Victim in the Vineyard

by Gemma Halliday

  "Mark Black, his business partner."

  "And what did they argue about?"

  "Money," I told him. "Tyler was spending too much, and Mark wanted him to stop. Namely, cancel a commercial shoot that Mark said they didn't need."

  Grant nodded. "Who told you this?"

  "Mark Black," I said without thinking.

  Grant's other eyebrow went up. "He just admitted to a stranger that he was having business issues?"

  I shrugged. "Hey, you're not the only one who can interrogate suspects."

  "I should be," he told me, his tone deeper and more commanding. "Emmy, you need to stay out of this."

  I shook my head. "Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. Especially when you're getting false information," I added with bravado I certainly didn't feel as his eyes went darker and darker.

  "Excuse me?" he countered, his voice holding an edge to it now.

  I licked my lips. "Ashley Daniels. She told you Jean Luc was fired by Tyler. But she was mistaken."

  "And you know this how?"

  "I talked to her."

  His eyes narrowed. "You 'interrogated' Ashley Daniels too."

  " Talked to ," I said, backpedaling on my own words. "And she said Tyler and Jean Luc fought a lot, and she assumed Jean Luc was fired. But she didn't actually know for sure."

  "They fought a lot?"

  I rolled my eyes. "You're focusing on the wrong part."

  Grant's mouth did a quick upward twitch. "Am I?"

  "Yes. Jean Luc quit. He didn't lie about that. And he isn't lying about anything else, either."

  Grant let out a long sigh, lifting his chin as he stared me down. "I'm sure you want to believe that, Emmy."

  "And you don't?" I challenged him, "You want my sommelier to be guilty?"

  "Don't put words in my mouth," he warned, that edge returning to his voice. "I'm not working on emotion here. I'm simply following the evidence."

  "Well, follow it somewhere else," I shot back, feeling my own anger start to rise. "And by the way," I added. "That was a lousy apology!"

  I didn't wait for an answer before I turned and stalked into the winery with as much dignity as I could muster.

  * * *

  The rest of the evening wound down uneventfully, and as thankful as I was when the last guest had gone and I was free to spending some quality time with my beckoning pillow, sleep came in fits and starts. My mind refused to shut down as it mulled over my argument with Grant. I wasn't sure how the conversation had gone downhill so quickly, but what should have been a win on my side—I'd given him a new suspect and effectively killed the testimony of one of his witnesses!—actually felt like a loss on both. Any thoughts I might have harbored of getting that other half date faded away into fantasyland. Grant said it himself—he was no emotion, all business. And unfortunately, at the moment that business seemed to be pinning Jean Luc for a murder.

  I refused to believe that Jean Luc really was involved, but I had to admit the missing gun was just one more thing pointing a big red arrow his way. Truth was, I'd been down this road with Grant before—him playing by the books and me trying to convince him that play was leading him in the wrong direction. I didn't doubt Grant's ability to do his job. But sometimes the facts didn't always add up the way forensics saw them. Sometimes there was something else at play—one little missing piece that made all the facts fit at totally different angles. And that red arrow of guilt would suddenly flip one-eighty and point somewhere else.

  I just wished I knew where it would be pointing this time.

  I was almost grateful when the first light of dawn peeked through my bedroom curtains, even though well-rested was a bit beyond my grasp. I peeled myself out of bed and cranked up the heat in my shower, letting the warm steam grow around me, clearing my head. I pulled on a pair of white Capri pants, a flowy asymmetrical blouse, and Grecian sandals with rhinestones along the straps. There was little I could do about the bags under my eyes, but I added an extra bit of mascara and peachy lip gloss to try to detract.

  By the time I had my first heavenly cup of coffee in hand, vendors were starting to arrive to set up for day three of the festival. What was left of them. I noticed a couple abandoned stations where chefs had presumably decided our post-murder turnout wasn't worth their time. I said a silent prayer that some guests would arrive today as I walked among the stalls. The cool morning fog still hovered in the air, giving it a chill and a fresh scent as the sun struggled to reach us.

