Death in Wine Country (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 5)

by Gemma Halliday

  It was Harper, Carrie's former costar. And apparently she was with Carrie's husband. Despite my waiting wine lover, curiosity got the better of me, and I paused.

  "Keep your voice down," I heard Bert say.

  "What, you think Carrie will hear me?" Harper taunted with a throaty laugh.

  I should have walked away. Back to the party. Minded my own business.

  But something in the way Harper had looked at Bertie before, spurred me to climb the first couple of steps up the staircase, until I spied Harper on the landing above me, leaning in close to Bert.

  Very close.

  Close enough that I felt my breath catch in my throat in anticipation she might kiss him.

  "This is not the time, Harper," Bert said. The tone in his voice sounded more irritated than amorous, but it was hard to tell the expression on his face from my angle.

  I suddenly felt like I was eavesdropping on some very private moment. I was just about to retreat, when Harper pulled back.

  "It is the perfect time. Come, Bertie, you know you wouldn't want your darling wife to come looking for us."

  "Leave her out of this," Bert hissed.

  But Harper threw her head back and laughed at him again. "Happy to, sweetie. You know what I want."

  Then I watched her give him the same coy smile I'd seen earlier before taking him by the hand and leading him out of my sight.

  I bit my lip, not liking what I'd just witnessed. Granted, it was possible the two could have been discussing anything. But I couldn't imagine a circumstance when I'd be that close with one of my coworkers' husbands. Correction: an innocent circumstance. Suddenly I felt terrible for Carrie.

  My mind was still bouncing between unpleasant possibilities when I got back to the bar. Only my white wine drinker was missing.

  "Where did the woman go?" I asked Ava.

  "Huh?" she said, tearing her gaze away from Dr. Drake Dubois.

  "The woman with the ponytail. She wanted to taste the Pinot Grigio."

  But Ava just looked at me with a blank expression. "Sorry. I didn't notice."

  I was about to chastise my daydreaming sidekick, when Nolan turned his boyish smile on me. "Now, Ava here tells me that you are the lady I need to speak to about purchasing a case of this wine."

  I suddenly understood why Ava found him so dreamy.

  * * *

  It was a little after 1:00 a.m. by the time I loaded the last of my equipment into the back of my Jeep and released a contented sigh. The night had been a resounding success. Everyone had raved about the food, but more importantly they now knew the name of Oak Valley Vineyards, and I'd heard at least a couple of them say they'd be coming in for a tasting soon. Plus, at least according to Ava, photos of the event were trending on social media, which could only be a good thing if anyone else captured a glimpse of our wine in their selfies.

  I'd sent Ava home about half an hour prior, thanking her for her help by doing the cleanup on my own. She'd been dying to tell her mom all the gossip she had learned from the cast of Carefree Hearts. I had a feeling fantasies of Nolan Becker would be invading her dreams that night.

  I closed the trunk of my car and smiled into the darkness. In the distance Carrie's horse, Dante, roared, an imposing noise that sounded like a demon howling at the moon.

  Tripp definitely had his work cut out for him with that animal. Horse whisperer or not, that thing looked dangerous to me. Personally, I thought whoever Bert had purchased Dante from had taken him for a fool.

  I was about to make my way into the house, ready to check that I had everything, when the yapping sound of Barkley echoed through the night air. I spun just in time to see the little dog zip from the door that I had inadvertently left open and disappear into the darkness, his yap leading him all the way to Dante.

  Oh crap.

  Carrie loved that dog. Tripp's words of warning echoed in my head. If Barkley was headed toward Dante, the little guy didn't stand a chance.

  Simultaneously kicking my heels off and grabbing my phone, I switched the flashlight on. I then sprinted across the lawn into the darkness, toward the corral.

  Dante's roars upped as they competed with Barkley's yaps.

  "Barkley!" I yelled. "Barkley, come here, boy." I didn't want to scare the dog, but it was hard to keep the fear from my voice. "Barkley please, please stay away from that horse!" I had no idea what I was going to do if he was already in the corral. Would I face a wild horse to save a dog? I guessed I was about to find out.

