Wining and Dying

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  “How did you hide once you left?” I asked.

  “My mother helped me change my identity. Her father, my grandfather, used to work for WITSEC. He’d taught her some tricks of the trade. Now she’s . . .” Naomi chewed her lower lip. “She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry. Did she live here in Crystal Cove?”

  She worried the heart-shaped locket around her neck, which was similar to the one I wore. “No, in San Luis Obispo. She sold art and stained glass. The business was flagging, but she did everything she could to help me. When she got sick and knew she was dying of lung cancer, she suggested I move here. She’d always loved Crystal Cove.” She splayed her hands. One started to shake. She tucked it into the other. “She didn’t have much money. A small savings. That helped me start anew. She found the house I’m renting. It’s small. Two bedrooms. All I have left of her are this necklace”—she tapped it—“and a few precious stained-glass panels. She’s the one who encouraged me to make my own stained-glass works.”

  “I didn’t know you made stained glass.”

  “I dabble. It’s hard to make a living as an artist or a teacher’s assistant. I’ve sold a number of panels thanks to my site on Etsy. You know what Etsy is, don’t you? An e-commerce website for crafts and such.”

  “Yes.”

  “The panels are a popular item.”

  “And your father?” I asked. Even given all of our dates for coffees, I hadn’t heard much about Naomi’s family, though I’d told her nearly everything about mine.

  “Also deceased. He left when I was four. I didn’t know him well.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “About Nina,” I said, returning to our earlier discussion. “Is Christopher the father? Or was Quade?”

  The tremor that had started in her hand shimmied through her entire body. “Quade?” Her voice crackled with tension. “Why would you ask about him?”

  “He was hounding you. At class and at the party. Was there more than a passing familiarity between you two? Did you two date at one time?”

  “No . . . Yes.” It took her a long time to continue. “We did date. Briefly. Until I realized he was an egocentric narcissist. ‘My art is the best,’” she said, mimicking Quade’s voice. ‘“Nobody can match me in talent.’ It became tiresome.” She huffed. “So I broke it off.”

  “Was he the father?”

  “No.” The trembling subsided. “We met a year after Nina was born. If he—” She slung an arm across her body, protectively hooking her hand on her shoulder. “If he continues to pursue me, I warned him I’d get a restraining order.”

  “You won’t need to do that,” Bailey said.

  “Don’t tell me.” Naomi held up a palm. “He finally decided to quit this sleepy town, as he dubbed it. In the middle of the festival. What a jerk! He realized he wasn’t going to win the competition and didn’t want to suffer the humiliating bruise to his ego.”

  “Did he know you’d changed your identity?” I asked, not ready to broach the matter of his death.

  “I might have told him I’d changed it, for artistic purposes. I never told him more. I guess I’ll have to, now that Christopher has surfaced.”

  “No, you won’t.” I shared a look with Bailey, who motioned to continue. “Naomi, I hate to break the news, but Quade is dead. He was murdered last night.”

  She gasped and once again her hands started to tremble. Watching her process the information, I wondered whether she might have killed him in order to keep her identity a secret.

  Chapter 9

  Bailey and I returned to the shop and helped Gran reorganize everything before closing for the day. We had no last-minute shoppers because there were so many evening events planned around town. My aunt had left to prepare for the evening’s wearable art event.

  At six, I took Tigger home. Rook was eager to see his buddy. Rhett had left at three for Intime. While the two animals played chase in the backyard, I filled their water and food bowls, and then I dressed for the event. Wearable art was the theme, so I threw on the most sparkly outfit I had, a silver sequin mesh cardigan and shell over tapered black satin pants. I added a pair of dangling silver earrings to finish the ensemble and applied a thin sliver of smoky gray eye shadow.

  “Inside, you two,” I said to the pets before heading out. “Love you and miss you already.”

  The Aquarium by the Sea was a beautiful establishment endowed by a widow. It featured floor-to-ceiling windows and a wave-shaped roof. An artist had carved images of sea lions, manta rays, sharks, and more into the walls of the edifice. A moat of steadily flowing water surrounded the site.

