Ava circled the block twice, checking that the lot to Tyler's Place was empty before pulling up to the curb two doors down in front of a used bookstore.
"I don't know about this," I said for probably the tenth time since we'd left the winery. "You sure it wouldn't be better to come back later? Like, after dark?"
Ava shook her head beside me, her blonde hair floating along her shoulders. "We're hiding in plain sight like this. Look, the place is closed, and even the prep staff won't be in for a couple hours, right?"
"Right," I agreed. I knew that for a fact because I'd called "You Didn't Hear It From Me" Mandy earlier and gotten the staff schedules. The first person on it was the sous chef, who didn't start for another two hours.
"So, what's less suspicious—two fans coming to pay their respects to the late, great Tyler Daniels in broad daylight or a couple of dark figures lurking around in the middle of the night?"
"Fine," I relented. Mostly because while I wasn't a fan of sneaking in anywhere, I was definitely not up for lurking. "Let's get this over with."
"After you, Farrah," Ava said, getting out of the car.
"Farrah?" I asked.
"Farrah Fawcett. She's my favorite Charlie's Angel, but you can be Jaclyn Smith if you want?"
What I wanted to be was home in my cozy sweats, eating a pint of mint chip and watching a nineties rom com, preferably starring Drew Barrymore. But one did not always get what one wanted.
Ava grabbed the bouquet of roses we'd stopped for on the way as a prop. Her plan was to pretend we were a couple of the mourners who'd been flocking to the restaurant to pay their last respects to the cardboard Tyler cutout. It wasn't an altogether terrible way to get past the security cameras I could see mounted on the building.
"What time did Mandy say she'd be here?" Ava asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she glanced at the two-story-high picture of Tyler's face on the sign.
"She told me twenty minutes."
Phase two of our plan had been to ask Mandy to let us in the building before shifts started. Ostensibly it was to take a few photos of the place to go along with our super truthful article. How we were going to segue from that to pawing through the financial records, I hadn't quite worked out yet. But I was hoping something came to me.
And quickly, I decided, as a red Kia pulled into the lot, parking just a couple spaces away from the door.
Ava locked her car, and we made our way toward the Kia, approaching just as Mandy got out of the driver's side door.
"Hey!" she called, waving to us.
Ava waved the roses back.
"Thanks for meeting us," I told her.
"Yeah, the photos will really give our piece the authenticity it needs," Ava jumped in, giving Mandy a smile that was all teeth. If I didn't know better, she was digging this Angels stuff.
Mandy shrugged. "Sure." She looked to Ava. "What's with the roses?"
"Prop," Ava told her. "Makes us look like mourners and not reporters."
"For the security cameras," I said, nodding my head in what I hoped was a surreptitious gesture to the two mounted near the front entrance.
"Ooooooh," Mandy said slowly. "Right. Don't want anyone to know I let reporters in, huh?"
I nodded again.
"Maybe I should go around back. Then unlock the door from the inside."
"Great plan," Ava agreed.
I nodded a third time, like a silent bobble doll who was feeling very exposed standing in the empty parking lot in front of a pair of cameras. As Mandy jogged around the building, I couldn't help looking over both shoulders as if at any moment someone was going to catch us in the act.
"Stop that," Ava muttered to me.
"What?"
"Looking around like that. It looks like we're up to no good."
"We are up to no good."
"No, we're up to lots of good," she corrected. "We're catching a killer."
Just as long as we didn't catch a breaking and entering rap, I'd be happy.
I reluctantly followed Ava to the glass front of the restaurant. The interior was largely dark, only the natural sunlight filtering in the windows, creating shadows in the empty booths. A sign that hung on the glass front doors read Closed , and Ava grabbed the handle, giving it a jiggle. It didn't budge.
"Just checking," she said.
"I hope Mandy hurries." I shifted from foot to foot as I stared into the empty lobby.
"Stand still," Ava hissed. "You're making me antsy."
" Everything about this is making me antsy," I hissed back.
Ava shook her head at me.
"What?"
"You are tightly wound lately."
I gave her a deadpanned look. "Gee, wonder why?"
