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

by Gemma Halliday

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Sonoma County Sheriff's office was located in Santa Rosa, housed in a large, imposing building made of glass and brick. The inhabitants of the building were about as intimidating as the building itself, a mix of stoic police officers wearing guns at their waists, dour faced residents waiting to air various grievances, and disappointed loved ones and "known associates" alike waiting to post bail for the incarcerated. Carrie pulled her purse close to her chest as we made our way through the lobby toward the front desk.

  After getting the initial call about her husband's arrest, Carrie'd phoned her lawyer, who had immediately agreed to meet Bert at the county detention center. We'd left Tripp's trailer and driven back toward town, where we'd dropped Ava off at Silver Girl. Ostensibly, it was because she said she had some paperwork to do before going out dancing with Nolan that evening. But really, I thought maybe she felt as if she were intruding on something personal with Carrie and Bert.

  Mostly because I felt the same way. I'd offered to take Carrie home and stay with her while she awaited news from their attorney. But despite the threat of press, she'd insisted on going to the sheriff's office to support Bert. As much as I feared her husband was actually guilty, I knew Carrie needed someone there to support her, maybe more than Bert did, so I'd accompanied her to Santa Rosa, where we were hoping Bert's lawyer had been able to arrange for bail.

  I followed her across the polished concrete floor, noting the flyers taped to the rendered walls alerting us to the many organizations that could help prevent suicide, stave off addiction, and explain low cost medical care. I almost stopped to take a picture of the last one, but thought it in bad taste, all things considered.

  Instead, I followed Carrie to a large counter with the window separating the uniformed officers from the riffraff—aka us. A tall man whose biceps strained the sleeves of his khaki uniform looked up and slid a glass partition open.

  "Can I help you?" To be honest, his tone didn't suggest that he was particularly interested in our answer.

  Carrie's voice trembled. "I'm here to post bail for my husband. He's been arrested." She whispered the words, surreptitiously checking over her shoulder, as if a member of the paparazzi were about to jump out from behind a plastic plant and snap a photo.

  "Name?" the man, whose name tag read Jonah Smith, asked in the same bored monotone.

  "Uh, my name or his?" Carrie asked.

  Smith gave her a well duh look. "His."

  "Right." Carrie licked her lips. "Uh, Bert Davenport."

  At the mention of Bert's name, Smith's eyes suddenly showed interested for the first time since we'd walked up. "Bert Davenport? That wouldn't be the same Bert Davenport who played Little Bertie, would it?

  "Um…yes?" Carrie said, clearly not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing in the eyes of the officer.

  "Well, I'll be." Smith cracked a smile. "Little Bertie from Home with the Hendersons." He was obviously a fan.

  Carrie smiled. "Yes, that's right," she said.

  He turned to a coworker one window over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Did you know that Little Bertie is in our cells?"

  She looked fresh from the academy and barely legal to drink. She blinked at him. "Who?"

  "Little Bertie!"

  "Is he like a rapper or something?"

  Smith scoffed. "No, no. He was on Home with the Hendersons! I used to watch that show all the time. Little Bertie had this catchphrase. Oh! What was it?" His fist tapped his forehead, as if that would help him remember.

  "'You know it, Mama!'" I volunteered, giving him the cheeky wink made famous by Bert.

  He grinned. "That's it! Geez, you reminded me so much of him when you did that."

  Huh. I made a mental note to never do that again.

  The female officer still gave him a blank look.

  "Don't tell me that you've never heard of the show?" he pressed her.

  She continued to stare, yet I did detect a hint of you're a weirdo lurking in her eyes.

  He shook his head. "Never mind. Do we have a Bert Davenport here?"

  She clicked a couple of keys at her computer. "Yes, but he's waiting to go in front of the judge for his bail hearing."

  Smith nodded and turned back to Carrie. "You just need to go next door to the courthouse. They can help you from there."

  Carrie gulped. "Thank you."

