colfax Winery.”

  “This would be a really good time to cut your losses and get out of town, Cecil. No one is dead yet.”

  “Actually, two people are dead. Sara Sheridan and Mary Colfax.”

  “You killed them. When you realized the car was not going to explode in flames, you went down that hillside and used a rock to murder my aunt and her friend.”

  “Beth told me about Manzanita Road. We drove there together to check it out. She’s the one who made sure the right bottles of water went into the picnic basket that day, but I’m the one who followed Sara and Mary and sent their car off that particular point on Manzanita Road. I couldn’t trust Beth not to screw up, you see.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  “Mary was dead by the time I got down to the bottom of the hillside. I’m pretty sure that Sara was dying, but she was still conscious. She couldn’t move, but she watched me with those weird eyes. She watched me pick up the rock. She knew what I was going to do and she just looked at me like she knew everything about me. She smiled.”

  “How could you kill her like that?” Lucy whispered.

  “She spoke, you know. There at the end. She said, Karma. And then she said, You’re next. It was like the bitch had put a curse on me. After that, everything started to go wrong.”

  “You also tried
to kill Mason on River Road.”

  “No, that was Beth.” Cecil shook his head. “And the stupid woman did, indeed, screw up. I knew going in she was a risk, but I needed her help.”

  “Beth was willing to help you because you made her believe that Colfax was plotting to bring in a new winemaker.”

  “And also because I told her that I was a long-lost relative of Brinker’s, his half-brother, in fact. Unfortunately, Beth turned out to be something of a loose cannon.”

  “You used her, but in the end you couldn’t control her, so now you’re going to kill her.”

  “And you as well, I’m afraid. You can blame Beth for that. I never intended to get rid of you. I do realize it will draw Mason Fletcher’s attention.”

  “You’ve got a real talent for understatement,” Lucy said. “There was a saying here in Summer River in the old days. Don’t mess with Mason Fletcher.”

  “I’d rather not deal with Fletcher, but now that you’re involved, I don’t have any choice. I’m not concerned about him, to tell you the truth. Nothing in this situation connects with me. It will begin and end with Beth. She had motive, opportunity and access to drugs and a firearm. That will be enough.”

  “You’re here to clean up all the loose ends, is that it?” Lucy said.

  “Five minutes after meeting you I realized that you were going to be a problem. I could see it in those damned eyes of yours. They’re just like Sara Sheridan’s eyes. You’re the one who dragged Fletcher into this. I understand now why my dear, departed half-brother hated him so much.”

  A shadow shifted in the gloom that enveloped a row of fermentation tanks behind Cecil. Or maybe it was just her fevered imagination, Lucy thought.

  Keep him talking. The bastard has the same character flaws that Brinker had. He thinks he’s the smartest man in the room.

  “I knew this would all come down to family,” Lucy said. “How did you find out that you were related to Brinker?” she asked.

  “Pure chance.” Cecil smiled. “I grew up with nothing. My mother used to gripe about how her lover gave her a few thousand bucks and dumped her when she got pregnant. He told her to get an abortion and assumed she did just that. But she spent the money on dope. By the time I got old enough to ask questions, she was so deep into the drugs I couldn’t believe anything she said. After the old lady died, I found some photos in her closet. I got curious about my family history and went online.”

  “You discovered that you were Jeffrey Brinker’s son and that he had ignored you in his will. So you started digging deeper.”

  “Imagine my surprise when I realized how badly my old man had been shafted by Warner Colfax.”

  “And how you, in turn, had been stiffed. You set out to get revenge.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell.”

  That shadow shifted again. This time Brinker noticed. He started to turn around.

  Mason spoke from behind a gleaming tank.

  “Down, Lucy.”

  Lucy reacted instinctively to Mason’s command, throwing herself behind a row of casks.

  Shots boomed in the room. Lucy heard a gun clatter on the floor.

  “You damned son of a bitch,” Cecil grated.

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the cavernous space.

  Lucy peeked around the corner of the row of casks. She saw Cecil running toward the front door, clutching his shoulder.

  Mason appeared from behind a tank.

  “Get his gun,” he ordered.

  He went after Cecil.

  “He’s headed your way, Quinn,” he shouted.

  Lucy managed to stagger to her feet. She emerged from behind the casks and started toward the gun. She got two steps before she felt the sharp pain in her bare foot. She halted, looked down and saw the blood.

  “Damn, damn, damn.”

  She raised her foot and yanked out the shard of broken glass. Blood rushed from the wound. It should have hurt, she thought, but she felt nothing, just a curiously numb sensation.

  She limped forward a few more steps and scooped up Cecil’s weapon. She had never held a gun in her life. It was surprisingly heavy.

  There was a commotion and some shouting from the other end of the winery. She made her way forward, trailing blood.

