by Jack Gibby
“I suppose.”
“So what did you do to get to this point?” Brooke asked. “What was your work?”
“Well, I worked my way up in corporate IT, focusing on security mostly, and eventually found myself in an officer position at an investment firm,” said Dunn, picking up his drink and sipping from it. “It’s not all that interesting, really. I was just in the right place at the right time, became a partner, and made some decent money fast.”
“That is pretty interesting, actually,” Brooke corrected. “I don’t think you hear that kind of story every day.”
“No, I guess not,” said Dunn. “Ultimately, my passion for the work waned as I got higher up and it just wasn’t the same. I was working too much, not taking care of my personal relationships, and it all just crashed. I’m trying to pick up the pieces now.”
“I see,” said Brooke, nodding slowly. She had a knowing expression on her face. “Your romantic relationships.”
“Right,” admitted Dunn. “I’m divorced.”
“I am, too,” Brooke said, almost as though she were singing a tune. “Logan’s father is… well, he’s something else. I try to avoid him as much as I can. He works in the wine business around here. Sadly, I see him every two weeks when he picks Logan up.”
“I think one of the reasons I moved up here was to escape my wife,” said Dunn with a sly smile. “Sorry, ex-wife.”
“She’s still in Chicago?”
“Yes,” said Dunn. “Unfortunately, Traverse City was our favorite vacation spot together, so there’s not a zero chance I’ll be able to avoid her completely.”
“You tell me if she walks in that door,” Brooke teased. “I’ll just push my breasts together like this,” she said, squeezing her chest with her arms, inspiring her cleavage to grow. “And you can introduce me to her.” Dunn laughed.
“Oh yeah?” he said. “You think that’ll work? Make her jealous?”
“I think so,” said Brooke, playfulness in her eyes.
“I think you’re right,” Dunn admitted. He took another drink, still smiling.
“Any other interesting things I should know about you, Gannon Dunn?” Brooke posited with an alluring tone.
“Well,” Dunn said, leaning back for a moment and thinking about it. “Did you hear about that shooting at the marina recently?”
“You were the shooter,” joked Brooke. When her sultry voice went into a tease, it really made Dunn feel it. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“No,” said Dunn. “But I witnessed it. And the guy shot at me, too.”
“Oh my God,” said Brooke. She dropped the flirt and sat back, hand to her chest. “Gannon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Dunn said, smiling, waving his hand in an accepting gesture. “I’m fine with it. But you can’t say that’s not an interesting tidbit about me.”
“No, you can’t,” agreed Brooke. “Wow. That’s pretty crazy.”
“I really didn’t think I’d be welcomed to Traverse City by such an experience,” said Dunn. “I hope it’s not a portent for things to come.”
“It’s not,” Brooke assured him. “This is a quiet, relaxed resort town. It gets a little crowded in the summer with all the tourists. But it’s really a perfect place. I think you’re going to love living here.”
“I hope so,” said Dunn. “I’m falling in love with my house. I think I lucked out.”
“The house next to the Polk’s?” said Brooke. “I remember what that place looked like. It needed work.”
“It’s beautiful now,” Dunn replied. “I couldn’t have asked for a nicer place to live downtown.”
“Maybe after dinner we’ll take a stroll over there,” Brooke said, smiling again. “I’d love to see the renovation.”
“Maybe we will,” Dunn said. He smiled with her.
After another hour of easy conversation, a delectable dinner, and another round of margaritas, the date continued on out to Front Street, took a turn, and continued on in the direction of Dunn’s home. Brooke gripped to his arm as they walked, the two of them laughing and feeling good. It was a beautiful summer evening, the town was bustling, the weather was ideal. Once they eventually reached Dunn’s block, things were much quieter than they were downtown. It was peaceful.
“This is such a pretty block,” mused Brooke. “All of these houses are so nice. I remember what it was like to have a house. Apartment life just isn’t the same.”
“I’m just a few more up,” said Dunn, pointing down the street.
“I want to see the whole house,” said Brooke. “These old Victorians have so much character. I bet yours is stunning.”
“A lot of old wood,” said Dunn. “Original wooden bannister on the stairs.”
“It sounds dreamy,” Brooke said and sighed.
But as they came upon Dunn’s house, the two of them looking up to it, Brooke furrowed her brow in confusion. She looked to Dunn, who was seemingly equally confused.
“Did you leave your front door cracked open?” Brooke asked. A faint light shone through the crack of Dunn’s open door. The door handle itself looked as though it had been busted open.
“I did not,” said Dunn evenly. “Wait out here, all right? If anything happens, call the police.”
“Okay,” said Brooke, suffused in uneasiness. She watched as Dunn broke into a jog, ran up his stoop, and approached his front door.
Dunn paused, and he peered through the crack. He listened. Everything was quiet. With a light push, he opened the door and stepped halfway inside. He looked around. Things were askew. There was a broken lamp on the floor. But it was quiet. Eerily quiet.
After walking through the first floor and finding nobody, Dunn climbed the stairs, trying to tread slowly and lightly to avoid any squeaks. He silently and stealthily looked into each room, inspecting for any damage, surveying if anything had been taken or broken, and then he continued on. Upstairs, he found nobody.