"You need to get laid."
I choked out a laugh. "What?"
"Seriously, when was the last time you went out on a date?"
"I had half a date last month," I said, hearing how pathetic it sounded to my own ears.
Ava did more head shaking. "Half a date. With a guy who is now trying to put your employee in jail."
"He's just doing his job," I countered. Though, why I was suddenly defending Grant, I didn't know.
"If he was doing it well , he'd be looking at the Tyler's Place financial records and not Jean Luc."
"God, please do not let him think of that in the next twenty minutes," I muttered, more to myself than Ava. "And what is taking Mandy so long—"
I didn't get to finish that thought, as the sound of a lock being opened came from the door and I spotted Mandy on the other side.
"Hey," she said as she pulled the doors open for us. "Sorry. Back door is kinda sticky sometimes."
I let out an internal sigh of relief and quickly stepped inside and away from the cameras.
"So, what did you want to photograph first?" Mandy asked.
"Did Tyler have an office here?" Ava asked. I could see her eyes immediately going to the Tyler cutout with a pile of slowly decaying bouquets still at his feet.
"Sorry." Mandy shook her head. "Mark—the other owner—he keeps an office in the back. But Tyler wasn't here that often."
"How often was he here?" I asked, jumping on the opportunity.
"Hmmm. I dunno. Maybe like every couple of months? Mostly he just came in to do some publicity spots. Sign his cookbook, do a meet and greet—you know."
"And argue with Mark Black?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Yeah, and that." She paused. "Want to start in the kitchen?"
"Sounds great!" Ava said, a big smile on her face.
Mandy moved to lead the way then paused, her eyes going from me to Ava. "Where's your camera?"
I quickly grabbed my phone and held it out in front of me. "We're on a budget."
"The truth is awesome, but it doesn't pay much," Ava jumped in. She put her flowers down at Tyler's feet and pulled her own phone out of her jeans.
If Mandy found it odd, she didn't say anything, just shrugging as she led the way to the kitchen.
Ava leaned her head close to mine as we walked. "The financials must be in Mark's office."
I nodded. "How are we going to get at them?" I whispered back.
"Leave it to me."
I was about to protest that plan, but it died on my lips as we entered the kitchen and Mandy spun around to face us.
"So, this is where the magic happens!" She spread her arms out wide to encompass the room.
Ava gave her a bright smile. "Awesome!" She held her phone up, taking random photos.
I followed suit, and I had to admit that the kitchen actually was kind of awesome. A drool-worthy range, huge walk-in refrigerator, and more appliances than I could dream of ever stocking in our kitchen. And I had an envious feeling none of them were on the fritz.
"Hey, where's your restroom?" Ava asked, clicking away at the oven hood.
"Down the hall," Mandy said, sounding bored with the whole thing.
"Thanks. I really have to go." Ava paused. "Don't you have to go
, Emmy?"
I pulled my attention away from the range and glanced up. "What?"
"To the restroom," Ava said. "Didn't you say you had to go too?"
This was her brilliant plan?
But luckily Mandy had pulled out her own phone and was so engrossed in whatever was on her screen that she didn't seem to notice.
"Uh, yeah. I do," I responded.
"Cool. I'll wait here," Mandy said, not looking up.
I quickly followed Ava as she ducked down the hallway.
"What are we, twelve? We have to go pee together?" I whispered.
"It worked, didn't it?" Ava grinned at me.
I had to admit, it had. "Okay, Farrah, where's Mark's office?"
"Mandy said in the back."
We passed a restroom and a supply closet before the hallway dead ended in a door on the left marked Exit and one on the right marked Private . We pushed open the private one and were treated to a view of a desk, office chair, and filing cabinets, all in utilitarian gray. Florescent lights buzzed above, and the linoleum floor was cracked and peeling. I wasn't sure what the inside of Tyler's trailer looked like, but I had the distinct feeling that Mark Black had the short end of this partnership stick.
"Well this is depressing," Ava said.
"Ditto. But let's hurry. Mandy's phone can't hold her attention forever."
