That's when I realized I was not only on the cold stone floor, but my hands were also bound.
I wiggled my arms, and something tight and plastic bit into my wrists behind my back. Panic bloomed in my chest as I wiggled my legs and found much the same situation—both ankles bound tightly together. I rolled over onto my right side, ignoring the pain in my cheek as the bruise hit the floor, and looked down, my feet coming into focus. Somewhere along my journey I'd lost my sandals and acquired a zip tie that held my ankles together. I could see my skin turning white at the edges of the tie where it bit into my flesh.
That panic turned into a full-fledged attack.
Playing inchworm, I managed to wriggle myself into a seated position with the aid of the stone wall beside me. The room spun with the added elevation of a couple feet, and I leaned back against the cool stones, taking deep breaths in an attempt to get it to stand still, and tried to remember how I'd gotten here.
Alec.
I'd been watching him break into Tyler's trailer. Had Alec put me here? I strained to conjure up the memory. He couldn't have. He'd been inside the trailer. I'd been watching him try to open the locked cupboard. And someone had hit me.
An accomplice? Gabby? Mark Black, having been pushed just one question too far? I had no idea. I also had no idea how long I'd been in the cellar. Minutes? Hours? I seemed to be alone, no other signs of life making sounds in The Cave.
But that didn't mean my attacker wouldn't be back.
"Help!" I tried to call out.
Tried, because my throat was so dry that I could barely cough out a whisper.
I licked my lips, swallowed, and tried again.
"Help?" This time I was able to eke out a noise, but it sounded weak and useless even to my own ears. "Help! Help me!" I said again, fighting through the pounding in my head at each word.
Even as I ramped up to shouting levels, I knew it was futile. The Cave was built to be temperature controlled and weather tight. Which also meant it was virtually soundproof as well. Even if anyone happened by the cellar at that moment, they'd be unlikely to hear much of anything that wasn't drowned out by the music and merrymaking of the festival.
I felt hot tears of desperation behind my eyes. With the bar well stocked and the festival winding down, it was unlikely anyone would come down here for hours.
I glanced around for something I could use to cut the zip ties, but all that stared back at me were the hulking barrels on one side and the cases of wine bottles back in the shadows.
A wine bottle.
I inchwormed along the floor toward the cases, making slow but steady progress. I felt my breath coming hard from the exertion of moving without the aid of limbs, but I kept going until I got close enough to one to turn around and feel with my hands behind me for the neck of a bottle. It took a few tries, but I finally connected with one, pulling it from its protective shelter. I said a silent prayer this worked and tossed it to the ground as hard as I could.
Which, in a seated position, wasn't nearly hard enough to break it. It kind of bounced off the stones with a thud and rolled a few feet away.
I stifled the whimper that rose in my throat and tried the whole process again, grabbing behind me for another bottle from the case. I tried not to think about what sort of creepy crawling bugs I might be disturbing down here as I felt my fingers connect with another smooth bottle again. I found the neck, and this time instead of tossing it down right away, I awkwardly pulled my knees up, leaning against the wall with my shoulders to help support me as I tried to stand.
It took a couple of failed attempts, but I was finally able to get my bound feet up under me and stood upright. Which caused the room to wobble again, but I fought through it, taking a deep breath and throwing the bottle down on the stone floor.
Where, luckily, this time I heard it shatter. I let out a sigh, feeling triumphant, as I crouched back down and gingerly searched for a jagged piece of glass.
A nearly impossible task without cutting oneself. Which, I promptly did, wincing at the sting, but it was nothing compared to what my imagination was conjuring up for when whoever had put me here returned.
I held the glass in my hand, ignoring the way it bit into my palm, and maneuvered my hands so that the jagged edge was touching the zip tie. Only a touch was all I could manage. Actual movement was pretty nearly impossible. I leaned against the wall again, trying to use the gap between the stones to hold the glass and create some leverage.