Back down in the front room, he looked around once more. Nothing worth money had been taken. All of the electronics, anything easy to pawn, it was still there. His heart slowed as he thought about it. Was this a burglary? Or was it a message?
Once he was sure the coast was clear, Dunn stepped back out onto his front porch. Brooke was waiting for him on the sidewalk, wearing a trepidatious smile. She looked confused, and slightly scared.
“Everything okay, Gannon?” she asked after a moment.
“I don’t know,” said Dunn.
Chapter Three
The cafe was bustling. It was a cozy shop, shiplap on the walls, tin ceilings with exposed industrial ductwork. A constant stream of people filtered in, ordered their coffee from the bald, bearded barista, and walked back out into the beautiful morning sun. The smell of roasted beans permeated, and the sound of grinding became so redundant that it faded away into the background.
Dunn and Missy sat opposite each other at a table. He was dressed leisurely, leather sandals, linen pants, a t-shirt. Missy looked like she still belonged at the marina with her boat shoes, khaki shorts, and a fuchsia polo.
“So did the cops do anything?” Missy asked, taking a careful drink of the hot coffee from her paper cup.
“They wrote a report,” said Dunn. “But they said there was nothing more they could do. Nothing was stolen. Just a few broken things, the door was left open. It could have just been some kids being assholes. Their words.”
“I don’t know,” said Missy. “I think it’s just too convenient that both of us are experiencing strange stuff happening. And just over a week from the shooting.”
“I agree,” said Dunn. “There’s more to this, and the police don’t want to hear it.”
“I left my job,” said Missy. “I was starting to get afraid. They still haven’t fixed those cameras. I knew this guy was following me around, but with no footage, I couldn’t prove it.”
“I’m thinking that somebody, or multiple somebodies, are after us,” Dunn offered. “
We witnessed a murder, and we were shot at. We’re being intimidated.”
“I think you’re right,” agreed Missy. “I’ve definitely felt intimidated. I think I’m going to start carrying my pistol. You never know what can happen.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” said Dunn. “I was on a really nice date when I discovered my house was broken into. That doesn’t look good… to her, I mean.”
“These thugs ruined your chances of getting lucky,” Missy teased with a smirk.
“You’re damn right they did,” Dunn said, easily playing along. Missy laughed.
“They ruined my good thing at the sailing school,” said Missy. “Now I think I’m going to have to get a job working for my father. Not really looking forward to that.”
“What does he do?”
“Well…” Missy said, pausing and looking away for a moment. She often kept her family business a secret from people. Too much baggage came with it, too many preconceived notions. But she felt safe around Dunn. She felt like she could trust him. “Have you ever heard of Emperor Vineyards?”
“Sure,” said Dunn. “I’ve been there a number of times. Good wine.”
“That’s my family’s winery,” Missy admitted. “My grandfather started it. Most of my family works there. Except me.”
“Ah,” Dunn said.
“I just don’t like people thinking I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth,” said Missy.
“But you were,” Dunn retorted.
“I was,” Missy said.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” said Dunn. “You were fortunate. Life’s not fair.”
“I just hate nepotism, I hate feeling like I didn’t do things myself,” she said, almost sullen over it.
“I did things myself,” Dunn said. “I don’t think it feels any different, to be honest.”
“Yeah, well,” said Missy, intent to move on from the bad feelings. “I know if I work at my family’s winery, I’ll be well-protected from this lurking jerk. We’ve got cameras all over, my family is hyper-vigilant and protective, and his ass will get bounced. Plus, if I’ve got my pistol on me, I’ll feel a lot safer.”
“I’ve never been a gun guy,” said Dunn. “But I’m thinking about it.”
“You need to protect yourself,” opined Missy. “And this lady friend of yours.”
“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Dunn said. “After the break-in, I might be too much trouble for her.”
“Did she seem put off by it?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “I think she was concerned, a little fearful. But ultimately empathetic and feeling bad for me.”
“That doesn’t sound bad,” said Missy, offering a gentle smile. “Give it another try, you know?”
“Thanks,” said Dunn. He took a sip of coffee.
“Well, if you’re interested in packing heat,” said Missy. “I can help you with that. I can help you buy a gun, and I’ll take you to the range and show you how to use it.”
“Yeah?” said Dunn. He was very seriously considering it. “What do we have to do?”
“There’s some paperwork you need to file with the state, some permitting,” said Missy. “But it’s not bad. I’ll help you get that started.”
“You’d do that for me?” Dunn asked. “That’s nice of you.”
“Sure,” Missy said, her smile brightening. “We’re friends.”
“We’re friends?” Dunn repeated.
“Of course, Dunn,” Missy said. “We went through something serious together. We’re still going through it. That binds you, man.” Dunn chuckled.
“We’re friends,” Dunn affirmed. “I think you might be my first friend up here in Traverse City.”
“Aw,” said Missy. She reached out and rubbed his hand. “I’m a good person to know.”
“It seems that way,” Dunn mused.
“And since you’re my friend now,” Missy continued. “I think there’s more I need to explain to you how things work around here.”
