Murders and Metaphors

by Amanda Flower

  Considering the argument that I had just overheard between Grant and his mother, I doubted that. I knew better than to admit I had been eavesdropping, though. Another thought struck me. “I’m trying to find out who was at the book signing the night Belinda was killed. Do you have a guest list?”

  “Yes.” He frowned.

  “Did you give the police the list?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Your Rainwater asked for it that very night.”

  “He’s not my Rainwater.”

  He smirked.

  “Can I have the list?”

  “Are you a cop?” he asked.

  I frowned. “No.”

  “Then I have no reason to give it to you. You’re the one in the wrong here today, Vi. You’re the one trespassing on private property.”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. I gave up asking for the list, but there was one person I very much wanted to know about.

  “Did you see Miles Rathbone at the signing?”

  “From Bone and Hearth? Yeah, he was here.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  He nodded. “For a second. He asked if he could have a moment with Belinda alone. He wanted ‘to talk things over with her’ and see if she would retract her review of his winery. I told him good luck with that.”

  I shivered. Had Rathbone gotten Belinda alone when she fled the winery after seeing Lacey and, when she refused to do what he asked, stabbed her?

  “Wouldn’t you say he’s another good suspect then?” I asked.

  “Not as good as Lacey.”

  Behind me there was a faint clicking sound. Grant must have heard it too, because he jumped around me. There was a glint of light reflecting off a lens and then it was gone.

  “Hey!” Grant shouted before he bolted away from me through the rows of grapes with no explanation at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Ahh!” A scream cut through the vines and trellises.

  I ran in the direction it had come from and found Grant sitting on a man’s chest in the middle of a row of grapes. Redding had found me.

  “Tell this Neanderthal to get off me!” Redding cried when he saw me. He kicked at Grant with his legs, but Grant, having been a star wrestler in high school, easily avoided Redding’s flailing limbs.

  “What are you doing here?” Grant demanded.

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Redding said. “I can’t answer because I can’t breathe!”

  “You are breathing enough to shout,” I said.

  “Violet, what’s going on?” Grant asked.

  Redding’s face was turning a terrible shade of red. Perhaps he wasn’t lying about the inability to breathe. “This is Joel Redding, a private detective who Belinda’s fiancé Sebastian hired to clear his name. He’s been following me around and making a general nuisance of himself.”

  “You led me here on purpose!” Redding gasped.

  “That’s ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes as if that were the dumbest idea I had ever heard. “Grant, you might want to climb off him. He is turning purple.”

  Grant scowled and looked down at the other man. Finally, Grant got up.

  Redding let out a huge breath. “I could have you arrested for assault.”

  Grant laughed. “I would like to see you try. My brother’s the mayor.”

  I wished that there was less truth in that statement, but I knew from Grant’s crimes in the past that he did get away with more than the average villager because Nathan was his brother and the Mortons would do just about anything to avoid a scandal. Unfortunately, when Belinda died, scandal had fallen on their doorstep. This time it was much more difficult to pretend it had never happened.

  The sun was beginning to set, and pink and purple light played off the frozen vines and grapes. The beauty of the scenery against the absurdity of the situation was not lost on me.

  “Get up,” Grant ordered.

  Redding struggled to his feet and dusted snow off his coat. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. I have put tougher men than you in prison. You and your family don’t scare me.”

  “And your weak threats don’t scare me,” Grant shot back. He turned to me. “What are you really doing here, Vi?”

  “I want to know who was at the party and who of those people might have held a grudge against Belinda.”

  He smiled. “Ah, the more suspects, the less likely you think Lacey will be arrested. I remember that you had the same tactic with Sadie when she was accused of murder.”

  I ground my teeth, doing my best not to show how furious I was at him for bringing up Sadie’s name. I didn’t know what my friend had ever seen in him.

  “I think it’s time for both of you to go. Vi, you don’t want my mother catching you here, do you?” Grant smirked.

  I frowned. “I’m not afraid of your mother.”

  This made him laugh.

  Mrs. Morton’s voice suddenly rang out. “Grant! Grant! Where are you? We need to go over these receipts.”

  “Speak of the devil,” he said with a mischievous smile.

  Quite literally, I thought as I heard Mrs. Morton’s voice. I would have been lying if I hadn’t admitted that the sound of Camille Morton’s voice made me cringe.

  Mrs. Morton came around the side of the trellis. “What on earth is going on here?” She pointed at Redding. “Who are you? This is private property.”

  “Mother, I have this handled. Violet and her friend were about to leave.”

  “He’s not my friend,” I corrected.

  Mrs. Morton glared at her son. “Just like you have other things handled, son. Let’s not kid ourselves there.”