I heard a tiny scrape of the glass on the plastic and said a silent thank-you.
I'm not sure how long I sat there, wiggling up and down in minuscule movements, chipping away at my bonds one tiny millimeter at a time. Honestly, I had no idea if it was even working or not, as I couldn't see behind me to gauge for progress, but I could feel the bite against my wrists lessening.
Or maybe my hands were just going numb.
I was just about to decide this whole thing was a waste of time, when I heard a sound.
The cellar door opening.
I froze, fear washing over me as a physical wave of nausea. Light erupted in the room as the intruder flipped on the switch, the sudden onslaught blinding me for a second. Footsteps echoed off the walls as the person moved across the room.
My fingers involuntarily tightened around the small piece of glass in my right hand, holding on to it as the last shard of hope I had as I listened to the footsteps stop just on the other side of the oak barrel.
"I see you're awake, Emmy," a voice said.
My mental hamster stopped in his tracks on his wheel as I realized I recognized that voice.
I also recognized the person it belonged to as she stepped from the shadows, a small black gun in her left hand.
"Ashley Daniels," I breathed out.
She arched one dark eyebrow at me. "What? You didn't expect to see me so soon?"
I hadn't expected to see her at all, and the confusion at doing so must have been clear on my face as she threw her head back and laughed.
"And here I thought you'd put it all together by now, Nancy Drew."
All? Not by a long shot. But one thing seemed clear as I stared at the gun in her hand. "You killed Tyler."
The smile on her face faded, and her eyes went flat. "Best thing I ever did for our relationship."
I licked my lips. The admission being said out loud made this all seem way too real. "The alibi you gave me earlier for Mark. It wasn't really for Mark at all, was it?"
She shook her head, earrings swaying from side to side, catching the light.
"It was for you," I concluded.
Ashley shrugged. "I had a feeling Mark wasn't going to dispute it if it helped him. And it sure as heck helped me." She smiled widely again, but I noticed this one never made it to her eyes, which remained dark, flat, and emotionless.
She took a step forward, moving the gun that much closer to me.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly drier than the best Sauvignon Blanc. "Wh-why?" I croaked out.
"Why?" Ashley parroted in a mocking tone. "You want to know why I killed Tyler?"
I nodded.
"Well, haven't you figured it out yet, you nosey little thing?"
Trust me, considering my current state, I really wished I had figured it out earlier.
Ashley put a hand on her hip, her bracelets clanking together loudly in the enclosed space. "Money, darling. Isn't it always money?"
"The alimony he paid you?" I asked.
She shrugged. "In part. But I realized that was just the tip of the iceberg."
"How so?" I asked. While part of me was honestly curious, the bigger part of me—the one currently bound and being held at gunpoint—needed to take every opportunity to keep her talking. As soon as I'd seen the gun, I'd started to move that little piece of glass against the zip tie again, in short, tiny movements so as not to attract her attention. And the longer I could keep her talking, the better chance I had of actually breaking through the bonds before she got trigger happy.
"I told you Tyler's lawyer wanted to lower my alimony payments. But did I tell you how low he wanted to go?" Ashley asked.
I shook my head.
"Ten grand. Just ten!"
I'd kill for ten grand a month, but I kept my mouth shut. I had a strict policy never to argue with people holding guns.
"And do you know how much that buffoon was making?" Ashley went on.
I licked my lips. "A hundred grand an episode on Eat Up ."
Ashley raised an eyebrow my way again and nodded in appreciation. "See, I knew you were doing your homework."
Yeah, if only I'd done it a little better and figured out who had really killed Tyler. You know, before she'd hit me over the head.
Twice.
"But you said your divorce decree was ironclad. You shut down his request," I said, wiggling my jagged little piece of glass behind my back.
"I did!" she yelled. "I'm telling you, I worked hard for that money. I put up with him!" She threw her hands in the air, jangling the bracelets in the echoing chamber again.