  I was winding back toward the kitchen for a second cup of liquid energy when I spotted Tyler's glam squad doing their thing under a plastic canopy beside the still sealed RV. One of the platinum blonds was furiously throwing different shades of powder around Gabby's face while the hair stylist twirled and spritzed her hair. And Gabby was shouting at both of them that neither was doing their job right. I was just about to duck away from the scene before Gabby could spot me and toss a couple complaints my way, when I spotted Alec Post exiting the makeshift tent, pausing to chat with the other platinum blond.

  "Alec," I hailed him.

  He looked up, his dimple flashing in his cheek as he smiled back in greeting. "'Morning, Emmy."

  "How's Gabby today?" I asked. "Allergies okay?"

  Alec chuckled. "If they are, I'm sure it will be the heat or the bugs." He winked at me. "She's not really an outdoorsy type."

  "Go figure." I grinned back. David Allen was right about one thing—Alec was too cute. And charming. I was having a really hard time putting him in the role of killer with his pearly white smile flashing my way. I cleared my throat. "Actually, I was looking for you yesterday after you left. I wanted to ask you about something."

  "Shoot," he said, giving me his full attention.

  "The lawsuit."

  He sent me a blank look.

  "The one you brought against Tyler."

  His smile disappeared, his face instantly transforming from boyishly handsome to something much harder and decidedly not friendly. "Where did you hear about that?" he demanded.

  I licked my lips. "It's public record."

  He leveled me with an intense look. "Sure. And I supposed you just go searching for court records on the regular."

  I ignored the goading, standing my ground. "The lawsuit alleges fraud."

  "Is there a question in that?" His face gave nothing away.

  "What was the fraud about?"

  He narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching. It was a whole new look on him—one that almost had a menacing edge. Suddenly he looked nothing like a cute boy and fully like a six-foot-three man made of solid muscle who was capable of just about anything.

  "I don't think that's any of your business, is it?" he shot back.

  "Was it over something at his restaurant? When you worked there?"

  "Exactly what are you getting at? I was suing Tyler, so I must have killed him?"

  Well, yes. But I hadn't planned to put it that bluntly.

  Alec shook his head. "Look, it's true I didn't like Tyler, but nobody liked Tyler."

  I had to agree with him there. "But was he also a fraud?" I pressed.

  Alec let out a small chuckle that held zero humor. "Yeah. I guess he was."

  "What did he do to you?" I pressed again.

  "What he did to everyone. He used me. Then stomped all over me."

  "When you worked at Tyler's Place?"

  He nodded. "Tyler had the charisma to have any audience eating out of the palm of his hand. But he had the creativity of a cardboard box when it came to food. Fried chicken, burgers, diner food—that was all Tyler had up his sleeve."

  "Unlike you," I said, following where he was going.

  Alec shrugged. "I added some magic to a few of his recipes. Some Calabrian chilies here, some miso there, a little sriracha and a bit of unexpected flavor that elevated the diner fare into something people would pay premium prices for."

  "So what went wrong?" I asked.

  "What went wrong is Tyler started saying the recipes were his." There we
nt that hard look in his blue eyes again.

  "You did create them while working in Tyler's kitchen," I hesitated to point out. "Technically, that does make them his property."

  "Technically, sure. Hey, they can serve my miso mac and cheese all day long in his restaurants and make bank off it if they want." He paused. "But when Tyler goes on TV and says he came up with the clever twist of adding jalapeño to the cheddar burger and his grandfather's farm inspired him to add bacon to the patty, that's where I drew the line."

  I had to admit, I could see where he was coming from. If someone suddenly started using my personal stories as their own, I'd probably be a little miffed too. Or maybe more than a little… "How much were you suing Tyler for?"

  "Just what I was due. You know how much he made on Eat Up ?"

  I shook my head.

  "A hundred thousand. Per episode."

  Wow. I was so in the wrong business.

  "And I watched every single one. Every time he used one of the tricks that I brought into his kitchens and claimed it was his own, that was fraud. That hundred thousand should have been mine. Fifteen instances in the last two years."

