She sniffed loudly again, turning to look at me through her wet lashes. "You think?"
I nodded. "What do you say we get you back to your glam squad and ready for the demo?"
"God, the demo!" She kicked at a rock as if it was its fault she had to go on stage in fifteen minutes. "I can't wait for this wreck of a festival to be over."
That made two of us.
I stood, attempting to haul Gabby up with me. She wasn't very cooperative—or coordinated—so it took a couple of attempts to get her to her feet. I did my best to brush the majority of the dirt off her skirt and intercepted her when she went to take another swig from her bottle.
"Uh, maybe let's just wait until after the demo for this, okay?" I asked cheerily.
She scowled at me but didn't protest as I tried to lead her around the back of the building to the kitchen. Once we'd hobbled our way there, I ushered her into Conchita's care with instructions to get as much coffee into her system as humanly possible. Then I went in search of the bleached blonds to go work their glam magic on her.
Crisis #1 of the day averted, I made my way toward my office for a little privacy to call Schultz and see where we were on that lawyer for Jean Luc.
Only, I never got the chance, as the second I walked into my office, I spotted Crisis #2 leaning against my desk in faded jeans, black boots, and a button down shirt that strained against a pair of impressive biceps as arms crossed unhappily over a broad chest.
Detective Grant.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I cleared my throat awkwardly, remembering where we'd left things last night. While I still thought I'd been in the right, in hindsight my temper might have taken over my mouth just a little.
"Grant," I said, greeting him in what I hoped sounded like a cool, professional, adult manner.
However, the response that came back to me was anything but professional, laced with an edge and an undercurrent of anger just waiting to explode. "Where is he?" Grant demanded.
"Wh-where… What do you mean?"
"Jean Luc. Where is he?"
I blinked at him. "I-I don't know. He's not here."
"I know. We've looked."
Of course he had. I opened my mouth to say more, but Grant ran right over me.
"He's also not at his home," Grant said, the edge growing with each word. "Or his neighbors' or friends' places."
I swallowed. "I-I'm sure he's somewhere."
"Me too." He leveled me with a stony look. "So, where is he?"
"Wait," I said, a bad feeling taking hold in my gut. "What are you implying?"
"I came here last night as a friend, Emmy," he said, the flecks in his eyes dancing in angry circles.
"Yeah, some friend you are! Just what exactly are you accusing me of?"
His jaw clenched so tightly I could see the veins in his neck straining. "It is a crime to harbor a fugitive."
There it was. I felt the breath rush out of me. "You think I've hidden Jean Luc somewhere?"
"I warned you last night that we're getting a warrant, and this morning he's vanished."
Vanished. I thought a dirty word. While I'd had no hand in tipping Jean Luc off, the fact that the police couldn't find him was unnerving. Either he'd stupidly run out of fear, which only served to make him look guilty, or something had happened to him. I thought of my attack last night. What if I hadn't been the only person the killer had visited last night?
"I don't know where he is," I said, hearing fear edge into my voice. "But the real killer might have hurt him."
"The real killer?"
I bit my lip, realizing how OJ that sounded. "Jean Luc did not hurt anyone."
"Innocent people don't flee," Grant challenged. "Especially without reason." He pinned me with that accusatory look again.
"I didn't say anything to him! Yes, I was angry you were being so irrational and wouldn't listen to reason—"
Grant opened his mouth to protest, but I had no interest in hearing it and continued right on.
"—but I have not talked to Jean Luc since he left the winery yesterday evening. I have no idea where he is. In fact, I've been trying to get hold of him all morning." I tossed my phone onto the desk. "Check my call logs if you don't believe me," I challenged him.
His eyes went to the phone before rising again to meet mine, a dark, flat expression in them.
I could feel angry tears pricking the back of my throat again, that Grant really thought me capable of this, but I refused to let them get any farther than that, straightening my spine and matching his cold gaze with as much indignation as I could muster up.