  The courthouse's entrance was on the adjoining side street. I'd never been inside but wasn't surprised that the décor matched the station. The same hard plastic chairs, the same counter with the glass partition, and the same flyers on the walls. The only difference was the electronic metal detector we needed to walk through.

  Carrie repeated the same process with the courthouse officer on duty—minus the Little Bertie fandom—and we found out that Bert was being arraigned down the hall. By the time we arrived at the designated courtroom, we caught Bert just exiting through the solid double doors.

  He looked worse than I had ever seen him. His eyes were sunken, highlighted only by the dark rings that circled them. His shirt was untucked, his slacks rumpled, and his hair was almost standing on end, as if he'd been running his hands through it all afternoon.

  Carrie raced toward him, throwing herself into his arms. "Oh, Bert!"

  He held her tight, and as much as I could tell he was trying to be her rock, I could see the fear and uncertainty of the events that day had taken their toll on him. His posture held none of the bravado or confidence I'd previously come to associate with him. "It's going to be okay," I said softly, though the words held zero conviction.

  I hung back, giving the couple a moment, but as soon as they stepped apart, Bert's eyes flickered over to meet mine. Carrie must have noticed, as she jumped in to explain my presence. "I was with Emmy when you called. She drove me here."

  "Thank you for taking care of Carrie," he told me.

  I'd admit I was taken aback. It was the most genuine thing I'd ever heard him say to me.

  "Of course." I gave him a smile.

  A gray haired man exited the courtroom carrying a briefcase and came up behind Bert, clapping him on the shoulder. "You okay, Davenport?"

  Bert nodded. "Thank you. I didn't think the judge was going to agree to bail."

  The man, who I took to be Bert's lawyer, shook his head. "They have a nice case—I'll give them that. But a lot of it is circumstantial evidence. I'll file motions to suppress the financial records as soon as I get back to my office."

  "Financial records?" Carrie frowned. "What sort of records?"

  But both men ignored her.

  "You really think you can get them thrown out?" Bert asked.

  The attorney nodded. "If not that, we can certainly discredit the witness who saw you together."

  "Witness?" Carries asked, eyes going from one man to the other.

  But again, they both ignored her.

  "You go home and get some rest," the attorney directed Bert. "I'll be in touch."

  With that, he clapped Bert on the shoulder again, then stalked purposefully down the hallway without any acknowledgment that Carrie or I might have existed.

  Carrie bit her lip, her face pale, her eyes threatening tears, as they had been ever since she'd gotten Bert's call. As soon as the gray haired man was out of earshot, she turned to her husband. "What happened? What was he talking about with witnesses and records?"

  Bert sucked in a long breath, his eyes darting toward me, as if not sure he wanted to discuss this in front of the caterer.

  "Bert?" Carrie prompted. "What's going on?"

  My heart went out to her. I had a terrible feeling I knew exactly what was going on, and I wished there was more I could do than be a shoulder to cry on as I watched the train wreck in front of me play out.

  Bert sighed and sank down onto a bench along the wall. "It's all going to come out in court now anyway." He leaned his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. As if trying to rub away the current circumstances.

  "Wha
t's going to come out?" Carrie asked, perching gingerly on the bench beside him. "Honey, talk to me?"

  When he lifted his head, his expression was defeated. I wasn't sure what being arrested, processed, and fingerprinted by the police might feel like, but I could tell that even the short time Bert had spent in police custody had broken what little spirit he had. He suddenly looked like Little Bertie again—vulnerable, small, and about to confess to something Mama Henderson wasn't going to like.

  "I'm so sorry, Carrie," he told her, his voice breaking on the last word. "The police know everything. I can't hide it anymore. It's all going to come out."

  While part of me felt like an intruder in this private moment, the other part of me wondered if I was about to hear a murder confession. I stood next to Carrie, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible even while moving close enough that I didn't miss a word of what Bert was about to say.

  "What's going to come out?" Carrie asked. I could see the fear in her eyes.

  He shook his head. "Harper." He slowly met Carrie's gaze. "I've been lying to you about her."

