His scowl deepened, but he had the good grace to at least temper it with a little guilt. "Look, I just thought if they were sitting in plain sight, I could save you the trouble."
"Sure." I narrowed my eyes at him. "In plain sight under the piles of papers you were riffling through, you mean?"
Alec lifted his chin. "I don't know what you mean."
"I find that hard to believe. You're a smart cookie, Alec."
He clenched his jaw. "Are you going to give me the keys or not?"
I paused, feeling an opportunity I might not later have. "How much did you know about Tyler's finances, Alec?"
"Wh-what?" I could tell the question surprised him.
"You mentioned earlier that you knew exactly what he made per episode. Did you also know how much he was spending on his celebrity lifestyle?"
He snorted. "I could guess. The guy was the biggest show-off alive. Even back when I worked at his restaurant, he was always pulling up in some new sports car, flying off to Europe, flashing Rolexes."
"Where do you think he got all that money?"
Alec cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, one could run through his TV salary pretty quickly if one spent the way Tyler did."
Alec shrugged. "Maybe he had money coming in from the restaurant chain."
I watched him, trying to decide if he really believed that. "Maybe. But one would have to wonder if it was enough to cover the amount in your lawsuit."
Alec shook his head. "Look, all I knew was he owed me. Where he got the money to pay up was his problem."
"Emphasis on was ," I noted. "Past tense."
Alec took a step forward, his jaw clenching again. "What exactly are you implying, Ms. Oak?"
I shrugged, feeling some of the bravado at having caught him red-handed in my desk fading. Alec had me by a good six inches and sixty pounds—all of it gym-honed muscle from what I could tell. "Nothing," I hedged. "Just that it seemed like a gamble suing Tyler for money he might not have."
The corner of Alec's mouth quirked up ever so slightly in a snide smirk. "Oh, he had it."
"Did he?" I asked, suddenly thinking maybe Ava's theory was right. Maybe Alec had known about Tyler's embezzling. "How can you be so sure?"
But instead of answering, Alec took another step forward. The smirk was still on his lips, but his eyes were dark, menacing, and definitely not smiling. "What is this about, Ms. Oak? Hmm? Are you trying to say I killed Tyler over some worry he might not be able to pay the restitution in my lawsuit? That's a pretty thin motive to murder someone."
I tried to take a step back, coming up awkwardly against the doorjamb. "N-no. I didn't say that." I paused. "But Tyler has stopped stealing your recipes, hasn't he?"
Alec snorted out a derisive laugh again. "That he has."
"And," I said, watching his expression, "stopped stealing your girlfriend as well."
All trace of smirks, smiles, or laughter vanished as Alec took another step toward me. "I don't know what you're talking about," he ground out between clenched teeth. I tried to step back again, but I was pinned against the wall. Alec leaned in, his face just inches from mine, so close that I could smell our Zinfandel on his breath. "But if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your big mouth shut."
I felt my breath hitch in my chest, my body involuntarily bracing for the physical blow that his menacing posture threatened.
Instead he stepped back, quickly walking through the doorway and down the hall toward the tasting room.
I let out a long breath, leaning against the doorjamb and closing my eyes as I counted to ten to get my heart back to normal.
"Emmy?"
"Eep!" I screeched and felt my insides jump as my eyes flew open.
To find my best friend standing in front of me, her flowing boho dress floating around her ankles as she frowned at me.
"Whoa. You okay?" Ava asked.
I blew out a long breath. "Yeah. Just…jumpy," I finished, crossing the room and sinking into my desk chair.
"Why?" Ava pressed, plopping into a chair across from me. "What happened?"
I quickly filled her in on my run-in with Alec.
"Why do you think he wanted the keys so badly?" she asked when I'd finished.
I shook my head. "Search me. As far as I could tell, it was just Tyler's hair and makeup trailer."
"Unless he kept some personal items in there," Ava said, perking up. "Like, maybe some record of his embezzled funds?"