“You’ve got my attention,” Dunn said, leaning in and feeling his interest shoot up.
“The winery business,” said Missy. “It’s highly competitive. From the outside, when you’re visiting wineries, doing a tasting, touring the grounds, it all seems pretty idyllic, right? Well, among the vineyards, deep down, there’s a lot of in-fighting, a lot of vying for territory. Land up here on the two peninsulas, they’re not making any more of it. It can make for some interesting situations.”
“All right,” Dunn said, a bit confused why this was being related to him.
“You hang around me,” Missy went on. “You might see some of this stuff first hand. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Do you think,” began Dunn, his mind beginning to get to work. “That shooting at the marina could have anything to do with the stuff you’re talking about? The competition between wineries?”
“Absolutely,” said Missy. “That thought definitely crossed my mind.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Dunn asked. “Why didn’t you tell the police that?”
Missy paused. She looked off. She smiled.
“Dunn,” she said with a sense of calm, still smiling. “The police know what’s going on around here. If it’s between the wineries, it’s between the wineries.”
“Huh,” intoned Dunn, letting her words sink in. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’d just met you,” Missy said. “And like I told you, I don’t really like sharing my connection with my family business.”
“This is sounding an awful lot like the mafia,” Dunn posited. Missy laughed.
“A bit,” she said. “I see the resemblance.”
“You really think that murder, and that guy shooting at us,” Dunn said. “You think that could be related to all this?”
“Yes!” Missy replied emphatically. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“And so now we’ve got the winery mafia after us?” Dunn asked. “Is that what I’m hearing?”
“If this is the case,” said Missy. “If this assumption is true. Once they find out who I am, they’ll probably back off. Back off of me. But you. You might have some more to worry about.”
“Well, shit,” Dunn said. He pushed his hand through his hair, still absorbing what Missy was telling him. It all felt too wild to be true. This was a sleepy, resort town. This was supposed to be relaxing. This was supposed to be his opportunity to start fresh. Dunn’s new life was not supposed to begin like this.
“I’m still fearful,” Missy admitted. “I know somebody was following me. Just because I’m a Marlowe in this town, that doesn’t mean I’m completely exempt. Hey, if these guys are from some rival vineyard that my family isn’t cool with, I could be in just as much shit as you. We saw something they didn’t want us to see.”
Dunn crossed his arms, his lips straight, leaning back in his chair. A lot was running through his mind.
“Dunn,” said Missy. “It’s going to be okay. We just have to stick together.”
“Right,” said Dunn. Missy’s words had an effect on him. “Right,” he said again, more resolute this time.
“That’s the spirit,” Missy said with a smile.
“Let me ask you something,” Dunn said, becoming more comfortable with the adventure that laid before him.
“Sure,” said Missy.
“Is your family’s winery,” he said, chewing for a moment on the words. “Are they good guys, or are they bad guys?” Missy laughed easily.
“I think it’s all a bit more complicated than that,” admitted Missy.
“Okay,” acquiesced Dunn. “I guess I have to accept that.”
“First and foremost,” said Missy. “We’ve got to get you a little protection. And let these guys know, whoever they are, that you won’t be intimidated by a home invasion.”
“I felt pretty intimidated,” Dunn said.
“Not anymore,” said Missy. She smiled slyly.
Missy yanked open th
e front entrance, an oversized wooden door with black steel hardware, and traipsed inside. The floor was smooth concrete, the room was large and open, and she was immediately greeted by a huge wall of windows looking out over the vineyards. To the left was the tasting counter, and she walked along in front of it trying not to be noticed, trying to blend in with all the customers milling around.
“Hey there, Missy!” said a woman standing behind the counter. “Thought you could sneak by.” Missy stopped. She put on a smile.
“Hello, Martha,” Missy said. She stepped closer to the counter, looking side to side, making sure she wasn’t butting in front of any customers.
“We don’t see you around here much anymore,” Martha went on. “How are you? Still sailing?”
“Yeah, still sailing,” said Missy. “I’m fine. I’m actually here to see my father. Is he in?”
“He is,” said Martha. “He’s been running around. I think I saw him go upstairs to his office. Try up there.”
“Thanks, Martha,” said Missy. She resumed her walk.
“Don’t be a stranger, dear!” Martha called after her. Missy looked back, smiled, and waved. But she continued on without another word.
The climb to her father’s office was familiar, and everyone she happened to encounter who worked for Emperor Vineyards recognized Missy immediately. Although she hadn’t been around much in the past decade, she was still instantly recognizable. And the fact that she looked just like her mother didn’t hurt either.
Upstairs, just like the main floor, had concrete floors and felt cold, staid, imposing. This main building of the winery, the tasting room, main retail shop, the primary business and meeting space, it was almost like a castle. In its previous incarnation, her grandfather’s version, it felt a little more welcoming. However, when her father took over and renovated, it became far more august.
The door to Michael Marlowe’s office resembled the front door of the winery. It was large, wooden, with the same black steel hardware. And like the entrance to the winery, there were two doors. One of the doors was open, and Missy approached it, looking in cautiously.