"So why kill him now?" I asked. "I mean, you said yourself that you refused to let him lower your alimony. That he had no grounds. And as long as he was alive, at least you'd be getting those payments. Now you're getting nothing."
"Au contraire, my nosey one," she said with a grin. "Now I'm getting it all."
I frowned, not understanding. "Are you saying Tyler willed his estate to you?"
Ashley busted out a hacking laugh again. "Oh, please. He wouldn't put me in his will at gunpoint." She nodded at the weapon in her own hand, clearly enjoying the irony.
"So how did you benefit financially from his death?" I could feel the plastic starting to give a little more. It might be slow, but I was making progress.
"Well how do you think, my dear?" she asked, pointing a finger at me. "Now, don't play coy. I could tell from your little exchange with Mark today that you know all about Tyler's self-fulfilling access to the company's funds."
"His embezzling, you mean?"
She pointed to her nose. "There it is."
"Did Tyler tell you?" I asked, thinking back to the way she'd insinuated the pair didn't talk. Then again, she'd also left out the part where she'd killed him, so nothing she said could really be taken at face value now.
But Ashley shook her head. "Tyler didn't have time for the likes of me. Let's face it, I'm much too close to his own age for him to be seen with." She threw her head back and laughed again, though this time there was an edge to it that was bordering on mania.
I wiggled my wrists. I was getting close. I could feel the plastic stretching. Something warm and sticky coated my hands, making them slippery, and it took me a moment to realize it was my own blood. I was clutching the glass so hard it was cutting into me. But I didn't care. I just needed a little more time…
"So how did you find out Tyler had embezzled the money?" I asked. I had to keep her talking.
"Mark told me," she said, grinning as if she felt very clever about that. "He realized Tyler was cooking their books, confronted him, and Tyler told him to stuff it. Typical. His ego was always way bigger than his common sense."
"How so?"
"Well, I mean, how long did he think he could go on stealing like that? He was bound to get caught. And the IRS was not going to look kindly on that sort of thing."
"Mark said he told Tyler to stop."
Ashley nodded. "He did. But Mark was smart enough to know Tyler did whatever Tyler wanted. So, he came to me for advice." She paused and shrugged. "Honestly, I think he might have been digging around for any sort of leverage I could provide against Tyler. You know, some dirty little secret to hold over him to keep him in line."
"Did you give him any?"
Ashley let out a long sigh. "Sadly, I used all the leverage I had years ago. But, if there's one thing I know, it's Tyler."
I could feel I just had the slightest little pieces of plastic still holding the tie together. I tried to pull my arms apart without looking like I was straining. It gave a little but held firm. I tamped down disappointment, continuing to work at it even though I knew I could only stall for so long. "You mean, you knew how Tyler thought?"
"And acted. And where he would keep a nice little cache of stolen funds for his personal use."
Now she had my attention. "Where?" I asked, actually wanting to know this time. "In his trailer?"
"His trailer?" She pulled a frown at me and scoffed. "God, why would you think that? Even Tyler wasn't that stupid."
So much for that theory. I floated another. "Cryptocurrency, then?"
She blinked at me, surprised for a second, then narrowed her eyes. "So you did find it, then. I knew it."
Actually, I hadn't. But I did mentally score one for David Allen. I only hoped I could get out of this situation to tell him one day.
Tears suddenly sprang to the back of my throat, and I quickly shut that line of thinking down. Instead, I focused on the task at hand—or at wrists, as the case may be—slowly sawing away at the last bit of zip tie. "You knew Tyler had a cryptocurrency account," I said, trying to keep her talking.
"Well, I knew he was a whiz at hiding money. Let's say that. I learned that much during my divorce. Swiss bank account—check! Offshore account in the Cayman Islands—check! Shell company—check! He'd managed to squirrel money away in all of them, and I was just fortunate enough that I had a shark of a divorce attorney who found it all."
