Victim in the Vineyard

by Gemma Halliday

  Only, as I approached the bar, my French sommelier was nowhere to be seen. In his place was Eddie, pinstriped jacket abandoned, sleeves of his pink dress shirt pushed up his forearms as he wrestled with the cork of a bottle of Pinot Noir.

  "Eddie," I said, a question in my voice as I approached. "Everything okay?"

  "Oh, sure. Just a bit of a sticky cork," he said, his cheeks turning red as he twisted.

  "You need to pull up as you twist. Rotate to the right," I tried to instruct him.

  "I got it," he said under his breath, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip.

  I glanced down the bar, seeing a couple of customers waiting on their glasses.

  "Where's Jean Luc?" I asked.

  "Had…to…go…" Eddie grunted out one syllable at a time.

  I felt a frown pull between my eyebrows. "Go where?"

  "Storeroom…to get…more clean…glasses… There!" Eddie's cork popped out, nearly smacking him in the eye with the force as the bottle finally let it free, spilling just a little Pinot on the floor in the process. He turned to me, a wide grin going from one pudgy cheek to the next. "See? I knew I could get it."

  He turned to the waiting couple. "Now, which one of you said you wanted the Zinfandel?"

  I closed my eyes, silently praying for patience. "Eddie, that's Pinot Noir."

  Eddie blinked at me then squinted at the label. "It is? But it's red."

  "Pinot Noir is red," I informed him.

  "Oh." He did more squinting. "I thought it was white. You know, blanco meaning white and all in Spanish?"

  "That's Pinot Blanc. Different wine."

  Eddie blinked at me. "There are two Pinots?"

  I closed my eyes again and counted to ten. Unfortunately, when I opened them, Eddie was still there, blinking innocently at me.

  "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it tastes good," he said with a smile. Then he turned to the two waiting customers, who were looking at us like maybe they didn't need that glass after all. "Pinot Noir okay?" He shot them his ear-to-ear jovial grin.

  Luckily it was infectious, and they both shrugged and passed their empty glasses toward him anyway. What my winery manager lacked in actual knowledge about wine, he sometimes made up for in personality.

  Sometimes.

  I quickly pointed out the Pinot Blanc , the Pinot Noir , and the Zinfandel to Eddie before leaving the bar just as Jean Luc arrived with a box of wineglasses and a frown at the spots of wine Eddie had spilled. I left them to hash it out as I made my way to The Cave.

  I grabbed a carrier with our winery logo on it and filled it with a bottle of each of our varietals. Once I was happy with the offering, I made my way to the parking lot where, true to her word, Ava was waiting, her GTO idling near the entrance as she fiddled with the radio. She waved and popped the trunk for me as I approached, and we made the short drive into town, arriving at Tyler's Place to find a packed parking lot. Ava did a full tour of it twice before spotting a pickup truck that was just pulling out and snagging the slot near the back.

  The lobby was, as on my previous visit with David, filled to capacity. There seemed to be even more morbid looky-loos filling the space than before, and the pile of flowers at Cardboard Tyler's feet had grown, filling the room with the faint sickly sweet smell of rotting foliage. I spotted Mandy at the hostess podium, her hair falling out of a messy bun, looking like she'd been on a heck of a shift so far. The line to chat with her was three deep, and we waited patiently, pushing one step forward at a time through the crowd until we were at the podium.

  "Welcome to Tyler's Place—oh, it's you," she said, recognition dawning as she blinked at us. She did a quick over-the-shoulder look then leaned toward us, whispering. "Ohmigosh, Mark almost caught me letting you in earlier today. I had to, like, pretend I was here to help prep dinner. I've been here ever since."

  No wonder she looked tired. I suddenly felt a little bad about asking her to put her job on the line for us. If Jean Luc hadn't had more at stake, I would have retreated right then with my tail between my legs. "Sorry about that. We slipped out the back when we heard him come in."

  She nodded. "Yeah, I figured you'd made yourselves scarce." She paused. "So why are you back? Didn't you get enough pictures earlier?"

  Ava nodded. "We're actually here on official winery business today." She gestured to the carrier of wine in my hands.

