Blood, Wine and Chocolate

by Julie Thomas

  The owner looked up from the shelf she was stacking and grinned at him. ‘Michael Wilson, my favourite rep. And I need you – just about sold out.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ He put the box on the counter and looked at the arrangements behind the glass. ‘Wow, you are low!’

  She climbed down the stepladder. ‘And you have a fan. I had a lady come in asking for some chocolate she’d tasted and couldn’t remember the name. We narrowed it down and it was you.’

  ‘How did you narrow it down?’ he asked.

  ‘She said it was exotic, unusual.’

  Vinnie was reading the backs of blocks of chocolate as he listened. ‘Am I exotic?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘By far the most exotic rep I know and, you have to admit, some of the flavour combinations are unusual, delicious, but unusual.’

  ‘Ah well, you solved the riddle, that’s the main thing.’

  ‘I did. She wanted to buy direct but I told her she would have to buy through me. I suspect she was a tourist as she didn’t seem to know the country.’

  ‘What nationality?’

  ‘English.’

  Vinnie sat on the wall at Mission Bay beach and watched the ferry chugging across the harbour. It was on its way to Waiheke Island. He was trying to make up his mind. Something in the conversation he’d had that morning had rung a tiny bell in the back of his brain. He needed to check to see if a larger plot was swirling or whether he was suffering from old imaginary fears. He dialled a number on his phone. It rang three times before the call was picked up.

  ‘Hello, Louisa Logan speaking.’

  ‘Louisa, it’s Dom Darcy. How are you?’

  There was a small silence.

  ‘Dom, how lovely to hear from you! Where are you?’

  He smiled; she was as nosey as ever. ‘Making an honest living, and missing you all. Lou, I have a question for you. Is that okay?’

  ‘Of course, darling. Fire away.’

  ‘Have you had anyone on a tour asking about us? About the winery?’

  There was that pause again. ‘One or two are interested in Rocky Bay, and they usually don’t know it has changed hands. And yes, recently some have asked questions, wondered where you’ve gone, but I didn’t tell them anything, naturally.’

  He felt a slight lurch in the pit of his stomach. ‘Thanks, Lou. Love to everyone.’

  ‘But wait a moment, Dom, you –’

  He hung up and pocketed his phone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  MISUNDERSTANDING

  ‘That was a lovely meal,’ Anna said as she sank into a comfy leather sofa.

  Mitchell put two cups on the coffee table and sat down beside her. She looked surprised at his proximity, but recovered quickly, although not quickly enough.

  He pointed to an armchair. ‘Would you like me to sit over there?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, no, you’re fine.’

  He sighed contentedly. So far so good. ‘I’m getting to like this barbecue habit.’

  She picked up a cup. ‘Didn’t you grow up with barbecue in Texas? I thought all they ate was beef.’

  ‘Not where I come from. We lived in the city and my daddy didn’t know many cattle ranchers. We ate in restaurants.’

  ‘Which city?’

  ‘Austin.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Commercial banking. What did your daddy do?’

  She paused. ‘He was a doctor, a GP.’

  ‘Noble profession.’

  ‘Oh, he was anything but noble. He ran off with his nurse when I was four. I have three brothers and three half-sisters. Waste of space, all of them.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re so direct.’

  ‘You mean blunt – sorry. What was he like, your daddy?’

  Mitchell gave a small grimace. ‘To tell you the truth, he was a devoted churchgoer and a moral man, and he wouldn’t approve of what I’m about to do.’

  Before she could answer, he put his finger on her chin and turned her face towards him. Then he leaned across, took the cup and kissed her on the lips.

  For a second he felt her responding, then she raised her arms and pushed him back. He wasn’t expecting that, and he fell sideways into the sofa, spilling the coffee.

  She stood up. ‘I’m very flattered, Mitchell. But I can’t allow this to go any further.’ Her colour was high, and she looked flustered.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Charlotte.’

  She was looking around for her handbag.