  The closer I got, the louder his yaps were, but my heart missed a whole beat as his yaps turned into a high-pitched yelp.

  "Oh, no."

  I just made it to the corral as Barkley ran toward me, his tail between his legs.

  Scooping him in my arms, I scanned him with the flashlight, grateful I couldn't see any telltale signs that he'd been hurt. I pulled him close, releasing a deep breath and hoping Dante had just given him a fright.

  I allowed my light to scan Dante, just to make sure no damage was done to him either, when something sparkly in the corner of the corral caught my attention.

  Scanning my flashlight toward it, the glitter of sequins shone back.

  I felt my breath catch, fear renewing in my chest as I moved closer and realized that the sequins were attached to a person…one who was lying on her back, limbs splayed in an awkward position, muddy hoofprints littering her sparkling emerald dress that only hours ago had been the talk of the party.

  Harper Bishop.

  And, unlike a Hollywood script, I could tell from the lifeless stare in her eyes, there'd be no miraculous recovery for her.

  Harper Bishop was dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I sat on the edge of one of the Adirondack chairs on the damp lawn and pulled my jacket tight against my body, shutting out the cool night air that was causing the goose bumps to crawl up my skin. At least I told myself they were from the cool air and not… I shook my head, trying my best to block out the image. I'd stopped shaking, and the tears had thankfully dried up, but I knew that the lifeless stare of Harper Bishop would haunt my dreams for a very long time.

  I squeezed my eyelids shut, hoping to erase the picture that seemed burned on my retinas, but the red and blue lights flashing over the corral made ignoring my surroundings impossible. I reluctantly opened them again, taking in the uniformed officers, crime scene techs, and emergency medical staff crawling over the area like a flood of ants.

  The night air crackled with the chatter of police radios, the occasional siren as new personnel showed up, and the angry sounds of Dante playing a background symphony to the organized chaos.

  After finding poor Harper, I vaguely remembered screaming, running, and somehow managing to get Barkley safely inside the house. My noise must have alerted the last of the party guests that something was wrong, as Carrie, Bert, and the handful of holdouts had come running into the kitchen, where I feared I'd been in a near hysterical state. Someone had called 9-1-1, and as soon as the police had arrived, they'd separated us all—ostensibly to calm everyone down, but in reality I had a bad feeling it was to question witnesses. With a tragic accident like this at the home of minor celebrities, the police would want to make sure procedure was properly followed at all times. Especially once the press learned about it.

  I could only imagine what Carrie was going through. The last I'd seen her, she'd been sobbing into Bert's shoulder as he'd led her to the den, reassuring her that everything was going to be alright. As I watched the coroner zip a black body bag closed, concealing Harper from view, I wondered what his definition of alright was.

  Dante's loud snorting and whinnying sounded from the far side of the corral. Animal Control had attempted to round him up as soon as they'd arrived on scene—the police officers not able to even approach the body safely until they had. Now I could hear him kicking at the metal trailer they'd put him in, crying for release. Even though Dante was clearly a killer, I hoped they took him somewhere safe.

  A
s I watched the handlers secure the trailer, I noticed a new vehicle approaching the scene, pulling up alongside the barn before shutting off its lights. A black SUV. And as the car door opened, I realized I knew the driver. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair that hung just a little too long on his neck, and dark eyes with soft hazel flecks that quickly roved the area, assessing the scene. They stopped when they landed on me, and he made quick strides toward me.

  "Emmy," he said as soon as he was within earshot.

  "Grant," I greeted him back.

  Detective Christopher Grant, Sonoma County Sheriff's VCI Unit—Violent Crimes Investigations. Which, I guessed an accidental death by trampling counted as. I had to admit, the scene I'd witnessed had spoken of violence, even if the perpetrator of the crime was not strictly human in this case.

  Grant sat in the chair next to me and reached out to take one of my trembling hands in his. "You okay?" he asked, Cop Mode suspended for a brief moment as his eyes filled with concern.