  Inwardly, I cringed on Grant’s behalf. It seemed like I had fallen back into a time capsule. I had heard the Mortons reprimand their children many times for not achieving as much as they hoped they would. Even when the boys reached their greatest successes, the elder Mortons had wanted more. They wanted them to be greater and reach higher. There was no final goal—just bigger and better every time. I’d never had to live like that. I put more than enough pressure on myself to achieve, but it was self-inflicted. Grandma Daisy and my mother had never put that type of pressure on me. They’d wanted me to be happy in whatever form that took. Mrs. Morton’s words reminded me how lucky I really was.

  Redding held out his hand to Mrs. Morton. She glared at it until he finally lowered it. Even so, Redding didn’t appear to be insulted by her slight. “Joel Redding, P.I. I’m looking into the Perkins murder.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she snapped, and then turned on me. “Why did you bring this man here?” She was bundled up in what I feared was a real fur coat. I preferred not to think about it too much.

  “I didn’t bring him here. I don’t even know him.”

  Redding smiled. “It’s true that Violet didn’t bring me here; she led me here. I can’t help but think that she wanted me to meet you. Perhaps because you had something to do with the murder. I know that you and Violet have a long history.”

  Mrs. Morton’s face flushed red. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if smoke started coming out of her ears.

  I grimaced. The plan I had hatched with my grandmother back in Charming Books had backfired. Redding was turning the idea back around on me. It seemed that I hadn’t outsmarted him at all.

  She took a step toward me. “I want you to stay away from my boys. Do you understand me?”

  “Mother,” Grant said. His ruddy complexion was a tad redder than usual. I was certain that a twenty-nine-year-old man didn’t want his mother telling him who he could and could not interact with.

  “Violet Waverly, I want you off my family’s property this instant—and never come back!” His mother spat at me. “I won’t have your ruining something for this family.”

  “Gladly,” I said, and walked out of the vineyard. I didn’t wait to see if Redding followed me. If he wanted to be my shadow in this investigation, he would have to learn to keep up.

 
; Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I had just reached my Mini when a black Roadster flew out from behind the back of the house and down the driveway. I caught the briefest glimpse of Grant behind the wheel.

  The private investigator folded his arms. “Where’s he going like a bat out of hell?”

  “Why don’t you follow him so you can find out?”

  He smiled. “You’d like that so I will stop following you, wouldn’t you?”

  I leaned against my car and folded my arms.

  He scowled at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you to leave,” I said. “I won’t have you following me anymore.”

  He mimicked my posture and folded his arms, leaning against the gray sedan. “Like you can stop me.”

  The sun was past the tree line now, and it was growing darker by the second. “It’s going to get really cold, then,” I said.

  He opened his mouth to say something back, but his cell phone rang. He removed the phone from his pocket. “Redding.”

  There was yelling on the other end of the line, and even though I couldn’t make out the words, I certainly caught the emotions of the other person.

  “All right. I’ll be right there!” Redding shouted into the phone. He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket with a scowl.

  I smiled brightly at him. “Everything okay?”

  “I would love to continue our staring competition, but I have to go.”

  “Anything to do with the murder?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m sure you would like to know.” He studied me for a moment. “After this is all over, you might want to rethink your career. Why work in the dusty old bookshop when you can come work for me as an investigator? You seem to have a natural knack for it.”

  “That is flattering of you to ask, but I’m good where I am, thanks. The shop’s not dusty anyway. My grandmother takes dusting very seriously.”

  “If you ever change your mind, let me know.” With that, he climbed into his car and drove away. I watched the gray sedan’s headlights until he turned off the road.

  Part of me considered following him. Maybe this time Redding would lead me to something related to the murder, but I thought better of it. It seemed to me that I should take advantage of the private detective’s absence and do some more snooping on my own.

  I climbed into the Mini and headed for my next stop: Bone and Hearth Winery.

  The new winery was only a few miles away from the Mortons’. Most of the wineries in the village were out in this area. Even though the wineries were close together, the sun set fast this time of year, and it was dark by the time I reached Rathbone’s vineyard.

  Lampposts led the way up Bones and Hearth’s long driveway that was still not as long or as impressive as the Mortons’. However, there was no question that this place was a winery, as row upon row of grapevines covered the front lawn.

  The stone building was half the size of the Mortons’ as well. A dozen or so cars sat in the circle drive in front, and all the lights were on. I slowed the Mini as I drew closer to the last car in the circle. I stopped my car behind it and shifted into park. I sat in the car for a moment, wondering if I should approach the building or come back another time when I might catch Miles Rathbone alone.

  But as it typically did, curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know why there were so many people there, especially since Rathbone’s wine was ruined by Belinda’s review.

  A car parked behind me. A woman got out and hurried toward the building. She was middle-aged, and most of her face was covered by a scarf. I followed her and fell in step behind her. She held the door for me and smiled. “Don’t you hate when you’re late for these meetings?”

  “For sure,” I said, even though I didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about.

  As soon as we got inside, the woman took off toward the middle of the room. The Bone and Hearth tasting room was light and airy, with blond wood paneling and a high ceiling defined with matching blond beams. Ten rows of eight chairs filled the room and were all pointed forward toward a long table that had three men sitting at it. The man in the middle seat, whom I recognized as Miles Rathbone from his photos, hit his gavel on the table.