  Mandy blinked. "Oh. Huh. You know, I thought that whole wanting to sell wine thing was just a ruse to get in."

  Maybe Mandy wasn't as dumb as she looked.

  "You know, for the story," she finished.

  "Uh, no. I mean, yeah. I'm a reporter, but I do own a winery too." Which sounded lame even to my own ears, but Mandy just shrugged.

  "Sure. Whatev. Just keep it on the down-low that I let you in, right?"

  "Mum's the word," Ava promised, doing a zip the lips shut and throw away the key thing. "We never give up our sources."

  Mandy looked a little more comfortable at that and straightened back up to resume her usual stance. "So, did you ladies want a table, or…"

  "We actually wanted to chat with Mark Black," I told her.

  "Oh good. Cause we're, like, totally booked. It's an hour and half for a seat at the bar tonight."

  Wow. Suddenly I kinda hoped Mark wasn't a killer and would stock my wines.

  "Is Mr. Black in?" Ava asked again.

  "Yeah, he's in the back. Gimme a minute and I'll let him know you're here."

  Ava and I waited as Mandy left her post to go down the back hallway. A moment later she reappeared and directed us to his office. I didn't have the heart to tell her we already knew where it was.

  We retraced our steps from that morning and found the office door open. Mark Black was sitting behind his desk, staring intently at his computer screen, and I knocked on the doorframe to get his attention.

  "Uh, hi. Mr. Black?"

  He looked up, eyes going from Ava to me. "Yes. Uh, Emma, right?"

  "Emmy," I supplied, stepping into the room and shaking his hand. "And this is my friend Ava Barnett."

  He nodded Ava's way then his eyes went to the wine carrier in my hands. "I see you brought some of your samples by?"

  "Yes," I said, setting the carrier down on his desk. "This should give you a good idea of what we have to offer."

  He picked up a bottle, turning it over in his hands. "Nice labeling."

  "Thank you," I said, feeling a note of pride creep in. Hector had designed it himself last year, and I thought the simple gold oak leaf on the dark background invoked just the right balance of nature and elegance we strove for.

  "Quite a crowd you've got out there," Ava noted.

  Mark lifted his eyes from the bottle to meet hers, his bushy brows drawn downward. "Nothing attracts a crowd like a tragedy."

  "I'm sorry for your loss," Ava told him.

  But he just grunted.

  "Uh, I was a fan of Tyler's," Ava went on. "I watched Eat Up every morning."

  But Mark's attention was back on the bottle again, a slight nod in her direction the only indication that he'd even heard her.

  She gave me a shrug, clearly not winning at engaging Mark in conversation. She nodded my way, tossing me the proverbial ball.

  I cleared my throat. "Uh, I was wondering…" I said, eyes cutting to Ava as I tried to crack the tough nut. "You do plan on keeping the restaurant open now that Tyler's gone, correct?"

  His head snapped up. "Yes. Of course. Why? What have you heard?"

  "Nothing!" I assured him. "I just, well, I guess I just wondered about the future of the place. I mean, before we go into business together," I added, thinking of Schultz's warnings. "You, uh, did mention that the finances weren't in great shape."

  He frowned. "Don't worry about that. I'll work them out. We're not closing." He said it with such emphasis that I wasn't sure if he was trying to convince me or himself.

  "You mentioned there has been some overspending," I hedged. "On Tyler's part."

 
His frown deepened. "Yes. But, like I said, I'll take care of it. We'll be solvent soon enough."

  I bit my lip. "Now that Tyler's gone, you mean."

  "Yes." He paused as if realizing how that sounded. "What I mean to say is, it will be easier to balance the books without the extra expenses Tyler incurred."

  "Right. Expenses." I shot Ava a look, wondering just how far I could push this. "Do you know exactly what Tyler was spending money on?"

  Mark blinked at me as if not understanding the question.

  "I mean…did you actually see receipts for the funds that Tyler withdrew, or did he just take out cash, or…" I trailed off, hoping he'd pick up the train of thought.