Finally Grant broke our staring contest, letting out a long sigh as his arms uncrossed and a hand went through his hair. "I don't need to check your phone, Emmy," he said, his voice losing some of the edge.
A small bubble of relief welled up inside me that he hadn't lost total faith in me.
"And what about Jean Luc?" I asked. "What if he's hurt?"
"Believe me, we're doing everything we can to find him." He paused, and I could tell he was holding back voicing that he was still looking for him as a missing fugitive and not a victim.
"His car?" I asked. "Is it still in his garage?"
Grant nodded. "But there are lots of other ways out of Sonoma. Train. Bus. Uber."
He was right. And as worried as I was for my friend, part of me could easily see Jean Luc being scared enough to use any one of those as means of running, despite his innocence. Especially if he could feel the police closing in.
"You'll let me know if you hear from him?" Grant asked, moving toward the door.
I nodded, though I wasn't 100% sure I was being honest even with myself in that moment. If Jean Luc really did contact me, I'd have a moral dilemma on my hands.
But Grant must have realized it was the best assurance he was going to get, as he nodded and turned to the door.
"Grant?" I called after him.
He paused, spinning back to face me.
"Uh, did the police open every cupboard in Tyler's trailer?"
He frowned, the question clearly not one he'd been ready for. "I'd have to ask the CSI unit. Why?"
I hesitated to tell him I'd been inside of it, not sure what sort of trespassing charge that could bring. "The, uh, makeup team told me there was one locked cupboard. I, uh, just wondered if the police had gotten a look at the contents."
The frown deepened. "You just wondered." Then he shook his head, his eyes going to the bruise on my cheek. "Emmy, leave this alone, okay?"
I bit my bottom lip, not quite ready to make that promise. "But you'll keep me posted, right?" I asked.
Unfortunately, he was a lot more honest than I was, as he just sent me a vague, "I'll do what I can."
And then he left.
* * *
My conversation with Grant left me unnerved in more ways than one. As I forced myself back out onto the festival grounds with what I was sure was a fake looking smile, all I could think of was Jean Luc, alone and afraid somewhere—at best, thinking he was being hunted down for a crime he didn't commit. At worst—I didn't even want to think of at worst. If whoever had attacked me last night hadn't stopped there, Jean Luc could be in serious trouble.
While everyone connected with Tyler seemed to have a reason to hate him, I couldn't help my mind replaying Alec Post's threat in my office. I'd seen Alec's temper firsthand. And he'd been angry last night, fighting with Gabby. Then he'd disappeared. He had no alibi for when Tyler died and none for when I was attacked. And the last time I'd seen him, he'd been caught going through my things. All of which added up to Alec being my prime suspect. And if there was even a chance he'd done something with Jean Luc, I had to find him.
After doing a quick round of the booths, it was clear Alec was not among them. I stopped briefly at Ava's Silver Girl spot to fill her in, and she promised she'd text me the second she saw him. I thanked her for being my eyes outside and then ducked into the tasting room.
Though, instead of Alec Post
, the first familiar face I saw at the bar was Mark Black. Which took me aback, as he hadn't attended any previous days at the festival. He was sipping a glass of Zinfandel and was deep in conversation with a woman in a peacock blue dress who had her back to me. He must have felt my eyes on him, as his intent gaze moved from his companion's face to mine. Then he leaned in and whispered something to the woman, who spun in her seat, giving me a clear look at her face. Ashley Daniels.
"Emmy!" she hailed me, waving one of her bangled arms my way. Though as I crossed the room to greet her, her expression went from congenial to concerned.
"Good heavens, girl, what happened to you?"
My hand went instinctively to my cheek, and I ducked my head, hoping my hair would fall forward to cover the bruising. At least a little. "I, uh, was attacked. Last night."
"Are you okay?" Ashley asked, frowning.
I nodded. "I'll be fine. It's worse than it looks," I said, watching for any reaction from Mark Black. But if he felt any trace of guilt, he hid it beneath a poker face that gave no hint of his thoughts.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Mr. Black," I told him. "I'm hoping this means you enjoyed the wine samples I left you yesterday?"
