"Jean Luc was seen arguing with Tyler this evening."
That stopped me. "He was?"
Grant nodded. "Any idea what it was about?"
I shook my head. "This is the first I'm hearing of it." I wasn't sure if that looked better or worse for Jean Luc. "When was this argument?"
Grant looked at his notes again. "Around seven. Witnesses say Tyler was at the bar, and he and Jean Luc seemed to get into it pretty loudly. Jean Luc was even overheard threatening Tyler."
"No!" I said empathically. "No way. Jean Luc would never hurt a fly."
Grant quirked an eyebrow at me. "He was quoted as saying, 'I'll kill you if you do.'"
I bit my lip. Well that didn't sound good. I almost hated to ask… "If he did what?"
But Grant shrugged. "I don't know yet. That's all that was overheard. So far," he added.
"Look, whatever the argument was about, I'm sure it was just Jean Luc being dramatic. That's his thing. But I know he would never hurt anyone."
"Do you know if he owns a gun?" Grant asked, switching gears.
I sucked in a breath. "Is that what killed Tyler?"
He nodded. "Single GSW to the chest. He would have expired instantly."
Well at least he hadn't suffered, but I still felt myself shiver despite the warm night. "I didn't hear a gunshot," I told him.
"That far off from the festival, with all the noise going on? Even if someone did hear it, it could have easily been mistaken for the pop of a wine cork."
Of which there were plenty that night.
"Jean Luc didn't do this," I repeated.
Which must have come out as small and helpless as I felt in that moment, as Grant's Cop Face softened a bit and his hand went to my back again. "Don't worry. We'll sort it all out," he promised. "In the meantime, maybe you want to have Ava spend the night?"
I nodded. The idea of being alone at the winery that night was not one I relished.
Grant stood, but before he could walk away, I stopped him.
"Uh, about the Food and Wine Festival…"
Grant turned his attention back toward me.
"Are we shut down?" I felt callous even thinking of the event with a man dead. But I knew the vendors and other participants had counted on this publicity as much as I had—not to mention had invested in four days' worth of food and ingredients that would go to waste if we had to close. I hated to let them all down if we didn't need to. Granted, I wasn't even sure anyone would show up after they heard about the death, but I didn't want everyone's hard work to be for nothing.
Grant must have seen the warring emotions in my eyes as he took a beat before answering. "The crime scene is contained to the vineyard. We've sealed Tyler's trailer for now, and we may need access to the surrounding area if forensics deems it necessary, but I don't see a reason to secure the festival grounds."
"So, that's a yes on reopening tomorrow?"
He gave me a tentative nod. "I would ask that your wine steward make himself available for questioning, though."
I bit my lip as I watched Grant turn and join the small gathering of uniformed officers chatting at the bar. The way they kept gesturing at the spot where Jean Luc had spent most of the day was not reassuring. Neither was Grant's thinly veiled "don't leave town" request. I had a bad feeling that my sommelier had suddenly jumped from wine steward to murder suspect.
* * *
Ava slept in the guest room of my small cottage at the back of the winery property, and I tossed and turned in my bedroom across the hallway, images of Tyler's smirk, his larger-than-life persona with the crowd, and his lifeless body all swirling together to take over my subconscious. By the time the pale first light of morning came peeking through my curtains, I gave up and threw myself into a hot shower.
In lieu of a good night's sleep, I added extra eyeliner and mascara, completing the look with a pale mauve lipstick that gave my nude lip just a hint of color. I almost reached for a black sheaf dress, but considering the morbid circumstances of our festival, I rejected it, going instead for a sunny yellow sundress and a pair of cork wedges that felt sturdy enough to traverse the grounds while still adding a bit of style to the outfit. I was just securing the small pearl stud earrings that my grandmother and namesake, Grammy Emmeline, had handed down to me, when I heard Ava on the landing outside my door.
I peeked my head out. "Hey, you're up."
"Unfortunately." Ava's usual shampoo commercial perfect hair was matted to one side in a bedhead that was totally social media worthy. "You get much sleep?" she asked.