  “Miss, standing in the back, please sit down.”

  Screeching sounds resonated off the ceiling while everyone in the room turned and stared at me. I slid into the closest chair. I sat next to an elderly man with his eyes closed. He was either asleep or dead. I was hoping for the former. I had seen enough dead bodies for the week.

  “Can we please focus on the issue at hand?” a voice asked from the front of the room. “The village should do more to support the wine industry in Cascade Springs. I believe that we need to be given some leeway here. Without us the village is nothing, but with us it’s a tourist destination. The winemakers’ guild needs to have a prominent place in the village.”

  I raised my eyebrows. It seemed to me that I had stumbled into the winemakers’ guild meeting that Grant had mentioned to his mother. I could have been wrong, but it looked like Miles Rathbone, the discredited winemaker, was the leader of the guild too.

  “It’s the springs themselves that bring the tourists in,” another voice argued. “They have been doing that since long before the Revolutionary War.”

  I agreed with the voice about the importance of the springs. I knew what the water could do.

  “The springs might bring them here the first time,” the first voice said. “But the wine is what keeps bringing them back. Once you see the springs once, there isn’t really any reason to see them again. It’s just water.”

  It was a little bit more than just water, I thought. I certainly wasn’t going to say that in front of this group.

  “James, if you are so moved about this, I suggest you draft a memo for the village council for the next meeting that will include what we want the village to do for us,” Rathbone said.

  “Nathan Morton is right here; just hand him the demands of our group and let’s be done with it,” another man at the table said.

  I bobbed my head back and forth, looking for Nathan. I finally spotted the back of his blond head in the second row from the front.

  “I’m here as a guild member this afternoon, not as the mayor,” Nathan said. Even though he was facing the table, I could clearly hear his voice in the back of the room. Nathan sounded more like a politician than I had ever heard him sound.

  “Yes, Nathan is attending today as a member of the guild, but I know that he will present our idea to the city council in a favorable light.”

  Nathan stood up now. “Of course I will. I am the mayor of Cascade Springs, but I am a winemaker too, and the Cascade Springs Winemaker Guild is an important organization in this village. I will do whatever I can to support this group that has been so good to my family over the years. We are all saddened over the passing of Belinda Perkins, and I want to thank each and every one of you who have reached out to my family at this difficult time.” He sat back down.

  I frowned. It was true that Belinda had died at Morton Vineyards, but it seemed odd to me that Nathan would be thanking this group for condolences. Lacey and her sisters were the ones who should have been comforted.

  The man next to me snorted. I glanced at him. He didn’t open his eyes but said out the side of his mouth, “The Mortons think they run this village and the guild. The problem is, everyone lets them believe that. I thought that might have changed when Belinda Perkins turned up dead in their vineyard. This town is too blinded by the Mortons to even see the threat they are.”

  “Threat?” I whispered back.

  Never opening his eyes, the man rested his chin back on his chest and seemed to go back to sleep. I was corrected when the man stood and said in a booming voice, “Not that a single person here today can claim to be upset over Belinda Perkins’s death. We’ve all been touched by her pen. Even when she wrote a good review, she phrased it in such a way that it came of
f as an insult. You know better than anyone about that, don’t you, Rathbone?” He sat down.

  Rathbone froze. “How dare you say such a thing?”

  The old man burrowed back down in his coat and began to snore. However, what he’d said seemed to cause a stir in the group, and I heard Belinda’s name whispered all around me.

  “The incident at Morton Vineyards has nothing to do with this meeting. I’m sure that we’re all sorry to hear the news about Belinda Perkins’s passing. She was an icon in our industry, and we would do well to remember all that she contributed.”

  “Or destroyed,” another voice said.

  I couldn’t tell where the speaker was seated, but I saw several other people in the room nodding their heads. Perhaps what the old man had said was true. No one in this room cared that Belinda was dead. If that was the case, was I in a room full of suspects?

  Rathbone knocked his gavel on the table two more times. “The guild subcommittee will come up with a list for the town council to approve. If we have no more business to discuss, I suggest that we adjourn. Do I have a motion?”

  “I move to adjourn,” a deep voice from somewhere in the middle of the chairs said.

  “Second!” several voices echoed.

  The meeting started to break up. I looked at the sleeping man next to me, and he didn’t move. I was about to ask him more about Belinda and the guild when a hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Did you follow me?”

  I looked up to find Grant Morton staring down at me.

  I jumped out of my seat. “No. I came here to speak to Miles Rathbone. I had no idea a meeting was happening.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Nathan joined us and stared at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s not very welcoming,” I said, stalling for time.

  My seat companion didn’t stir.

  Grant frowned. “I’m sure the police chief would love to hear about your snooping around.”

  I ignored Grant’s comment and turned to Nathan. “It sounds like the guild is making up a proposal to give you and the town council about wine making in the village. What is it about?”