  I steeled myself, knowing what was coming next and dreading it for poor Carrie.

  "You have?" Carrie's voice was small.

  Bert nodded. "I was not giving her investment advice. There were no investments."

  Carrie frowned. "Why did she say you were?"

  Bert let out a slow breath. "She was covering up what was really going on."

  "Which was?" I could tell Carrie halfway didn't even want to know by the hesitation in her voice.

  I reached a hand out and put it on her shoulder for support, dreading Bert's answer.

  He let out another deep sigh before answering. "Blackmail."

  Wait—what?

  "Blackmail!" Carrie said. She turned and shot me a meaningful look.

  Bert nodded. "Harper was extorting money from me to keep quiet about…something."

  "You were the person Harper was blackmailing?" I asked, trying to contain my shock.

  Bert glanced up to meet my gaze. "Yes. I-I'm sorry, Carrie," he said, turning back to his wife. "I should have told you. I should have trusted you. I should never have lied to you."

  "I-I don't understand." Carrie shook her head. "What was she threatening to do?"

  Bert licked his lips. "She was threatening to tell you the truth."

  "Me?" Again Carrie's gaze pinged to me, as if maybe I knew what Bert was talking about. Which, honestly at this point, I did not.

  "Bert, what did Harper have over you?" I asked point blank.

  He did a little more sighing, but I could tell any fight he might have had in him was long gone. "I'm broke, Carrie."

  "B-broke?" She shook her head again. "No. You have investments."

  "No. I don't. I lied about those. All of them."

  "But you're so good with money. I mean, all the money you've invested for me…" She trailed off, realization hitting her mid-thought.

  "You haven't made any investments for Carrie either?" I surmised.

  He shook his head slowly.

  Carrie blinked, and I could only imagine the thoughts running through her head. "Okay," she finally said, "then what have you done with the money I've given you?"

  "It went to pay back loans." He clasped his hands in his lap, his eyes going down to them. "The truth is, I blew through any royalties I'd earned as Little Bertie years ago. I've been living on credit and loans. Borrow money from one place to pay off another." He paused. "I thought it was all finally going to crumble, when you came along."

  "You married me for my money?" The hurt in Carrie's voice was crushing.

  But Bert's head snapped up, and I realized he did have a little fight left in him after all. "No!" He shook his head vehemently. "No, that's not true at all. Carrie, I love you. With all my heart." His voice cracked.

  As much as I hadn't been total Team Bert up until that moment, the genuine emotion on his face tugged at my heartstrings, and I was inclined to believe him.

  At least about his love for my friend.

  "I just…I needed a little time," he continued. "To get back on my feet. I just…I needed to put the creditors off a little longer."

  "So all the money I gave you. It's all…"

  "Gone," Bert confirmed.

  Carrie took a deep breath, and I could feel her spine straighten, her nerve steeling as she processed this. "And Harper knew this?"

  "Yes."

  "How?"

  Bert sighed. "She knew one of the guys who'd loaned me the money. I don't know how she put everything together, but she got enough out of him that she did. About everything—even the phony investments."

  Carrie's jaw twitched as her lips formed a tight line. I didn't know who she was the most angry with—her lying husband or her conniving best friend. "So what did Harper want from you?"

  "Money," Bert answered. "She threatened that she'd tell you everything if I didn't pay her."

  "Did you pay her?" I couldn't help asking.

  He nodded. "I couldn't risk losing you," he said, eyes on Carrie.

  "How much?" I asked.

  "Ten grand."

  The same amount in Tripp's trailer.

  Carrie sniffed. "You asked for $10,000 from me last month because you said you had a tip on some bonds."

  "I'm so sorry I lied to you," Bert repeated. "I-I just couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

  Carrie frowned, as if not sure what to believe now.

  "The money you gave Harper," I cut in. "It was in cash. In a Links club duffel bag?"