  He stood up and took her hands in his. ‘I just thought, with Michael away … Actually, I wasn’t think–’ He tried to kiss her again but she pulled back and slapped him.

  ‘Stop it! I’m not playing games. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I could never hurt Michael.’

  She had seen her handbag on the seat. He rubbed his face, stepped in her way and locked eyes with her. He saw the shock cross her face as his smile faded. Finally, he let the hatred and repulsion shine from his eyes. It was decision time. The bitch wasn’t up for an affair, so what was he going to do? Stick to the plan or abandon it and revert to his true nature? She was at his mercy. Which would hurt Vinnie Whitney-Ross more?

  ‘I … I need to go. Let me go.’ Her anger had dissolved, and her voice sounded small and fearful.

  He raised his arm to strike and she shrank back. Then, just as suddenly, he moved sideways and she darted to the chair and grabbed her handbag. In four strides she was at the ranch slider and had pulled it open.

  He needed to keep up appearances, and it took him two strides. ‘Charlotte.’

  He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. She was obviously shocked to find him so close and her fist flew up. He blocked the punch with his forearm and whacked her hard across the face.

  She staggered back. ‘Leave me alone!’

  The cry followed her out the door and into the night. She didn’t look back, and he could hear her footsteps down the deck. He smiled. This felt right. The stage was too big for a private tragedy. This revenge demanded a Shakespearian ending.

  Anna stumbled as she ran down the beach, her shoes in one hand and handbag in the other. The moon was bright and she had no trouble finding her way. Her breath came in rough pants, almost sobs, and yet she didn’t feel ready to cry. Her brain was churning. Who the hell was that man and what had just happened? What had she seen in his face? He had looked as though he wanted to kill her.

  A noise to her right caught her attention, and she pulled up to a stop. ‘Hello?’

  There was no response.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she called out.

  Her gut instinct told her that eyes were watching her. For the first time in months, she felt a wave of real fear. The same kind of paralysing terror that had flooded her when Norman Lane had stepped out of the shadows and put a gun to her head.

  Someone was up on the lawn, out of sight, observing her, following her. She broke into a run and ran as fast as she could all the way to her own deck, fumbled with the lock on the door and pulled it open, then slammed it shut and locked it after her.

  Tipping the contents of her handbag out onto the floor, she grabbed her cell phone. Her hands were shaking so badly that she could hardly press the buttons.

  The phone rang twice and then clicked over to voicemail. ‘You’ve reached the phone of Michael Wilson from Aunt Muriel’s Magnificent Chocolate Masterpieces. I can’t take your call at present, but please leave your number and name and a brief message after the tone, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks for the call.’

  She shook her head with impatience, and as soon as the tone sounded she yelled into the phone: ‘Vinnie, call me! As soon as you can.’

  Vinnie had decided he should be at home and had driven through the night. He needed the music playing loud to keep him awake, and so didn’t hear his phone ring. He turned into his driveway at three in the morning, yawning.

  It was a full moon, and he could still see the outlines of the house
and the shed once he turned off the headlights. The surf crashed in the background, the ever-present soundtrack to their lives. Mary and Anna would be asleep, and he wouldn’t tell them what he suspected until the morning. Anna would want to know if they were going to move again, and so he had rehearsed his answer. It might be nothing but, if anyone was coming, it was time to stand and fight.

  Instead of going straight to the house, he walked down the side of it, between the house and the shed, and stood looking out at the moonlight glinting on the sea. Could it be Melissa Lane? What were the chances? Should he call Peter Harper and tell him? Would Peter think he was overreacting? A small part of him was glad that it had happened – this was the last one, and this time, when it was over, it would be over.

  Inside the house, Anna lay asleep on the sofa, still fully dressed. There was a carving knife on the coffee table beside her. The sound of the car engine didn’t penetrate her consciousness, but the door slamming did. Her eyes opened and she held her breath. Was it Vinnie? Had she slept through his call? Surely no one else would bring a car and risk being heard? Mary was in the house. Her fear was real, and she could feel it deep in her bowels. Eventually she forced herself to pick up the knife, get to her feet and cross the floor to the folding doors.