I shook my head. "Police have been all through there. If he had financial papers among his curlers and hairspray, I'm sure they're gone now."
She gave a resigned shrug. "You're right. Even if the records were digital, I'm guessing they took his phone and computer?"
I shrugged. "Probably."
Ava paused. "You didn't give Alec the keys, did you?"
I shook my head. "No. I should give them to Gabby though. I mean, if she really is going to haul that thing back to LA."
"Well, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. I just saw her leave," Ava informed me.
"How did the demo go?" I asked.
"Great! The flambéed peaches were really impressive. I think the crowd liked it."
"All five of them?" I joked.
Ava grinned. "Cheer up. At least tomorrow is the last day." As if just thinking about one more day made her tired, Ava yawned, stretching her arms above her head.
"Thanks for hanging in there with me," I told her. I knew she must not be making much with her Silver Girl booth, especially with having to pay an employee to run the store while she worked the festival.
She shot me a bright smile. "Hey, no worries. What are friends for?"
"Well, tonight," I said, "I think they're for thanking profusely with a girls' night. How about a pint of mint chip and a date with Bridget Jones?"
"Throw in a bottle of rosé, and I'm there," Ava said enthusiastically.
"Done!"
* * *
An hour later, we had Ava's booth closed down, the kitchen cleaned, and the tasting room and winery entrance locked up tight for the night. We both changed into our pajamas—Ava into the spare pair she kept in my guestroom for nights when she might have enjoyed the rosé just a little too much and me into a comfy cozy pink flannel set covered in tiny blue elephants. Ava had the movie cued up and the wine uncorked, and I ducked out quickly to raid the freezer of the big kitchen for the promised mint chip.
After digging waaaay in the back (I'd had a few mint chip moments lately), I finally found a pint that was only minimally freezer burned and almost full. I locked the kitchen back up and was halfway down the stone pathway back to my cottage when I passed The Cave and noticed that the cellar door was slightly ajar. With everything going on, Jean Luc must have been distracted and forgotten to lock it up that evening. Ice cream in hand, I made a small detour toward The Cave, pausing at the open doorway.
"Hello? Jean Luc?" I called out. The light at the far end of the cellar was on. Damp air surrounded me, along with the scents of oak barrels, tannins, and the cool musty aroma of the aging wood.
"Eddie?" I asked of the still air, wondering if my jovially inept winery manager had been down for a bottle and left the door unlocked.
But silence was the only response that came back to me. Even the sounds of the crickets under the moonlight were muted down here. I shivered as the cool air prickled over my bare arms, making the frozen dessert in my hands feel like an icicle. Satisfied I wasn't locking a wayward employee in, I shut off the light, plunging The Cave into darkness, and turned to go.
Only, I didn't get the chance to leave.
As soon as I spun around, something heavy slammed into the side of my head, making my vision go fuzzy and spinning me back into the cellar. The mint chip flew from my hand, and the ground rushed up to meet my face. My cheek hit the cool stone floor with a jarring force, causing a second explosion of light to go off behind my eyes.
Then all I saw was black.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The fragrant scent of grape leaves drying in the sun wafted toward me on a warm breeze, signaling the harvest would be upon us soon. The sun hit my shoulders beneath my flowered tank top, and a large oak tree provided shade for the man sitting beside me as he wiped his brow and looked out at the vast fields.
"All this will be yours one day, Emmy," my father told me, his deep voice washing over me in a familiar rumble that instantly made me feel safe and at ease.
"All of it?" I tried to wrap my young brain around the idea.
"Yes. Everything to the hills. The same acres your grandfather worked."
"I don't remember that," I told him honestly, my voice sounding very small beside his booming presence.
"That was before you were born, little bean."
"Oh." I followed his gaze, taking in the rows of grapevines planted in neat lines one after another on the rise and fall of the landscape. Sun glistened off the horizon, bathing the fields in its golden rays.
"Someday, you'll work the land just like I have," Dad continued. "Love the grapes. Be grateful for the harvest. Rise and fall with the sun."