He nodded, though his bushy eyebrows were drawn down in a scowl that made me wonder what the pair had been discussing when I'd walked in. "Yes. I, uh, tried the Pinot Blanc last night."
"Well, I hope you paired it with something light and full of citrus," Ashley said with a wink. "It's the only way to truly enjoy a top-notch Pinot Blanc."
Mark made a noncommittal grunt and sipped his wine.
"I told Mark he simply must come up here for the last day of the Food and Wine Festival," Ashley told me. "You've done such a lovely job of pulling together some very talented local chefs."
"Th-Thank you," I said, trying not to sound as surprised as I felt. While I agreed that the vendors who'd stayed on had put out some incredible culinary creations, it seemed all that the other press I'd encountered had wanted to talk about was murder. Though, it was very possible Ashley was dealing with her ex-husband's death in the ostrich fashion—if we didn't talk about it, it didn't hurt as much.
"We just had a delightful seared scallop at the seafood booth for lunch, didn't we, Mark?" Ashley added.
Mark did more grunting and sipping.
"Uh, neither of you have seen Alec Post today, have you?" I asked.
Mark shook his head.
Ashley pursed her lips together, causing her deep red lipstick to settle into the subtle lines around her mouth. "No, I can't say I have. But I did see Gabby earlier." She paused. "She seemed kind of a wreck."
"She's…having a bad day," I hedged.
"Poor kid." Ashley clucked her tongue. "She's taking it hard, isn't she?"
I blinked at her, wondering if Ashley knew about the diva's fight with Alec too.
"Tyler's death?" Ashley supplied.
"Oh. Right. Yes." I cleared my throat. "I-I think she is."
"We all are," Mark added before sipping from his glass again.
I bit my lip. So far no one had seemed to be terribly broken up about it, but if they were all going to pretend at grief today, who was I to stop them?
"By the way, the police released Tyler's trailer to me yesterday," I told Mark. "I have the keys to it, but I wasn't sure who to give them to now."
"Well, I'm sure the trailer was company property, wasn't it, Mark?" Ashley answered for him. "And everything in the company belongs to Mark now."
Mark's eyes went up to meet mine, a clear warning in them to keep quiet about just what assets the company did or did not have at current.
"Is that right?" I asked him slowly. "Did Tyler buy the trailer with company funds?"
The warning look didn't let up any, but he shook his head. "Let the lawyers figure it out."
"Oh surely you don't expect poor Emmy to keep that monstrosity here until then?" Ashley countered, her arm waving in the general direction of the trailer in a way that made her bracelets jangle again.
"Emmy's a smart girl," Mark said on a sneer. "She can figure it out."
"Alec told me that Gabby could get it back to the studios," I offered.
Mark shrugged and sipped again. "Whatever."
"I'm curious, how late did you stay at Tyler's Place last night?" I asked, watching Mark's reaction carefully as I wondered just how far I could push him.
Two bushy eyebrows raised my way over the rim of his glass. "Excuse me?"
"Just curious where you were last night."
His jaw clenched, his eyes going to the bruise on my cheek. "Are you trying to accuse me of something?" he ground out, the words laced with menace that had me rethinking my strategy to push.
But I licked my lips and charged forward. "The restaurant closes at ten. Did you stay after hours?"
"That's none of your business," he shot back. I could tell it was taking all he had to keep his temper in check.
"Actually, he was with me," Ashley quickly jumped in.
I looked from her to Black. "He was?"
She nodded, the pair of large gold hoops at her ears bobbing with the movement. "Yes, I stopped by his place after the restaurant closed. You know, catch up with old friends." She turned to Mark. "Isn't that right?"
Mark nodded slowly, though I could see some hesitation there. I had half a notion that Ashley Daniels was covering for him. Though, why, I wasn't sure. Was it just the ties of an old friendship? Or was something more going on there?