  While Grant and I weren't strangers, the exact label that fit our relationship was elusive. To say I was "seeing him" would imply contact on a regular basis—and between his job and my winery, that hadn't yet happened. There had been a few romantic hints here and there, but neither of us had pushed them into a definable territory. While part of me wouldn't mind seeing more of Grant—literally and figuratively—I got the impression he was the kind of guy who didn't do commitment to anything outside of a badge. Grant was a lot like Dante—wild and dangerous. And if a girl got too close, I had a feeling she was liable to have her heart trampled on.

  But that didn't mean I didn't appreciate the warmth in his eyes and the comforting strength of his hand holding mine.

  "I'm kinda okay," I said, trying to make my voice sound steadier than it felt.

  "Only kinda?" He attempted a smile for my benefit.

  The gesture had tears bubbling up in my throat again. To be fair, I'd been doing better until he'd sat next to me with his big brown sympathetic eyes.

  "Come here." Grant put his strong arm around my shoulder and pulled me hard against him. The aroma of masculinity combined with his musky aftershave settled in my belly, and I pulled myself together.

  "Think you can tell me what happened here?" he asked softy.

  I nodded, taking a deep breath. "I think so."

  "What time did you find the body?" Grant asked, removing his arm from my shoulder. The cold night air immediately took its place, making me shiver again as I tried to think back through the fog of shock and emotion.

  "Maybe around one. The party was winding down, and I was cleaning up. I was loading the last of my catering equipment into my Jeep, when Barkley got out."

  "Barkley?"

  "Carrie's dog."

  "You know Carrie well?" he asked, pulling out the little notebook he always kept in his back pocket.

  "I used to. I catered for her a lot when I lived in LA. She just bought this place." I gestured to the building looming behind me, looking sad and eerie bathed in the flashing lights.

  Grant nodded. "They told me there was some sort of housewarming party going on tonight."

  "That's right," I confirmed. "Carrie invited a lot of her friends from LA up. Most are staying somewhere downtown, but Harper was supposed to sleep here." I thought again of how overwhelmed poor Carrie must feel right now. How had she described Harper…like her sister? I thought of Ava, and how I'd feel if anything ever happened to her.

  "When was the last time you saw her?" Grant asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  "Carrie?"

  "Harper," he said gently, a small frown forming between his brows.

  "Oh. Right. Um, I'm not sure. She was with Bert earlier…" I trailed off, not sure how much of that I should share. With Harper dead, did it even matter what had gone on between her and Bert? And honestly, all I'd seen were two people upstairs. For all I knew, Bert could have been showing Harper to her guest room. Whatever it had been, Carrie didn't need to deal with that right now.

  If Grant had an idea I was holding something back, he didn't indicate it. "When was that?"

  "I don't know. Maybe eleven or so." I paused. "Why?"

  "Just trying to establish a timeline."

  I bit my lip. "Harper'd had a lot to drink. Ava said she'd poured her several glasses."

  He looked up from his notes to meet my gaze. "Oh?"

  I nodded. "You think she wandered into the corral by mistake?"

  Grant took a deep breath. I knew he was a just-the-facts type of person and guessing was something he rarely did. "It's possible," he conceded.

  "But you don't think likely?"

  "At this point, we're exploring all angles." He paused. "But would you have walked into that corral with that horse?"

  "No," I said. "But I haven't had as many glasses of wine as she did. Maybe she just wanted to look at Dante and fell in?"

  "Maybe." His eyes were back on his notes.

  "Did she die right away?" I asked, almost not wanting to know the answer. But the idea of her suffering gnawed at me.

  When Grant looked up, the softness was back in his eyes. "The ME will know more once he gets her back to his office. But his best guess is she expired quickly."

  Expired. Like she was a piece of meat left on the counter too long. "Does he know when she…expired?" I asked.

  "Liver temp indicates around midnight. But again—"

  "He'll know more when he gets her back to his office," I finished for him,

  Grant gave me a tight smile. "Right."

  I pulled my jacket closer around me again, trying not to imagine Harper's perfect body on a cold slab in a morgue.