Ava nodded, going immediately to the computer and switching it on.
On the off chance Black was analog, I opened the file cabinets. No luck. A six pack of domestic beer and three Sports Illustrated magazines with Chrissy Teigen on the cover. If Black got any actual work done back here, it was all in the cloud.
Ava sat behind the desk, the office chair creaking loudly in response.
We both froze. I half expected to hear Mandy's sneakers padding down the hallway, but after a couple seconds of total silence, I figured our noise had gone unnoticed. I let out a sigh of relief and turned back to the computer monitor, where Ava had the system booting up.
"Password?" she asked.
I gave her a blank look. "How would I know?"
She scrunched up her nose. "Well, maybe we can guess. You met Black. What kind of words would he use?"
I shook my head. "I met him once. For a few minutes. I have no clue. Birthday, pet's name, make of his car?"
"Know any of those?"
I shot her a look.
"Right, okay. Well, maybe he wrote it down somewhere…" Ava trailed off, going through the desk drawers.
I felt that antsiness come on full force again, wondering how much time would pass before Mandy decided we were taking the longest tandem pee on record. I glanced around the room for any hints. Unfortunately, it was, as Ava had said, a depressing room, holding little to no decor. There was a digital frame on the desk, but half the photos were showing error messages and the other half were pixilated to distortion. The furnishings were monochromatic and designed for cheap utilitarian purposes over style or esthetics. Walls were plain white, and the only thing hanging on them was a calendar with a photo of a model in a teeny-tiny bikini, lying on a beach in a way that was sure to get sand in some really uncomfortable places. I squinted at the woman's face and recognized the model.
"Try Chrissy ," I said.
Ava glanced up at me then followed my line of sight to the calendar. She nodded, and her fingers hit the keyboard typing it in. "C-H-R-I-S-S-Y…and enter. "
We held our collective breath as the screen switched to a loading logo then Black's desktop appeared.
"Genius!" Ava said.
"Men," I decided. "But yeah, it worked." I glanced up at the thankfully still closed door to the office. "Let's find the files quickly, huh?"
"On it, Jaclyn." Ava clicked an icon clearly and conveniently labeled Accounting on the desktop.
A bookkeeping program opened, and digital ledger pages appeared. Ava scrolled through a few of them, eyes narrowing as they scanned the screen.
"Any of this make sense to you?" she asked, turning to me.
I scanned the numbers. While it was easy enough to tell the accounts receivable and accounts payable, it would take a lot longer to sift through it all and see if one matched up with the other. And I wasn't really confident I'd be able to notice if something felt off, like someone had tampered with it. Our winery books were a lot more simple, and to be honest, this was the sort of thing I usually left up to my accountant, Schultz.
"Not really," I admitted. "But I'm not totally sure what I'm looking at." I glanced at the door again, expecting Mandy to pop through it any minute. "I wish we had more time."
Ava switched to a new screen, pulling up an internet browser window.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"Emailing the files to you."
"Won't Black notice?"
"I don't see how," Ava said, logging into her account at the email provider's home screen. "I mean, it's not like I'm using his account to do it. I'm using my own."
I bit my lip. "Just hurry, okay?"
"Hurrying," she promised, attaching the entire Accounting file to an email addressed to me.
I waited the longest thirty seconds of my life, watching the little loading bar slowly grow to 100% before she finally hit Send and whisked the ledgers off into cyberspace.
I let out a sigh of relief.
"Now to cover our tracks," she mumbled, logging out of the email account and going to the browsing history window, where she deleted any trace of our visit. I had to admit, I was kind of impressed. She was just closing all of the windows and shutting down Black's system when a sound came from just on the other side of the door.
My heart leapt up into my throat. "What was that?" I whispered.
"What?" Ava asked.
"Listen."
She did, the both of us silent and still. I felt my entire body suddenly buzzing with adrenalin as I heard it again.
And realized it was a key turning in a lock.
Instinctively, I ducked down behind the desk and felt Ava do the same beside me. My fingers gripped the edge of the battleship gray behemoth as if it were the one barrier between me and a criminal record as I listened. The key turned, the lock unbolted, and a door opened.