  Vinnie grabbed the door handle at the same time she did and his face appeared out of the night. Relief engulfed her.

  He unlocked the door and she threw herself into his arms.

  ‘Hey!’ he exclaimed as he caught her. ‘What’s this?’

  He took the knife from her grasp.

  ‘Vinnie, I was so scared! Did you get my message?’

  He led her over to the sofa and they sat down.

  ‘Nope, I must’ve had the music up too loud to hear the phone. For goodness sake, what’s happened?’ He raised her face and studied the bruise and the swelling around her eye socket. ‘Anna? Who hit you?’

  Suddenly the strange events of the evening, combined with her relief at having him back, became too much for her and she burst into tears.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE JEALOUSY TANGO

  It took him an hour to quieten her, reassure her and take her to bed. He held her close until she fell asleep, and waited until her breathing was deep and regular. He hadn’t told her about his fears. This closer threat was more immediate and had to be dealt with first. It was time to be a husband.

  He slipped out of the bed and dressed warmly, took the carving knife and strode along the beach to Dawson’s house. He let the anger boil with every step, and by the time he arrived at Mitchell’s house, he was a seething cauldron of rage. Someone had threatened his wife for the last time.

  The lights were on and the ranch slider was open. Mitchell was sitting in a lounge chair, wearing a bathrobe, reading and drinking wine, almost as though he was waiting. He didn’t look up as Vinnie strode in.

  Suddenly Vinnie had an unsettling feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  ‘I thought you were away,’ Mitchell said finally.

  ‘Apparently so.’

  Slowly Mitchell raised his eyes and then he laughed. ‘You brought a knife?’

  Vinnie bristled. ‘You assaulted my wife. You might be some kind of maniac.’

  Mitchell laughed louder. ‘And you thought a knife would help?’

  ‘If I had a gun, I’d have it in my hand.’

  Mitchell raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Really? Now who’s the maniac?’

  Vinnie shook his head. He needed to stay in control and ignore the goading. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing? She’s mine. How dare you!’

  Mitchell put the glass and the book down on the table beside his chair and pulled himself to his feet. His legs were uncovered, and for the first time Vinnie noticed that his thigh bones were long.

  ‘I made a pass at your wife and she put me in my place. I’m sorry. I should never have hit her. It was most ungentlemanly of me.’

  Vinnie locked eyes with him. The other man’s eyes were ice cold. Something, he couldn’t place it, but something … ‘Who the hell are you?’ Vinnie asked softly.

  The corners of Mitchell’s mouth twitched.

  It was a tic – Vinnie hadn’t noticed it before, and it was strangely familiar.

  ‘I’d like to say I’m competition, but Charlotte’s far too noble for that. Or scared of you.’

  Vinnie punched Mitchell in the gut. His fist bounced off the taut muscles as if they were concrete. Mitchell grasped Vinnie’s shoulder and squeezed. The pain was excruciating. The nerves in Vinnie’s arm went numb, his hand opened and the knife dropped to the floor.

  Then Mitchell’s other hand struck him across the face. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time, you pompous ass.’

  Vinnie regained his balance and launched himself at the taller man. They crashed to the floor, wrestling and landing half-hearted blows.

  ‘Stay away from –’

  ‘Oh grow up! Didn’t that fancy public school teach you anything?’

  Vinnie kicked himself clear and moved out of reach. Something about this man was all wrong.

  ‘How do you know I went to a public school?’ he asked.

  Mitchell shrugged. ‘Good guess.’

  Vinnie’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you even know what a public school is?’

  Without waiting for an answer, he threw himself at Mitchell and caught him off-guard. He struck higher up, and felt rib bone crunch under the blow. Then he gripped two fingers in his hand and bent them back as far as he could. The joints and bones cracked loudly.

  ‘Fuck! Let go!’

  That voice, those bloody clipped public school vowels!

  Vinnie spat the words into his face: ‘Don’t take no shit from nobody.’