  “Mason,” she yelled.

  “Stay back,” he ordered.

  She stopped, but she could see him now. He had his back to her, his gun in his hand. She took in the situation in an instant.

  Warner Colfax was on his feet, dazed but very much aware of what was going on. Cecil had his injured arm around Colfax’s neck. There was a large, antique iron corkscrew in his good hand. The sharp tip of the corkscrew was aimed at Colfax’s throat. Colfax’s face was frozen with panic.

  “Give it up, Dillon,” Mason said. “It’s over.”

  “It’s Colfax’s fault,” Cecil said, his voice harsh with rage. “Everything. He cheated my father, and my father cheated me.”

  “Killing him won’t fix any of it,” Mason said.

  Colfax’s jaw worked. “I didn’t cheat Brinker, I swear it.”

  “You lie,” Cecil said. “You knew he wasn’t thinking straight. He’d just found out he had a bad heart and his son had been declared dead. You took advantage of that to make him a lowball offer for his share of the company. I went back and read all the papers, you son of a bitch. This isn’t over until you go down.”

  He pulled the iron corkscrew back a few inches, preparing to sink it deep into Colfax’s throat.

  “No,” Colfax screamed. “No, please. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

  “I don’t want your money,” Cecil said. “I was going to destroy everything you had and walk away with millions. But that’s not going to happen now, so I want you dead. It’s the least I can do to avenge dear old Mom and Dad.”

  Quinn loomed in the shadows. He had a bottle of wine in his hands. He brought it down on Cecil’s skull in a sweeping motion that sent Cecil pitching to the side.

  Cecil grunted and collapsed, groaning.

  Warner Colfax scrambled frantically away from the fallen man. He stared at Cecil, and then he looked at Quinn, uncomprehending.

  Quinn gave him a thin smile. “So much for following your gut when it comes to hiring a CEO.”

  The sirens were louder now. Lucy heard the first vehicles pull into the parking lot and screech to a halt.

  Mason glanced at Lucy again. He started to speak. Then he noticed the blood leaking from her foot.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I stepped on some glass. Don’t worry. Some of the blood on the floor came from Cecil.”

  Mason took the gun from her hand and gave it to Quinn.

  “Keep an eye on them.”

  “They’re not going anywhere,” Quinn said.

  “Watch out for Beth. She’s unconscious back there near the lab, but she might wake up.”

  “Understood,” Quinn said.

  Mason tucked his own gun into the waistband of his trousers and scooped Lucy up into his arms.

  “I’m okay, really,” she said.

  He carried her out the door into the sunlight.

  “We need a medic here,” he said in his cop’s voice.

  Cops, firemen and medics were swarming across the parking lot. Deke and Joe emerged out of the controlled chaos. They headed toward Mason and Lucy.

  “Is she all right?” Deke asked.

  “I’m fine,” Lucy said. “It’s just blood.”

  Someone in a uniform raced toward them, medical kit in hand.

  “What have we go here?” he said.

  He looked at Mason, not Lucy.

  “It’s not that bad, really,” Lucy said.

  Mason ignored her
.

  “Broken glass,” he said to the medic.

  “Get her to the aid car,” the medic said. “I’ll take a look.”

  Chief Whitaker materialized out of the crowd.

  “What’s the situation inside?” he asked.

  “Under control,” Mason said. “Quinn’s in charge in there. He’ll explain everything. Oh, yeah, you’ll need some medics too. Three people down, including Beth Crosby and Cecil Dillon. Those two are the bad guys.”

  He moved around Whitaker and carried Lucy to the aid car, where the medic waited.

  “It’s not that bad,” Lucy said. “Seriously.”

  Mason ignored her.

  50

  Two days later they gathered on the front porch of Deke’s cabin for what Deke called a debriefing. Lucy was once again on the swing with Mason. His arm was draped around her shoulders, clamping her close to his side. It felt good. Okay, so he was inclined to be overprotective. It was not the worst character flaw in a man, not by a long shot.

  Her injured foot was propped on one corner of the seat. A few stitches and a bandage were all she had to show for her close call.

  Deke was in his usual position, leaning against the railing. He and Mason had hauled out a couple of kitchen chairs for Quinn and Jillian. Everyone had a glass of the lemonade that Lucy had made.

  “I apologize for wasting so much of the Reserve,” she said. “I assure you, I would have gone with one of the less expensive Colfax labels if there had been an opportunity to browse the shelves.”

  Quinn gave a little snort of laughter. “Worth every drop that was spilled. You can’t buy publicity this good. The news is spreading all over the Northern California wine country. If there’s one thing that people who love wine love even more, it’s a good story behind the wine. The old man’s Reserve is suddenly famous, and so is his winemaker, although maybe not in quite the way either of them had anticipated.”