"I can't work it all myself," I said matter-of-factly. "It's too big."
Dad chuckled. "You'll have help."
"Will you help me, Daddy?" I asked.
He smiled down at me but shook his head. "No. It will be your turn then, Emmy."
"But where will you be?"
Dad chuckled again, the sound filled with warmth from deep inside him. "I'll be old, Emmy. I'll be sitting on that front porch over there," he told me, pointing off toward our small cottage. "Enjoying a rocking chair and watching my grandkids play while your mom bakes us pies." He ended with a wink in my direction, knowing how much I loved my mother's apple pie.
And suddenly it hit me—Dad didn't know. He didn't know about the heart attack that would take him before my seventeenth birthday. That what he'd leave my mom and me with was a small winery still operating the old way it had for decades, even when the industry around us was rushing into the digital age. That no matter how hard Mom tried to make it all work, she would not only be battling the tide of change but also the changes in her mind that brought good days and bad ones. That eventually her whole world would be a jumbled mess of memories, all at an age that was way too young and too full of physical life.
The pain and unfairness of it all hit me so hard that it was almost a physical thing, making my head ache and pressure build behind my chest as I tried to be brave for him and keep tears inside.
I must not have done a very good job of it, as he turned to me, his eyebrows drawn down. "What's wrong, my little Emmy?"
I opened my mouth to tell him. To warn him. But no sound came out. I struggled for the right words to express the loss that I felt as if it were pounding in my head, ripping me apart from inside. There would be no rocking chairs. No pies. No enjoying the fruits of his years of labor. Just a sudden finality that would leave nothing but emptiness in its wake.
"Emmy?" he asked again.
My chest hurt. My head pounded. Tears behind my eyes wouldn't stay put, making the entire scene blur like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.
"Emmy? Talk to me, Emmy."
His voice was far away now, the sound as watery as my vision. I tried to bring him back into focus, but he faded farther and farther from me.
"No," I said, hearing my own voice come out small and weak.
"Emmy!" he shouted. Louder this time. Closer.
Younger.
"There you are. Emmy, open your eyes."
I blinked, tears making my lashes wet as I struggled to comply.
But the face I found hovering above me was not the image of my father haloed in the sunshine, but Detective Christopher Grant, his concerned features shadowed by the dim light just outside my field of vision.
"G-Grant?" I asked, my brain slow to catch up to my eyes.
I heard him let out a long breath. "God, you scared me."
Something cold was beneath my head, and I realized I was lying on the floor. I blinked, taking in the dark ceiling of The Cave above me, the aging barrels to the right and the stone floor that smelled like dirt below me. I tried to lift my head, but pain exploded behind my eyes, forcing them shut again. "Uhn." My head fell back on the hard stones again.
"Don't try to move. You've got a big lump on your head."
"You don't say," I croaked out.
I thought I heard a soft chuckle in response, but it was forced and shaky. "I'm calling an ambulance."
"No!" I cried out on instinct. Then regretted it, as even talking hurt. "I-I don't have insurance."
"I'll pay for it," he told me.
I forced my eyes open to find him already dialing. "I'm fine," I said. Which would have been way more convincing if I wasn't lying on my back, struggling to form words.
Grant shot me a look that said as much. "You are so far from fine."
"Wait. Just, give me a minute, huh?" I pleaded. While he was right—I was not even fine adjacent—the thought of him having a bill of several hundred dollars for an ambulance I didn't need was too much. Almost as bad as envisioning myself trying to pay that bill.
I must have sounded slightly more convincing this time, as Grant did lower his phone from his ear. "You need to see a doctor."
I nodded. Slowly, as the pain seemed to rocket back and forth with each movement. "I will. But I don't need an ambulance." I forced myself up on my elbows again, fighting a wave of nausea as the world swayed with the effort.
"Here." Grant reached out, supporting me into a sitting position. His gaze roamed my face, as if assessing me. "Your pupils aren't dilated. Eyes are tracking."
"Is that good?"