  The Wearable Art event was being held in the expansive courtyard at the rear of the building. A banner hung above the site’s entrance. A woman in a Monet-esque gown was accepting tickets. Aunt Vera had treated all of us at the shop to the event. I handed the woman my ticket and strolled into the roped-off area. The elaborate fountain, which usually featured water shooting straight into the air, had been reduced to a modest burble. Sounds of chatter and laughter filled the air, as did the strains of a string quartet playing chamber music. Festive lights, in a crisscross design, sparkled above the venue.

  I roamed past the various displays, all of which were open air, no booths or tents that might make the area feel crowded. As I strolled past table after table, I admired artistic brooches, ornate necklaces, T-shirts, ties, and more. I scanned the crowd for family and friends but was quickly distracted by the aroma of toasted cheese. A waitress wearing a Renoir-print apron over her white shirt and black slacks was offering hors d’oeuvres. I hurried to her.

  “You’re a saint.” I took a melted brie on a whole wheat cracker topped with drizzled honey from the tray and popped it into my mouth. Heaven.

  “Jenna!” a woman called.

  Sienna Brown beckoned me. She was admiring a display of crystal necklaces at a booth named Shimmer. Beyond her, at the next stall, Naomi was fingering colorful diaphanous dresses on a clothes rack while chatting up the saleswoman. She didn’t look torn up about Quade. She didn’t look anything at all, as a matter of fact. From the side view, her face was a blank slate.

  I joined Sienna. “You look nice.” Her gold couture dress with a loosely draped duster coat went well with her coloring.

  “Thank you. As do you. I dropped by for a moment. To say hello. I have to head back to the inn. The dessert and wine pairing event is about to start.” She set down the hexagonal-shaped necklace she’d been studying. “What a shame about Keller Landry.”

  “He’s innocent,” I stated.

  “Of course he is. He’s such a sweet man. I adore him. He supplies much of our ice cream at the inn. It’s . . . Well . . . What’s the world coming to?” She fingered the stylish curls hanging from her updo. “Quade murdered. Keller arrested.”

  “He’s not arrested.” Not as far as I knew. Katie would have touched base with me, wouldn’t she? Or Lola?

  “My mistake.”

  I said, “How are you holding up? Having a murder at the inn can’t be good for business.”

  “Actually, it’s lured a few new guests. Ghoulish, if you ask me, but I haven’t turned them away.” She held a multicolored beaded necklace in front of her chest and assessed it in the vendor’s mirror then put it back. “Business is business, after all. One needs to balance the books.”

  “I heard you gave Quade the cabana for free. Did you know him well?”

  “I didn’t. No. Not well at all. But I feel it’s my duty to help out artists whenever I can. I haven’t an ounce of creativity in my pinky, but I do admire talent. That’s why I allowed Yardley to stage the event at the inn. In retrospect, perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea.” She peeked at her watch. “I’m sorry to cut our chat short, but I must be going.” Without further ado, she weaved through the crowd toward the exit.

  I spotted my father and Lola near the first of the vintner tables, he in a tweed sports jacket over blue shirt and trouser
s, she in a shimmery aqua sheath and shawl. “Hey, you two,” I said as I drew near. “What are you snacking on?”

  “Touvelle cheese on French bread topped with fig jam.” Lola held hers up for inspection before eating it.

  “It isn’t quite a cheddar and it’s not quite a jack,” my father said.

  “Scrumptious,” Lola added, polishing fig jam off her fingertips.

  My father kissed my cheek. “Flying solo?”

  “Rhett had to work.”

  “What’ll it be?” He gestured to the two-ounce pours of white wine, which included a sauvignon blanc, chardonnay, and Riesling.

  “I’ll try the sauvignon blanc.”

  “Good decision,” Lola said. “By the way, Keller has not been arrested. They do not have nearly enough evidence.”

  “Yay!” I accepted a tasting glass from my father.

  “I proposed that since the murder weapon could have been planted,” Lola continued, “so could the artwork. Cinnamon knows she’ll need additional cold hard facts to make the case, starting with motive.”

  I raised my glass in a toast. “I’m happy to hear that. Cheers!”