  "Which comes to a million and half in damages?" I said, doing quick mental math.

  Alec nodded. "Only what I was due."

  "Did Gabby know you were suing Tyler?"

  Alec laughed. "Whose idea do you think it was in the first place?"

  I lifted an eyebrow in his direction. "Gabby suggested you sue her costar?"

  Alec shrugged. "I complained, and she said I should do something about it. She was right. My attorney thought I had a pretty solid case."

  Tyler's must have too, considering he was trying to lower alimony in anticipation of having to pay restitution.

  "Look, Gabby told me the network wasn't happy with Tyler, so I knew if I wanted to recoup anything I was due, I had to do it quickly."

  "Wait—the network wasn't happy with Tyler?" This was the first I was hearing of it.

  Alec shook his head. "Tyler's ratings were slipping. I mean, the catchphrases and angry chef shtick were getting stale."

  "I can see that," I agreed. Mostly to keep him talking.

  "Honestly, the network would have gotten rid of him last season if it weren't for his contract."

  "With the network?"

  "Yeah. Tyler was a jerk, but he wasn't stupid. He was contracted to stay on as host of Eat Up for two more years. Even if the network fired him, they still had to pay him, so, you know, he had them over a barrel."

  "And Gabby told you all of this?" I wondered why she'd left it out of the narrative she'd given Ava and me.

  "Sure. I mean, who do you think the network wanted to take over the show if they could ditch Tyler?"

  "Gabby," I guessed. So she had been angling for Tyler's job.

  "That's right." Alec puffed his chest out with something akin to pride. "Gabby's the real star anyway. I mean, look at her. The woman does not deserve to be a sidekick. Especially not to some hack like Tyler Daniels." That last part was said on a sneer that told me Alec still had plenty of emotion toward the dead man.

  And while anger could be a mighty motivator to want someone dead, greed was an even better one. Gabby hadn't just been indulging in professional jealousy—she'd actually been in talks with the network to replace Tyler. And if the only thing standing in Gabby's way toward having her own show was Tyler's ironclad contract, there was one surefire way to terminate it—by terminating Tyler.

  As if on cue, Gabby emerged from her hair and makeup tent, looking like she'd just stepped off a movie set. Her slinky dress was fire engine red today, hugging her body so tightly it was clear she didn't have an ounce of fat on her. Her dark hair was curled into a silky mane around her head, luminous waves cascading down her back. And her heels were tall stilettos that caused her to wobble a little as they sank into the wet grass.

  "Good morning, Emmy," Gabby said, clearly in good spirits, having been properly glammed up.

  "Good morning," I greeted her. "Alec and I were just talking about you."

  Her smile faltered for a half second before resuming its place. "Oh?"

  "About how you really do deserve your own show."

  The smile came back full force, showing teeth and everything. "Well, thank you. It's always so nice to meet another fan." Then she turned to her boyfriend. "Alec?"

  "Yeah, babe."

  "I need coffee. Nonfat almond milk, one stevia, cooled to room temperature."

  Alec shot her his charming dimple-studded smile, all signs of the harder Alec having diminished at Gabby's appearance. "Anything for you." He gave me a wink as he led her away toward the booth that our local coffee shop, the Half Calf, had set up. I saw a line forming already under their logo of a cow lounging on a crescent moon.

  I took my own empty cup in hand, resuming my quest for more, as I watched the two walk off. They both seemed to have the Jekyll and Hyde sides to them—able to turn their charm on and off at the drop of a hat.

  Or the mention of Tyler.

  The only question was, which one had more at stake to do away with the star?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I made my way into the kitchen in search of French Roast. Only, as soon as I stepped foot inside the doors, I knew something was up.

  Ava, Eddie, and my house manager Conchita all stood at the kitchen counter, eyes glued to something. Something that, as soon as Eddie looked up and saw me, he quickly shoved at Conchita to get rid of.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  "Well, good morning to you, Miss Sunshine!" Eddie started. "The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, and—"

  "And the employees are hiding something," I finished for him.

  His jovial smile faltered. "Uh, whatever do you mean?"