I said a silent prayer of thanks that it was not the one keeping us hidden but presumably the other door at the end of the hallway—the one that had been marked Exit —as I heard it shut again and footsteps echo down the hallway. As soon as they began to fade away, I turned to Ava.
"We have to get out of here," I hissed.
She nodded, the look in her eyes mirroring the fear coursing through me.
I stood, rapidly skittering the few steps to the door before opening it a crack and peeking out.
While I saw nothing, I could hear voices. One male and low and the other female—higher pitched and almost sounding a bit guilty.
"What are you doing here so early?" the male voice said. I recognized it as belonging to Mark Black and felt my legs go numb.
"I-I thought I'd help out Javier," I heard Mandy reply, the lie coming out on a stutter.
Mark said something back that I didn't quite make out, but his voice sounded low, deep, and menacing. Or maybe that was my fear reading into it.
"…help him prep. I mean, I know we'll be slammed again tonight, right?"
"Fine…appreciate your…going to my office."
I stifled a yip of fear and dove for the exit door across the hall. I felt Ava at my back, pushing me as I fumbled for the handle, my hands suddenly feeling like rubber. She shoved, I grabbed, and somehow we both stumbled into the alleyway behind the restaurant, the sunshine hitting my eyes like an assault. We both ran as fast as our heels would take us to the street, where we forced ourselves to slow down and walk the rest of the way to her GTO, lest we look suspicious running for our lives away from Tyler's Place.
It wasn't until we were both safely inside Ava's car that I took a full breath.
"I think I might have just had a heart attack," Ava said, leaning back agai
nst the headrest as she blew air out through her pursed lips.
"Ditto," I admitted. "I'm officially retiring as an angel."
CHAPTER TEN
My hands had finally stopped shaking by the time we got back to the winery. Ava left me at the front entrance, heading back to the festival grounds to reopen her Silver Girl booth in hopes of a growing cocktail hour crowd. A hope I feared was in vain as I took in the sparse group watching Gabby's gnocchi demonstration on stage. Even though the chef deftly pushed the potato through a ricer and mixed it lightly with flour as she spoke of the way her Nonna had made this recipe for her as a little girl, we were hardly drawing a crowd. More like a smattering. On the upside, I saw fewer press than I had that morning. Whether that meant we were entertaining real paying guests or just that everyone had already sent in their articles for the day, I wasn't sure.
I tucked that thought away as I quickly checked on Jean Luc in the tasting room (which I was happy to see was at least semi-full of sipping guests) and Conchita in the kitchen (prepping some delicious looking crab puff appetizers to circulate through the crowd), and the CSI team (still buzzing around Tyler's trailer like a bunch of busy ants at a summer picnic).
Two out of three seemed to be going smoothly, so I took those odds and slipped into my office to check out the email Ava had sent from Tyler's Place.
I closed the door behind me, feeling sneaky even in my own office as I sat behind the desk and jiggled my mouse to life. A couple of quick clicks later I had the Tyler's Place accounts open again. Luckily they used the same popular accounting program I did, which made it easier to view and navigate the files. Unluckily, as I'd noted at the restaurant, their books were a lot more complicated than mine. The sheer number of vendors they dealt with on a daily basis was ten times more than our operation—most of our goods being produced in house or bought in bulk, like the pallets of recycled wine bottles we used to hold our wares. Tyler's Place had a variety of different types of active accounts—including net 50, cash, and credit—for everything from napkins to fresh seafood to larger ticket items like signage and the commercials Mark Black was so against. As I noted the amount on the pages for the last commercial endeavor, I could see why. It had ranged in the tens of thousands of dollars just for a twenty-second spot. And that was only the bill from the production crew. I could only imagine what Tyler's glam squad, locations, and graphics might have cost them. No doubt about it—Tyler was spending a lot. And, if the files indicating the nightly gross receipts at the restaurants were any indication, it was also a lot more than the mogul was taking in. Even combining the receipts from all four Tyler's Places, it looked as if he was in the red on a consistent basis.
Victim in the Vineyard Page 10