"Negative." I shoved the backing on my earring and led the way down the stairs to the small living room/kitchen combo. The cottage had been built in my grandfather's time, along with most of the small buildings that comprised our winery—including the tasting room, offices, converted barn that housed our wine production equipment, and The Cave, our wine cellar dug deep in the earth to keep our bottles cool and preserved. My parents had added small upgrades to the cottage over time, but it was still what real estate agents referred to as "cozy." But since the only inhabitants were me, myself, and I, it worked. Especially since the guest room doubled as my overflow closet.
"Coffee?" I asked Ava.
"I'd kill for a cup." She froze, immediately cringing. "Sorry. Poor choice of words."
I shook my head. "It's okay. I have a bad feeling that Tyler's death is all anyone will be talking about today." I crossed to my kitchen counter, where I had a small coffeemaker set up. Normally I took all my meals—including morning coffee—in the large kitchen down the little stone pathway. There was little reason to fuss around in my tiny house when I had a well-appointed (if slightly dilapidated) commercial kitchen just a few steps away. But today, I didn't want to get in the way, as I knew Conchita, our house manager, would be running the kitchen like a drill sergeant to get all of the appetizer trays ready for the guests.
Assuming we had any.
I shoved that thought aside and loaded a pod into the machine, thankful for the instant gratification of hot, aromatic liquid pouring out in response. I handed the first mug to Ava and did a repeat for myself.
"I saw you talking to Grant last night," Ava said as she sipped. "I don't suppose he gave any indication of what happened to Tyler?"
"Gunshot," I said, trying not to picture it.
"Who on earth would have a gun at the festival?" Ava asked, sipping her coffee. "Mmm. Heaven."
I made a cheers motion with my mug. "Ditto." I paused. "But I got the impression that the police think Jean Luc might have had something to do with it."
"No way! Even Grant?"
I nodded, replaying our conversation for her. "You didn't happen to see Jean Luc argue with Tyler, did you?"
She shook her head. "No. I thought they were friends. Didn't Jean Luc used to work for him?"
"In one of his restaurants. But I don't know the details." I sipped again. "Any chance you saw Jean Luc before Tyler was found? Between like eight and nine?"
"You mean, can I provide an alibi?" Ava sipped, her eyes going to the ceiling as she thought. "I was outside watching the sunset for a while with a couple of retirees. I'd just sold them some matching silver rings in a feather motif. Really cute."
I nodded. "I remember those."
"Anyway, after that I took a break to grab some food myself. I stopped at the booth with those stuffed mushrooms. Super yum. I guess that was around, maybe nine? Nine fifteen?"
"So you weren't near the tasting room at all?"
She shook her head. "Sorry. I'm not much help, am I?"
"It's okay," I assured her. "I'm sure someone saw Jean Luc." At least I hoped.
"Have you talked to Gabby yet?" Ava asked. "About the fate of the festival?"
I shook my head. "To be honest, I'm a little conflicted about the whole thing. It feels like we should shut it down in reverence to Tyler, but I hate to put all the vendors out like that."
"Not to mention the guests who have come in from out of town," Ava noted.
I sighed. "If they stay."
"Okay, how about this," Ava offered. "Let's see what kind of turnout we get today. If it's a flop, maybe we close up a couple of days early."
I nodded. "That way the vendors at least have a fighting chance to make back what they've put into their booths."
"And you wouldn't have to refund all of the guests' tickets. Just half."
I inwardly groaned. That was still enough to put us in the red on the entire thing. That coupled with the bad publicity was likely to have my accountant, Gene Schultz, crying in his spreadsheets.
I picked up my phone and dialed Gabby's number. Unfortunately, her cell went to voice mail, but I wasn't sure how to properly express both my condolences and our intent to carry on as planned in a thirty second soundbite. So I just asked her to please call me back when she could. I didn't blame her for screening her calls. As much as Tyler's death had jarred me, I could only imagine how his co-host was taking it.
"No answer?" Ava surmised from my end of the conversation.