  “But he’s not out of the woods.”

  “Don’t tell Katie that. She’s a nervous wreck.” I sipped my wine and set the glass down. Everything in moderation, I reminded myself. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to wander through the courtyard and see what’s for sale.”

  “Don’t miss the crystal necklaces,” Lola said. “They’re splendid.”

  “I saw them. They’re lovely.”

  As I roamed, Hannah Storm called to me. “Jenna, come try our latest wine! It’s called Lightning.” She was once again working alongside Destiny.

  In her signature black, Hannah looked decidedly plain standing next to Destiny, who was wearing a strapless black dress and a stunning stained-glass necklace that reminded me of a Picasso painting.

  I accepted a glass of the wine and took a sip. “Mm, very nice.”

  “This is our first release of this pinot blend,” Hannah said. “Destiny says it will be a real draw on her wine tours.”

  “Destiny, I think you’re right,” I said. “It’s a winner in my book.” Despite her pretty getup, her face was glummer than glum. “It looks like you’ve heard about Quade. How are you doing?”

  She stemmed tears with her index fingers. “I can’t believe—” She jammed her lips together. “I can’t believe he’s gone. If only I’d stuck around and hadn’t gone home to do PR for my stupid business. Maybe I could have helped him. I could have—”

  “Saved him? And fought off a killer?” Hannah fisted her hands on her hips. “Girlfriend, we’ve talked about this. Get real. You could not have stopped—”

  “I’m strong. I’m quick on my feet. I’m—” Destiny covered her mouth, lowered her head, and hurried through the crowd toward the restrooms.

  “Destiny!” Hannah cried, but Destiny kept running. Hannah swept her hair over her shoulders. “Poor thing. She was going to stay home tonight, but I told her that she shouldn’t be alone and to come and help me.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “Not so good if she has to disappear into the restroom all night.” Hannah served another customer then faced me. “Destiny has had quite a sad life. At the age of eleven, losing her mother in that horrible accident. Nana said the woman was a saint. One of the finest antiques dealers in California. And then, losing her father last year to a heart attack?” Hannah placed a hand on her chest. “He, like his wife, was a lovely man. A fairly well-to-do home builder. And, now, losing her business partner?”

  “Oh, no, how’d he die?”

  “He’s alive,” Hannah said, relieved. “But he wanted to press the reset button on his career choice, so he quit the business and relocated to New York. Needless to say, heading up an operation that needs two partners to run smoothly all by oneself is tough to do. That’s why her self-esteem is at an all-time low. She thinks she’s the root of bad luck. According to her, all the bad omens of walking under a ladder, breaking a mirror, or tipping over a saltshaker don’t hold a candle to her getting involved with someone. She thinks she’s a pariah.” Hannah winked. “She hoped Quade would—”

  “Fall for her and turn the tide,” I finished.

  Hannah drew in a deep breath and let it out. “But look what happened. Luckily, that black Lab of hers adores her.”

  “I’ve seen it riding with her on tours.”

  “He’s so sweet. Alan and I have been discussing getting a dog.”

  A group of four approached and asked Hannah for a sample of Lightning.

  I bid her goodbye and sauntered across the courtyard to where my aunt was standing with Gran and Bailey. All were clad in cobalt blue.

  I snorted as I approached. “Did you three get a dress memo or something? If I’d known, I’d have worn my blue sheath.”

  Bailey grinned. “Completely by accident.”

  “Jenna, dear.” Aunt Vera held out both hands. I grabbed hold. She drew me into a hug. “How did it go with Naomi?”

  “You didn’t tell them?” I asked Bailey.

  She plucked her short hair. “I was going to.”

  I recapped the conversation and how we’d learned about Naomi’s estranged relationship from her husband.

  “They never divorced?” Gran asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Is it possible Naomi revealed her history to Quade and killed him to keep it a secret?” Aunt Vera asked.

  “I’d wondered the same thing, but I can’t imagine Naomi stabbing someone. Like Keller, she’s so sweet and kind.”

  Gran said, “Who else do you suspect, Jenna?”

  “That’s the police’s job.”