  I must not have tried hard enough, as Grant's eyebrows drew down in concern again. "You should go home," he said. "I know where to find you if I have any more questions."

  "You sure?" I asked, glancing back at the house. As much as I felt I should stay for Carrie, I knew there was nothing I could do to help the situation now. Besides, she had Bert. And Nolan. And whatever other friends had lingered at the party. It wasn't as if she was alone.

  Grant nodded. "Definitely," he said, rising and helping me to my feet as well. "I'll have one of the officers drive you home."

  I was about to protest that I could make it home on my own, but to be perfectly honest, in that moment I wasn't 100% sure I could. "Thanks," I said instead, accepting the quick squeeze he gave my hand before he turned and went back into Cop Mode.

  * * *

  The sun streamed in through the crack in my curtains, alerting me to the fact that the day had started without me. I yawned as I checked the time on my bedside clock. 8:30. That was an hour later than I'd intended to stay in bed. Then again, as fitful as my night had been, I wasn't surprised. I rubbed my eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them as I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom.

  One hot shower later, I was starting to feel human again, even if once fully awake my thoughts again wandered to the events of the previous night.

  After one uniformed officer had driven me home, accompanied by another who'd delivered my Jeep to my doorstep as well, I'd gone to bed on autopilot, too exhausted to even think. But Harper had haunted my dreams, and I couldn't help wondering what she'd been doing at the horse corral in the first place.

  Had she wanted to see Dante? Even, heaven forbid, gone into the corral with the intention of petting him? Riding him? Maybe she hadn't realized how wild he was. I mean, it had been painfully clear to me in the daylight, but with enough alcohol in her system, in the dark, and with a little over-confidence to go with it, maybe it had felt like a good idea to her at the time. Hadn't Carrie said Harper had been the one to recommend Tripp to her—maybe Harper had dealt with unruly horses in the past and thought she could handle this one?

  I shook my head, thinking that whatever her reasons for being there had been, dying the way she had was awful.

  I did a quick makeup routine. Then I decided I didn't have the energy to work my hair into something presentabl
e and threw it up into a messy bun instead. I grabbed a pair of jeans and knee-high boots with a stud detail, topping the outfit off with a simple cream colored V-neck T-shirt. Satisfied that at least I could be seen in public, I made my way into the morning.

  Oak Valley Vineyards consisted of just over ten acres of grapevines of several varieties, majestic oak trees, rolling hills, and the main winery buildings that jutted up against a small gravel parking lot at the end of our long tree-lined driveway. The cluster of low Spanish styled buildings had been built by generations of my family over the years, including our wine cellar, which had lovingly been nicknamed The Cave by my namesake, Grandma Emmeline. My two-bedroom cottage that sat at the back of the buildings, nestled among the oak trees, had been built by my grandfather years before. It held a lot of fond memories, upgraded plumbing and AC, and it was pretty close to my version of perfect, even if it was on the small side of "cozy" and the closets left much to be desired.

  Striding along the stone pathway between the buildings, I enjoyed the crisp feel of the morning air before stepping into the main kitchen. While my cottage had its own small kitchen, I rarely used it for more than a coffeemaker. Why would I, when I had a well-appointed modern commercial one just steps away?

  Especially when the bigger one was brimming with the scents of Conchita's concoctions. As was the case that day as I stepped inside, the mingling scents of cinnamon and vanilla hitting my nostrils.

  "Good morning, Emmy," Conchita Villareal sang, stowing a container of orange juice in the side-by-side refrigerator.

  "Is it?" I asked, heavy on the sarcasm.

  But she just nodded, her salt and pepper hair bobbing up and down in its usual bun at the nape of her plump neck. Conchita's warm brown skin glowed with her efforts of looking after us all. Married to our vineyard manager, Hector, she was as much a part of Oak Valley Vineyards as the buildings themselves. Hector had been there longer than I had, and I'd been the flower girl at his wedding to Conchita. I considered them more family than staff.

  "You look tired," Conchita said, eyes going to the bags under my eyes that my quick makeup job had apparently failed to cover.