  Bert looked up and blinked at me, the surprise evident on his face. "Y-yes." He sucked in another deep breath. "Harper told me to meet her for dinner. The night before the party. We met up in town at Tyler's Place, and I tried to convince her not to do this. That if she needed money that badly, Carrie would be happy to give her a loan or something. That we could help her."

  Carrie didn't look happy to help anyone at the moment, the frown on her face growing with Bert's story.

  "But Harper didn't give in?" I asked.

  Bert shook his head. "No, she just laughed at me. Said I was so naïve. She took the cash."

  "And then what?"

  Bert shook her head. "Then I thought it was over."

  "But it wasn't?" I prompted.

  "No." He did more headshaking, as if trying to shake away the whole thing. "No, she asked for more. The night of the party."

  "She texted you for it?"

  Bert frowned. "No. She asked in person. She cornered me at the party. As I was going upstairs. She said she wanted more."

  The scene I'd witnessed between them. I'd misinterpreted the entire thing all along. Harper hadn't been talking about sleeping with Bert—she'd been threatening him.

  "Did you pay her more?" I asked.

  "No. I told her the truth—that I simply didn't have any more." He turned to Carrie. "I thought it was only going to be a one-time thing, but she wasn't going to stop. She was going to keep asking for more. Putting me further in debt. She was going to lord this over me forever."

  "Then what did you do?" I asked, slowly, fearing the worst.

  But Bert simply said, "Nothing. Then she died."

  Well, that was awfully convenient timing for him.

  If Grant knew all of this—about Harper's blackmailing and Bert paying her off—I could see why he thought Bert might have taken matters into his own hands to make Harper stop. I had a feeling Bert was telling the truth about how desperately he loved Carrie and how much he didn't want to lose her. But that was what worried me. Desperate men did desperate things. I was less convinced that he was telling the truth when it came to exactly how Harper had ended up in Dante's pen.

  "You hate me now, don't you," Bert asked Carrie.

  Her expression hadn't changed, the frown still etched on her forehead. She sucked in a deep breath, and I could feel her making a decision in that moment.

  "No," she finally said. "No, I don't hate you. I-I'm disappointed."

&nb
sp; Bert nodded, eyes welling with regret.

  Carrie sighed and stood. "Come on. Let's go home."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Since I'd driven Carrie to the station, and Bert had arrived by squad car, I offered to drive the couple home. The silence was deafening and awkward, as Carrie's face was in a perma-frown, staring out the passenger window, and Bert was slumped in my back seat. I finally turned on the radio, just to fill the air with something other than tension, letting mindless pop songs take over.

  By the time we finally arrived at Carrie's place, the sun was beginning to set behind the hills, dappled beams of fading light flashing between the tall oaks. I pulled to a stop beside Nolan's sports car, and as Carrie and Bert got out, I gave her a quick hug and told her she could call me anytime—day or night—if she needed to talk. She thanked me before leading Bert into the house, though I could tell her mind was a million miles away. Probably going over every conversation she'd ever had with her husband and picking it apart for the half-truths and little white lies that were woven into them.

  I slipped back into my car, grateful to be alone with my thoughts as I pulled down the winding drive and pointed my Jeep toward the orange and pink colored hills of Oak Valley.

  Even if my thoughts inevitably went right back to Harper's death.

  I was 50-50 on Bert's innocence where killing Harper was concerned, but he'd felt brutally honest with the rest of his confession. And while it had been a lot to take in, one detail had stuck with me—Harper had approached him in person. She hadn't sent her blackmail threats to him via text. Which meant the message we'd seen her get the night of the party had been from someone else.

  Bert hadn't been Harper's only victim.

  So who else had been? And had they been the one to finally reach their breaking point and kill Harper?

  I was contemplating that thought as my phone rang through my car's Bluetooth system. I swiped it on and immediately heard Ava's voice fill the interior of my car.

  "Crisis, code pink," she said.

  Panic surged in my belly. "Crisis? What happened?"

  "I have nothing to wear."

  I rolled my eyes in the dim light. "Do not do that to me today. Not knowing what to wear on a date is not a full blown crisis."