He nodded, attempting a smile. "Yeah. That's good." He paused. "You've got a bruise forming on your cheek and a nasty bump on your head though." He reached out and gently touched the side of my face.
Even his featherlight touch made me wince and jerk involuntarily away from his fingers.
His eyebrow drew down in concern again, erasing the smile. "What happened?" he asked.
I took a shaky breath in, trying to recall through the pounding in my head. "The cellar door was open. The light was on," I remembered.
Grant nodded. "Go on."
"I-I came in and called out Jean Luc's name."
"Jean Luc. Why?" I could hear the immediate pounce in his voice at his prime suspect's name.
"I thought maybe he was here, stocking for tomorrow. But it turned out someone just left the light on and forgot to lock up."
"What happened then?"
"I shut the light off. But then something hit me."
"Something or someone?" Grant clarified.
I licked my lips. "I guess it was someone," I said, that realization sending a chill through me that had nothing to do with the cool air around me.
"Did you get a look at them?" Grant pressed, going into Cop Mode.
I started to shake my head then thought better of it as the pounding vibrated between my temples again. "No. I-it was dark," I stammered, trying to remember anything that might be useful.
"Did you hear anything? Smell anything?"
I bit my lip. "No. Sorry."
He took in a deep breath through his nose. "Not your fault."
While I knew that, I still could have kicked myself. "He was right here," I said, "and I didn't even get a look at his face."
"His?" Grant said, jumping on the word. "It was a man?"
I scrunched up my nose, thinking back. "Sorry. I can't be sure." I paused. "But whoever it was, I'm sure it had to do with Tyler's death."
Grant froze. "What makes you say that?"
I licked my lips. "I may have been asking a few questions about Tyler. To his friends. Or enemies, as the case may be."
Grant sucked in a deep breath. I could feel a whole host of swear words running through his narrowed eyes, but he was too much of a gentleman to let any of them out. "Okay," he finally said. "Who have you b
een talking to?"
"Well, Mark Black for one."
"Tyler's business partner?"
"He told me Tyler was embezzling funds from the company. Two million dollars, half of it Mark's money."
Grant's eyes narrowed. "He just told you this."
"Sure," I said, glossing over the details. "And then there's Alec Post." The mental image of his menacing face inches from mine earlier that day jumping to the forefront of my mind. "He threatened me."
"Threatened?" I had Grant's full attention now. "When?"
"This evening. I…I caught him in my office."
"Doing what?"
"Honestly, I'm not totally sure," I admitted. "I thought he was after the keys to Tyler's trailer."
"Did he say why?"
"He said Gabby wanted them to get the trailer back to the studio in LA."
Grant nodded. "Makes sense."
I had to admit, saying it out loud, it kind of did.
"So why did he threaten you?" Grant asked.
I licked my lips again, my mouth feeling dry. "I may have kind of insinuated that Tyler was sleeping with Alec's girlfriend."
Grant raised an eyebrow at me. "Gabby?"
I nodded. "He told me to keep my mouth shut if I knew what was good for me."
Grant let out a sigh. "Emmy, if you were saying things like that about my girlfriend, I'd probably tell you to shut up too."
" Your girlfriend?"
" If I had one."
"Oh." I felt myself blush and tried to get the conversation back on the rails to cover it. "Look, clearly I made someone nervous. Someone was sending a message to me. A warning."
His jaw clenched. "Or the cellar was left unlocked and you interrupted a burglar."
I rolled my eyes and quickly realized even that movement hurt. "Doesn't that seem coincidental to you?"
"You've had hundreds of people here for the festival, correct?"
Dozens was sadly probably more accurate, but I nodded slowly in agreement.
"And it's no secret your stock is kept in the cellar."
I bit my lip, hesitant to agree again. Mostly because he was making sense. While my gut still said this was related to Tyler's death, there was no evidence to suggest it wasn't a random burglary. And, the truth was, with everything else happening, maybe my staff and I hadn't paid the most attention to keeping The Cave secure.
Victim in the Vineyard Page 14