I shook my head. "She's staying at the Sonoma Country Inn. Think we should visit in person?"
"Give me twenty minutes to shower, and I'm in."
* * *
Forty minutes later Ava and I were pulling up to the upscale hotel and spa near the Plaza. Ava parked her vintage mint green GTO convertible in the underground lot, and we rode the elevator up to the main lobby, which sported a large fountain in the middle, a lounge to the right, and a long, sleek reception desk done in white marble that gleamed under the crystal chandeliers.
While the clerk at the desk was pleasant and helpful, he told us he could not give out Gabby's room number, for obvious security reasons. Instead, he rang up to her room where, thankfully, she did not screen his call. After a little back and forth on his end, he told us she would come down and meet us in the lounge.
Being that it was barely nine in the morning, the bar was closed, but a coffee machine and various pastries had been set out on a side table for patrons to enjoy while chatting in the club chairs and small groupings of tables.
Ava and I each grabbed a second cup of coffee and chose a table near the windows, overlooking a small courtyard garden, featuring a sister fountain to the one in the lobby, large flowering hydrangeas, and several tall shade trees. The entire scene would have been very serene if we hadn't been there to discuss a murder.
We didn't have to wait long, as a few quick minutes later, Gabriela Genova floated into the room. As with the previous day, she was again in a body hugging dress that showed off curves I seriously doubted had ever ingested an ounce of the decadent pasta dishes she created. Today's ensemble was a deep navy blue, capped off with a pair of nude heels in a much more subdued design than the fire engine red ones of the day before, though they were no less tall and precariously spiky. Maybe it was the murder on my mind, but they looked like they'd make excellent weapons.
While it was relatively early, it was clear Gabby had already been up, as her hair was poofed into a large mane of dark waves and her makeup was impeccably camera ready. I noticed her eyes were clear and dry beneath her long, thick lashes. If she was in mourning, she was hiding it well.
"Gabby," I said, standing to greet her as she approached our table. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," she said, sitting. Her eyes went from me to Ava, though they held little emotion. "It's been a shock."
"How are you holding up?" Ava asked.
Gabby let out a long sigh. "I've already fielded several calls from the press. My publicist is in an absolute tizzy."
Apparently having your co-host die was quite the inconvenience to one's image.
"I tried to call you earlier," I started, struggling for the tactful words.
"Yes, I got your message," she told me. "I assume you're here about the festival."
I shifted awkwardly in my seat. "Actually, we are."
Gabby nodded. "I'll do it, but I want what Tyler was being paid."
I blinked at her, not sure I understood. "You'll do it…?"
"MC the festival. That's what you're here about, right?"
"Uh…" I looked to Ava. "Well, yes, we've tentatively decided to keep it going. At least for today," I amended.
"We feel we owe it to the vendors," Ava added. "And ticket holders."
"Sure," she said, brushing our reasoning off. "I'll take over the full duties, but I want the same rate you were paying Tyler and access to his glam squad."
I wasn't sure what I'd expected Gabby's reaction to us continuing the Food and Wine Festival to be, but negotiating for better pay had been last on my list. "Uh, okay," I agreed. I looked to Ava again, but she just shrugged. "I hope you don't find this insensitive of us," I said.
Gabby arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow my way. "Insensitive?"
"To go on with the show, so to speak," I explained, feeling my cheeks heat even as I said the words out loud.
Gabby let out a sharp bark of laugher. "God no. This is Tyler Daniels we're talking about. The man posed for the cameras in his sleep. Crass publicity was practically an art form to him."
While I had to agree with her sentiments—I hadn't found the late celebrity terribly endearing in life—her lack of emotion at his death was a little jarring. "I take it you two were not the best of friends off camera?"
Gabby snorted. "Tyler didn't have friends. He had an entourage and underlings."
"And you were considered an underling?" I asked, finding this new insight into their relationship interesting.
"It is Tyler's show," she pointed out. Then she paused, quickly correcting herself. "Or was."
"How long had you been doing Eat Up w ith Tyler?" Ava asked.