"So Tyler knew all of those other places to hide his money had already been found. He needed to find a new place to keep his ill-gotten gains," I said, working it out.
She nodded. "Actually, it wasn't even that hard to find it. There are tons of companies out there who have software that follows block chains to track down users associated with any given crypto wallet addresses."
I'll admit, I only understood half of what she'd just said there. "You mean, you hired someone to track down his account?"
"Basically, yes. All I had to give them was an IP address, easy enough to find through his custom domain, and their software did all the rest." She grinned, showing off two rows of perfectly white teeth. "Turns out, Tyler bought quite a lot of those imaginary coins."
"Which you now have access to."
"Look, he was going to get caught embezzling and evading taxes. His assets would have been seized. Which would have meant no more alimony for me. I earned that money. It was mine. So, I had to get to it first."
"Which meant killing Tyler."
"That was a nice bonus." She shot me the wolfish grin again, and suddenly I had the thought that she'd actually enjoyed killing her ex-husband.
I licked my lips, eyes going to the gun. I knew she wasn't stupid. She wasn't planning to let me leave here alive.
"How did you lure Tyler to the vineyard?" I asked, not really wanting to know the details of the crime but needing to buy time.
"Oh, that part was easy. I just told him I'd reconsidered about having the alimony payments lowered. I wanted to discuss it with him in private. He followed me like a puppy, the stupid fool."
"And Jean Luc?" I asked. "Was he just a stupid fool in your plan too?"
Ashley sighed, showing the first signs of exasperation at my game of twenty questions. "Yes, well, somebody had to take the fall for it, didn't they? I mean, Tyler was a celebrity. It's not like the police could just sweep his murder under the rug."
"But why Jean Luc?"
"Well, it was his idea that Tyler come work your little festival. He and Tyler had a long history of altercations. And, I knew Jean Luc certainly didn't have the means to hire a fancy attorney to get him off. He really was quite the perfect scapegoat."
I felt anger rising on his behalf, despite the precarious nature of my situation. "So you framed him."
Ashley simply nodded, as if we were discussing her taste in perfume and not the life of a man who I considered near to family. "It wasn't hard. I mean, everyone knew that Jean Luc owned a gun that he kept under his bed. He used
to talk incessantly about how unsafe Los Angeles was compared to gay Paris !" she said, using the French pronunciation for effect.
"So it was Jean Luc's gun that killed Tyler after all?"
She nodded. "Of course."
"You stole it from Jean Luc's house?"
"That bit was trickier," she admitted. "But I knew when Jean Luc worked for Tyler, he was always particular about how the bar was kept clean."
That sounded like Jean Luc.
"He used to keep his keys and wallet behind a stack of dish towels. I guess he figured no one would dare attempt to clean his bar. Lucky me, he still did. I guess old habits die hard." She grinned. "No pun intended."
"So you grabbed his keys?" I asked, ignoring the pun in poor taste.
"Yes. It would have been a bit easier to be sneaky about it if the tasting room ever had a crowd in it."
I tried to ignore the barb.
"But," she continued, "I managed it. I waited until he was busy with another patron at the other end of bar then quickly slipped them into my purse. I finished my drink, drove down to Jean Luc's place where the gun was, predictably, under his bed, and helped myself to it."
"You helped yourself to something else while you were there, too, didn't you?" I asked, the gears turning as everything started to make sense. "A wineglass. With Jean Luc's fingerprints on it."
She gave me that wide, humorless grin again. "See, I knew you were going to figure it out."
"You planted the glass in Tyler's condo?"
She nodded. "Idiot never changed the locks on the place, so I just let myself in and set a neat little stage that looked like two old friends had been having a drink together." She paused. "Or perhaps two old enemies."
"And then you lied to the police about Jean Luc being fired."
She wagged a finger at me. "You almost caught me on that one."
She had no idea how much I wished it hadn't been almost .
"Is that why you hit me over the head last night?"
Victim in the Vineyard Page 18