  I glanced around him to where Ava had found a spot on the floor infinitely interesting and Conchita was fussing suspiciously with her apron.

  "Conchita?" I asked, picking the weak link.

  " Sí ?" She blinked up at me, her brown eyes wide in her round face. Married to Hector, Conchita had been a fixture at the winery ever since I was a child and often clucked over me like a mother hen. Not that I minded, since her clucking usually came along with delicious baked goods. Today, her salt and pepper hair was pulled back in a floral clip, and the apron tied around her thick waist was liberally doused in flour. And had a large lump underneath it.

  "What are you hiding in your apron?"

  "Eh…nothing?" she said. Though it came out with a distinct question mark at the end of that statement.

  I turned to Ava. "Come on. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

  "Can't it?" Eddie asked. I could see a fine sheen of sweat had developed on his upper lip.

  A small niggle of dread took hold in my belly. "Guys?"

  Finally Ava cracked, letting out a long sigh. "You might as well show her. She's bound to see it sooner or later."

  Conchita bit her lip, reluctantly pulling an electronic tablet from her apron and setting it on the counter. I knew she usually used it to pull up recipes or cooking videos while in the kitchen, but today the screen was filled with the Sonoma Index-Tribune and a headlining article by Bradley Wu entitled "The Deadliest Little Winery in Sonoma."

  I heard a groan, and it took me a moment to register that it had come from me.

  "See, I told you we should hide it from her," Eddie said, chiding the other two as he adjusted the lapels on his jacket. Pinstriped today, in a periwinkle blue, with a baby pink shirt beneath.

  "No, I can take it," I said.

  "Here," Ava offered, grabbing my empty coffee cup from my hand. "Let me get you some fortification."

  I sent her a grateful smile as she turned to the coffee machine and I turned to the column that put yellow journalists everywhere to shame.

  On Monday, Oak Valley Vineyards, the deadliest little winery in Sonoma, struck again, this time claiming celebrity chef Tyler Daniels as its victim.

  "My winery didn't kill him!"
I protested out loud.

  "I know, honey," Eddie said, patting my back.

  Conchita made a sympathetic clucking sound as I read on.

  The Sonoma County Sheriff's Office has yet to make an official statement—

  I thanked God for small favors.

  — though sources close to the case have revealed that Daniels was shot to death in the winery's vineyard. As loyal readers will recall, this is the second body to be found at the winery this year, after a murdered man was found in Oak Valley's cellar last spring.

  I closed my eyes and thought a really dirty word.

  Conchita gasped.

  Oops. Maybe I kinda thought it out loud.

  "Here. Coffee will help," Ava said, handing me a steaming mug.

  "Does it have whiskey in it?" I said, only half joking.

  She raised an eyebrow at me. "It could."

  "You didn't even get to the good part yet— ow !" Eddie said, rubbing his shin where Ava may or may not have just kicked him.

  "It gets better?" I moaned. I took a sip of coffee as I steeled myself for the worst, scalding my tongue in the process. But it was nothing compared to the sinking sensation in my stomach as I read on.

  Police have been spotted questioning Oak Valley's wine steward, Jean Luc Gasteon—

  I internally cringed, knowing the only thing worse than Jean Luc being named a suspect was being referred to as wine steward instead of sommelier.

  — in connection with the death. When asked for her thoughts, winery owner Emmy Oak said, "I'm saddened by the tragic death…connected to Oak Valley Vineyards."

  "That's not what I said!" I yelled at the tablet again.

  "I knew it was all lies!" Conchita said then she spat on the floor.

  "I mean I did say this," I said, mentally going back over the quote I'd given. "But the dot, dot, dot! There was a lot in the dot, dot, dot. This is completely out of context!"

  "I'm sorry, Emmy," Ava said, sympathy lacing her voice.

  I lay my head down on the cool counter, closing my eye and wishing for a do-over of this day. Week. Year?

  "I wonder if this other source is misquoted too," Eddie said, scrolling down the article.

  "Who is the other source?" I asked. Though with my face smooshed into the counter, it might have come out more like who if de offer orse.