"Two years," Gabby answered. "Longest two years of my life. Every day that I had to endure him aged me ten. Look at these crow's feet. Just look!" She pointed to nonexistent wrinkles at her eyes.
"Tyler was difficult to work with, then?" Ava asked.
"You met him. What do you think?" Gabby countered.
I thought Tyler had been almost as much of a diva as Gabby was, but I figured the question was rhetorical.
"Look, Tyler played nice to the cameras," Gabby went on, "but I'm not going to pretend he was a humanitarian now just because he's dead."
"So why did you stay with the show so long?" Ava asked. I could see the frown on her face, betraying the fact she was at least a little disappointed that the onscreen relationship between the two was pure fiction.
"Well, he was my meal ticket, wasn't he?" Gabby reasoned. "Even if he was a hack."
"Hack?" I asked, jumping on the word. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, all he brought to the show was his name. I was the one who provided real content. You said it yourself—it was my family's stories that brought our recipes to life. But who got the bigger salary? Tyler Daniels. With his stupid catchphrases and career built on yelling at other chefs. Anybody can yell. Ask if he could actually cook."
"Could he?" I couldn't help complying.
She smirked. "You saw the demonstration yesterday. The most complicated thing the man cooked was chicken breasts. Good thing the crowd didn't actually have to eat them, too. Dry as the freakin' air in this little town."
"Surely he was just having an off day," I said.
But she just shrugged. "I'd put my homemade pasta up against his dry chicken any day."
Clearly there was no love lost between the stars, but I wondered how much of Gabby's accusations were born of jealousy and how much had a seed of truth. You didn't get to be Cooking Network royalty like Tyler Daniels without at least having some culinary chops.
"Where were you before the second demonstration was supposed to start?" I asked, wondering just how badly Gabby might have wanted out from Tyler's large shadow.
Gabby blinked at me as if not understanding the question. "I was on the stage. Waiting for Tyler. You saw me."
"I mean before that," I clarified. "Between eight and nine?"
She frowned. "I
was getting a bite to eat. I never perform hungry. I was at the booth that served those little crostinis."
"With Alec?" Ava asked.
She frowned deeper. "No. I was alone. He said he needed to take some photos for his webcast." She paused. "Why?"
"The police think that's when Tyler was killed," I said, watching her reaction carefully.
"And you think I had something to do with that?" She barked out another laugh. Nothing like the warm tinkling thing she pulled out for the cameras every morning. "Please," she scoffed.
"It's clear you weren't a fan," Ava pointed out.
Gabby scoffed. "No, but he has plenty of those who tune in to his show. But he dies—so does the show. Why would I want to be out of a job?"
"You think the network will cancel the show now?" Ava asked, and I could tell it was at least partly as a concerned fan.
But Gabby just shrugged again. "I have no idea. My agent hasn't been able to get hold of anyone there yet."
Though I found it interesting she'd tried.
"So, do we have a deal or not?" Gabby asked, looking from me to Ava .
"Deal?"
She rolled her eyes. "The pay rate. And the glam squad," she added, stabbing a long red fingernail my way.
I licked my lips. "I can agree to the pay rate," I told her. Truth was, that was already in our budget. "But Tyler brought in the hair and makeup crew on his own." I paused. "Honestly, I'm not sure how they're getting paid now."
Gabby waved a hand in my direction. "I'm sure Mark will take care of all of that."
"Mark?"
Gabby nodded. "Mark Black. He's Tyler's business partner. He runs the corporation, oversees the flagship restaurant here in town, holds the purse strings." She barked out a laugh. "Holds them quite tightly, in fact."
"Oh?" Ava leaned forward in her seat. "Are you saying he and Tyler didn't get along?" I could see her inner Charlie's Angel perking up—never a good sign.
"Mixed about as well as oil and vinegar," Gabby answered. "Tyler liked to spend, and Mark liked to save. Why the two ever thought they could work together peacefully, I can't imagine."
"So they fought?" Ava asked, shooting me a meaningful glance.
Victim in the Vineyard Page 3