  “Yes”—Gran winked—“but you often have thoughts on the subject. After all, you were at the crime scene.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Hannah’s wine venue and recalled Destiny running off. “I have to admit I’ve got my doubts about Destiny. She was infatuated with Quade, but he rebuffed her repeatedly.”

  My aunt said, “They were once an item.”

  “Really?” I hadn’t picked up that vibe.

  “Yes. When he first moved to town, they were locked at the hip. What a handsome pair they were. Equal in height. Gorgeous faces. Back then, Destiny held her head high. But he ended it.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “At one of our readings, Destiny said he thought she would hold him back.”

  “Huh.” Bailey frowned. “I had no idea she was your client. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her in the Cookbook Nook. Have you, Jenna?”

  “A couple of times, but not for a reading.”

  My aunt whispered, “I give hers to her privately. She didn’t want it to be public knowledge that she’d consulted me because her father—”

  “He died,” I said.

  “He was not a fan of anything paranormal. He was a realist, much like your father, Jenna.”

  Dad could put a damper on mystical things for sure.

  I sipped my wine. “You know, being dumped is a good motive for murder, especially given Destiny’s sad history.” I filled them in on what Hannah had told me about Destiny losing her mother and father and then her business partner. “Plus, the night Quade was killed, she saw him pursuing Naomi with a vengeance.”

  Gran said, “Jealousy is another powerful motive.”

  “She’s quite strong,” Bailey said. “And a wine tour guide knows her way around sharp tools.”

  I agreed. “On the other hand, she didn’t have access to the communal workshop where Keller mistakenly left his tool kit.”

  Aunt Vera clucked her tongue. “You can’t possibly think one of the artists in the competition is the killer. Are you a suspect?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Flora and Faith are harmless,” she went on. “Candy is a love, and Jaime supports every peaceful movement on the planet.”

  “And we know Keller didn’t do it,”
Bailey chimed in.

  “Wouldn’t Destiny have killed Naomi instead of the man she loved?” Gran asked, eager for agreement.

  “Good point,” Bailey said. “I sure would have.”

  “You know—” I glanced over my shoulder to see if Sienna Brown was near; she wasn’t. I turned back. “Sienna Brown and Quade argued the other night. She resides at the inn. She could have easily accessed his room as well as the communal room.”

  “What were they arguing about?” Bailey asked.

  “I’m not sure. It happened more than once. Quade was staying at the inn. For free.”

  “Free?” my aunt echoed.

  “Sienna enjoyed supporting artists. I imagine their beef had to do with his entitled behavior or his treatment of the staff.”

  Gran’s eyes twinkled. “Vera and I are heading to the inn for the dessert and wine pairing. Do you want us to do some sleuthing? We could chat up Sienna.”

  “Gracie.” My aunt clucked her disapproval.

  “We’ll simply ask a few questions,” Gran went on, undeterred. “We’ll see if something is afoot.”

  Aunt Vera swatted Gran’s arm. “Listen to you.”

  Bailey said, “I see my mom waving at me. Back in a bit.”

  As she strolled away, Z.Z. yelled, “Vera!” She was walking between her boyfriend, Jake Chapman, and her son Egan. “I thought we’d missed hooking up with you.”

  “Jake and Z.Z. are joining us at the dessert and wine pairing,” my aunt offered in explanation.

  “Isn’t everything wonderful?” Z.Z. gripped a fold of her op-art dress and swayed to and fro, clearly pleased. “Aren’t you impressed?”

  “Very.” My aunt kissed her cheek. “Jake, Egan, are you enjoying yourselves?”

  “It’s quite a spectacle,” Jake said. “Z.Z. has outdone herself.” In his leather jacket and jeans—Jake never dressed up—he reminded me of Clint Eastwood in his sixties, craggy and wryly handsome.

  “Egan?” my aunt repeated.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. He was wearing a nice suit but it hung on his thin frame.

  “How’s life now that you’ve graduated college, Egan?” I asked. His mother not only served as mayor but also as one of the area’s premier realtors, a job she took up two years ago to help pay for the extra college courses Egan had needed to get his degree.