  The answer was automatic and involuntary: ‘No shit.’

  It hit him as sharply as it had all those years ago, so hard he felt winded. He let go of the fingers and scrambled away across the floor.

  ‘No! No way! You’re fucking dead!’

  Vinnie’s brain was swirling, and a roaring noise filled his ears. How was this even possible? And what the hell was he going to do now?

  Marcus gave a short, humourless bark. ‘I was tempted to call myself Lazarus, but I thought it might tip you off. Been fun watching you, and flirting with your precious Anna. She’s a piece of work.’

  Vinnie felt dazed and shocked, and very afraid of this ghost from his childhood. He knew Marcus could, and would, kill him without hesitation.

  ‘Why did you come here?’ he asked.

  Marcus gave a triumphant smile. He seemed to be struggling with himself, with something he couldn’t help but brag about.

  Vinnie remembered what Peter Harper had said at the identity parade about Marcus’s Achilles heel being his need to boast. ‘How the hell did you find me?’ But he knew the answer: the nosey woman in Auckland had been Melissa.

  Still Marcus just smiled.

  ‘What are you going to do to us now?’

  Marcus didn’t answer, but Vinnie could see he was desperate to share.

  ‘I know who you are, so you might as well tell me what you plan to do, now that your cover’s blown. You can’t get away with –’

  Suddenly Marcus laughed. It was a bitter sound, with more than a touch of hysteria.

  ‘It’s done! It’s too late. My cover wasn’t all bullshit: I have been researching chilli. Your precious white chocolates are injected with pure capsaicin, the oil in chilli. But this is from the ghost chilli, Bhut Jolokia. Less than four grams will kill in twenty minutes. Anaphylactic shock. An exquisitely painful death. It’s so strong it burns through plastic. Those chocolates are now potent killing machines.’

  Vinnie was almost lost for words.

  ‘Why?’ he spluttered.

  ‘Why? Are you completely stupid? This makes you a mass murderer. You’ll have no defence, and they’ll lock you up forever. Trust me, there are things worse than death, and a life sentence is one of them.’

&nb
sp; It was ingenious and cunning. But the person who would take the blame would be his mother. At that, a red mist of rage rose up in Vinnie and he let out a shriek as he flung himself forward and punched Marcus in the face. Marcus’s head bounced on the floor with a sickening thud. They traded punches again, but harder this time, first Vinnie on top and then Marcus, who was hampered by his damaged left hand. Vinnie drove his knee up into the other man’s testicles and Marcus screamed in pain.

  Marcus pulled himself away and staggered to his feet, looking urgently around the room. Then he saw what he was searching for on the table, grabbed it and advanced towards Vinnie, his lips drawn back in a grimace of agony. ‘Payback time, you murdering bastard,’ he gasped.

  Vinnie had been on his knees and sprang up. ‘Takes one to know one. Did you know your father shot my dad? It wasn’t suicide at all – it was murder. Norman told me just before he died in a vat of my wine.’

  Marcus stopped. It was clear he’d had no idea. ‘You’re lying.’

  For a moment they stared at each other and the years fell away. Two little boys on a bridge.

  ‘No, I’m not. Your father shattered my world, broke my mother’s heart and condemned us to a life of shame.’

  Then Marcus started advancing again. ‘He must have had good reason. Don’t you think it’s fitting that it comes down to us? After all these –’

  ‘Vinnie! What the hell’s going on?’

  They both swung around. Anna was standing in the opening of the sliding door, her face ashen and another knife in her hand.

  ‘Call the police, get the neighbours!’ Vinnie yelled.

  She fled, and, while Vinnie was still distracted, Marcus moved with lightning speed.

  ‘It may be over but you’re going to pay for killing my dad,’ he screamed as he ripped open a case and drove the needle of a syringe into Vinnie’s shoulder, depressing the plunger all the way.

  The pain shot down Vinnie’s arm and across his upper chest. He reeled back, the syringe still embedded. Marcus stood above him as he sank down the wall.