  But instead he set the wine bottle down on his desk with a loud thud, eyes homing in on me. "Exactly what are you getting at?"

  Oh boy. I took a deep breath, going for broke. "Was Tyler stealing from the business?"

  The frown was a downright scowl now. "Who told you that?" he demanded hotly.

  "Is it true?" I pressed.

  I could see his chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping his temper in check, and I half expected him to throw us out. To my surprise, instead he finally just nodded.

  "So Tyler was embezzling from the company," I clarified.

  Mark let out a long sigh and crossed the room to shut the door from prying ears before answering. "Yes, he was. Though in Tyler's words, it was his name on the door, so it was all his money." Mark shook his head, as if trying to shake the memory away.

  "So you confronted him?" I asked.

  "I did. Look, when our last commercial lost so much money, I started looking at our finances more closely—looking for places we could tighten the belt so to speak."

  "And that's when you found the discrepancies?" I guessed.

  He nodded again. "I've known for a while that Tyler was playing loose with the money, but it wasn't until I started really vetting the purchases he made that I realized a lot of them weren't purchases at all. He was making up companies that he paid for fake things then pocketing the funds."

  "Pocketing them where?" I asked, wondering if David Allen's theory had been correct.

  But Mark shook his head. "No idea. I confronted him with it, and he just laughed. Said it was his cash to begin with. Cleary he didn't understand the meaning of the word partnership. "

  "So what did you do?" Ava asked.

  He shrugged. "What could I do? I told him it had to stop. That he was bleeding us dry."

  "Did he?" I asked.

  "I don't know." Mark sighed, sinking back down into his chair looking defeated. "Look, I told him to cut it out, and he just laughed. He had no idea what trouble we'd be in if what he'd been doing came to light. Faking expenses? Pulling tax-free funds from the corporation? The IRS would have this place shut down so fast it would make his pretty little head spin. And we'd be looking at real jail time. But did he care? No. He was Tyler Daniels. He always landed on his feet."

  Except, this time he didn't.

  "How much did he take?" Ava asked.

  "All told?" Mark looked up, some of the apathy being replaced again with anger. "Almost two million dollars over the last year."

  I sucked in a breath. That was a pretty penny. And while Mark might well have been worried about what the IRS would do if they found out about it, the truth was that a million of that was Mark's money, if the partners split profits 50/50. If someone had stolen a million dollars from me, I'd be tempted to do more than just tell them to "cut it out."

  "When was the last time you saw Tyler?" I asked, watching his reaction.

  His head shot up, eyes meeting mine. "Why? You think I killed him?"

  The thought had crossed my mind…

  "I'm just wondering what his state of mind was," I lied.

  "Friday," he shot back. "When he was here at the restaurant filming his ridiculous show segment. I told him to cancel the upcoming commercial shoot, he refused, we argued."

  "And then?"

  "And then he left here. Alive." Mark stood, some of the fight returning to him as he towered over us.

  Instinctively, I took a step back, running into Ava at the door.

  "Now, is there anything else, Ms. Oak?" Black asked, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words.

  I shook my head silently and felt behind me for the doorknob. Only, Ava already had it open, ushering me quickly outside the room, where we all but scampered back down the hall for the second time that day.

  "I don't think he likes us very much," Ava noted, her heels click-clacking on the linoleum as we threaded through the crowd toward the front door.

  "Ditto." I paused. "In his defense, we are pretty nosey."

  "What do you think the chances are that he'll want to stock your wines now?" Ava asked as we hit the parking lot, dusk just starting to creep up over the hills.

  I shook my head. "Slim to waif model."

  "Sorry. Five bottles of wine wasted."

  "Well, I guess you couldn't say totally wasted. We know now that Tyler definitely was stealing from his partner."

  "And Mark definitely knew about it."

  "And had a million reasons to want Tyler dead," I pointed out.

  "That's a lot of reasons," Ava mused, unlocking her car and letting us both in. "You think he was telling the truth about not knowing where Tyler kept the cash he stole?"

  I shrugged. "You're thinking he killed Tyler and stole back the two million?" I thought about it. "I guess it's possible he found out where Tyler had it hidden. Maybe Tyler let it slip when they argued. Or Mark threatened it out of him."