Though, either way, I'd be hard pressed to dispute the alibi she was providing him.
I was about to press further, when I spotted a figure outside the window, trekking from the main winery building to the festival grounds.
Alec Post.
I felt my heart rate pick up at the sight of my query.
"Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of the festival," I told Ashley and Mark as I quickly excused myself, threading through the growing crowd in the tasting room to the back doors.
By the time I got outside, I'd lost sight of him and had a small moment of panic that he'd vanished again. Luckily, he was tall and blond, which tended to stand out in a crowd, and I spotted him at the edge of the grounds, quickly walking with his head down, as if on a mission.
I followed, half walking half jogging to keep pace with him. I'd almost caught up when he changed directions abruptly, ducking around the corner of the building, behind the kitchen.
In the direction of Tyler's trailer.
I hurried to catch up, though as soon as I rounded the corner after him, I paused. My initial intention had been to corner him and demand an alibi for last night. But as I saw him look over both shoulders to make sure no one was watching him—good instincts on his part—I hung back. People out for an innocent stroll weren't usually concerned with being watched.
A thought I held on to as Alec approached the trailer. Though, instead of going to the locked door, he quickly stepped around the back of it, the side that was sheltered from view by a couple of large oak trees.
I bit my lip, dying to know what he was up to. I tiptoed forward, trying not to make any sound as I went around the opposite side of the trailer than the one Alec had approached. I did a two count to muster courage and peeked around the back of the trailer.
Just in time to see Alec grab a large rock, weighing it in his hands for a beat before smashing it into the side window of the trailer.
I bit back a gasp of surprise at the destruction, but above the din of the festival, no one would have heard the noise. I watched Alec take off his jacket, using it to push out the remaining few shards of glass in the window, before he put his foot on the front tire, using it as leverage to boost himself up and into the broken window. It all took a matter of seconds, and he was inside.
I felt my breath coming fast, my mind whirling with what I should do. I could call Grant, but by the time he got there, Alec could be long gone. With whatever it was from Tyler's trailer that he was so keen to get his hands on.
Where Alec Post was crouched down next to the locked cupboard.
He had a screwdriver in hand, seemingly having come prepared, and was digging at the lock with it. I bit my lip, my heart rate kicking up a notch as I watched, waiting to see what he came away with. The anticipation coupled with the fear of being caught spying on the would-be burglar caused a fluttering sensation in my belly.
I was so focused on the scene in front of me that I almost didn't even hear the sound.
Footsteps on dry leaves. Behind me.
Moving closer.
I was slow to register them, and by the time I did, I moved to spin around and see who was spying on me spying.
But I was too late.
Before I could catch even a glimpse of the intruder, a dark object came hurtling toward my vision.
And then nothing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My eyes were closed, my body still, and my head hurt like an elephant was sitting on it. I felt something hard and cold beneath it. I tried to shift to the right, to a more comfortable position, but the pain exploded at my temple as the previous night's goose egg scraped against the hard surface. I shifted left instead, but had much the same result as I realized I had a new injury on the other side. Then I decided it best to stop moving at all. Instead, I lay in the stillness, and listened, waiting for the roaring pain to subside.
I could hear voices from somewhere far off—lots of them. The faint sounds of music wafted toward me as well, a soft, jazzy song.
The festival.
I blinked my eyes open slowly, each flutter of my lashes causing me effort. I was somewhere dark, and it took me a few second for my eyes to adjust to it. But when they did, I realized I knew exactly where I was, the dark rafters of The Cave's ceiling coming into focus above me. How I had gotten here with a heck of a headache, I still wasn't sure. My brain felt fuzzy, like it was thinking through molasses.
I lay there, listening to the far off sounds of the festival for a few seconds, trying to get my bearings. Two larger oak barrels sat to my right, which meant the door to the cellar was on the other side of them. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to break through the fog in my head, and attempted to sit up.
Victim in the Vineyard Page 17