  "Hmm." Ava pursed her lips together as she clicked her seat belt into place and turned the car on.

  " Hmmm what?" I asked.

  "Well, I was just wondering…do you think Alec knew?"

  I swiveled in my seat to face her. "Knew what? About the embezzling?"

  She nodded.

  "How would he?"

  "Well, I was just thinking. I mean, Alec knew how much Tyler was making per episode, but he also had a front row seat to Tyler's spending. The RV, the glam squad, the sports car he drove."

  "Ferrari," I said, liking where she was going. "Go on."

  "Alec had to have some inkling what the restaurants were doing. He used to work there. And, well, even Tyler's own attorney seemed concerned about where he'd get the money to pay off a lawsuit. So, when Alec sued Tyler, where did he think Tyler would get the money?"

  I pointed a fingernail at her. "Good point." I sat back in my seat, thinking that one through. "Maybe Alec saw something, back when he worked for Tyler, that tipped him off. Or maybe he's known all along that Tyler was embezzling and was just waiting for an opportunity to capitalize on it."

  "So where does that leave us?" Ava asked.

  "With lots of motive," I told her, my mind still running over possibilities. "No proof and—" I added, looking at her dash clock, "—a dessert demonstration to get to." I sighed.

  "Well, I can help you with one of those," Ava promised, pulling out of the lot and pointing her car back toward Oak Valley.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Twenty minutes later we were back at the Fall Food and Wine Festival, where the last demonstration of the night seemed to be going off without a hitch. Or at least with only a couple of minor hitches. When I'd arrived, Gabby had been yelling at the hair stylist about her hair being too frizzy, yelling at the bleached blonds about her eyelashes being crooked, and yelling at anyone within range of her voice that someone needed to find Alec. Fortunately, the hairstylist had frizz serum, the blonds reapplied Gabby's left eyelash, and Alec made an appearance just before Gabby was to go on stage—cradling a glass of Zin in hand and a scowl on his face. I wasn't sure what the current relationship status between the two was, but I'd say it was in the murky to muddy range.

  But one thing I could say for Gabby was that she was a total professional when it came to her audience. Whatever foul mood she'd been in all day, she checked it at the stage and showed up for the crowd wi
th a smile and a gregarious welcome to everyone assembled as she demonstrated her Summer Fruit Flambé . While the applause was sparse—as was the "crowd"—Gabby put on a show that had everyone enthralled as they watched her light her peaches ablaze with a flourish against the backdrop of the darkening sky.

  That crisis averted, I made my way back toward the main building. Jean Luc was pouring in the tasting room for the last of the customers of the evening. While he said he was "perfectly fine, mon amie ," I could tell the long days and the suspicion in the air were wearing on him—if nothing else, the droop of his mustache betrayed that much. Eddie promised to help Jean Luc clean up after the guests went home, and I left them to finish up a little paperwork before calling it a night myself.

  Only, as I made my way down the hall and to my office door, I realized someone had beaten me to it.

  I froze. Someone was in my office.

  He had his back to me and was bent over my desk, as if searching it for something. It took me a moment to recognize the blond hair and slim build, but as I did, anger started to bubble up inside me.

  "Excuse me," I said loudly.

  Alec Post stood and spun around so quickly he almost knocked my stapler off my desk.

  "Looking for something?" I asked, arching one eyebrow in his direction and doing my best to channel the stern, no-nonsense sound of my second grade teacher's voice.

  Alec blinked at me, taking a moment to respond. If I had to guess, he was searching for a credible lie.

  "Gabby sent me to find you."

  "Gabby?" I asked, my tone probably giving away that I only halfway believed him. "You mean the Gabby who's on stage right now?"

  His adorable features pulled down into a scowl. " Before she went on stage."

  "What does she need?"

  "She wants the keys to Tyler's trailer to get it back to LA. The police said they handed them over to you."

  I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched his eyes ping around the room, not quite meeting mine. "They did. And you thought you'd just search through my desk until you found them…?" I left the question hanging.