One Foot in the Grape

by Carlene O'Neil

  “Okay. Any other reason why you think someone would want Todd dead?”

  “Well, Francesca owns some land outside of Monterey. She got it from Todd’s mother, and it doesn’t sound like Todd was very happy with the way she acquired it.”

  “You know you should have led with all of this at the beginning of the conversation. Anything else you care to tell me?” He gave me a stern look and waited.

  In the end, I told him about my roadside chat with Chantal, along with finding out Francesca didn’t graduate from Layton, as well as her fight with Brice at the restaurant. I didn’t know what would help him, so I gave him everything I knew. Besides, I didn’t like the look I was getting. He wasn’t happy, and I couldn’t help it—I cracked like a walnut.

  Lucas crossed his arms. “Sounds like I need to have a talk with Brice and Francesca, as well as Chantal. You’ve been busy.”

  “Hey, most of this just dropped into my lap. Except for going to Francesca’s law school. And the fermenting building visit. Sorry about that sneaking-under-the-police-tape thing.”

  He just watched me.

  I stared back. “What?”

  “I’m trying to decide if I should tell you what we know or lock you up for unauthorized entry of a crime scene.”

  “If those are my only two choices, I’ll take the first one.”

  Lucas walked over to the open window and watched the street as he spoke. “We didn’t find much, but there was one thing of interest. In the crusher next to Todd was a torn corner of a document.”

  “A document? What do you mean? Something official? Like a deed or something?”

  “Yes. It’s still up at the lab, but the preliminary reports show it’s older and there’s a mark, part of an embossed shape, like an emblem.” He turned to me. “You were a reporter?”

  I nodded, confused at the turn in the conversation. “Of sorts. Photojournalist.”

  “What are you working on now?” He watched me.

  “Nothing. I had a disagreement with my editor at the paper. Since then I’ve been focused on my own photography. Landscapes mostly. Why?”

  Lucas turned back toward the window. He didn’t respond. He just sipped his coffee as I started to squirm. “If you see or hear anything, I want to be the first to know.”

  “Sure.”

  He turned and walked to the door of his office. As he opened the door, he caught my eye. “I’m serious about this. And don’t enter any more of my crime scenes.”

  “I promise.” Yikes.

  I walked back to the car and thought about what Lucas had said. An emblem. Something embossed. Like a diploma. Or maybe the deed to property. Or maybe just about anything else.

  What I needed was to put the problem away for a while. I pointed the car toward Pacific Coast Highway. The late-afternoon sun was low over the ocean as I pulled the car out of town and made a right on Highway 1. Here, the sea breeze met redwood forests and the air was cool even on the hottest days.

  I drove south until I hit Big Sur, where I finally turned around and headed back. I arrived home just as Hayley placed vegetable-and-shrimp kabobs on the outside grill.

  I went inside to make rice, one of the few things I reliably cook. Hayley came in behind me and I spoke without turning. “So you and Lucas looked pretty cozy.” I turned, expecting to see the happy smile I’d seen earlier, but the eyes that met mine were strained and red as though she’d been crying. I put my arm around her. “What’s happened?”

  “I just keep thinking about that night and if there’s anything I should have done that I missed. Lucas is great and I think he might be the one, but Todd’s death and my being there has strained our relationship. He doesn’t want to talk about it and I understand he can’t, but when he said for you to meet him at the police station it scared me. I tried to ask him about it but he got all official with me. I’m just worried.” Hayley looked toward the back door. “Connor’s coming up in a few minutes.” She took a seat at the counter. “Can I ask you a question?”

  I looked at her. She dug her teeth into her lip and there was a line of tension between her brows.

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “It must have been pretty bad when you found him. I guess I just want to know what to do to make it okay. How do you put it behind you?” She gave me a soft smile touched with sadness. Todd had been around Hayley’s age. People with that much ahead of them weren’t supposed to have their time cut so short.

  “Here’s the thing. Sometimes things happen in life you can’t control.” I brushed back her hair. “There were times at the paper when I hid behind the camera because I didn’t want anyone to see my tears. You think you’re making a difference when you cover a story and you bring it into the spotlight, but the sad reality is that sometimes things still don’t change. It can make you feel helpless. Make you want to hide.”

  “So there’s no way to make it any better?”

  “Sometimes you can’t prevent things from happening, and once they’re done, you can’t change the past. There is a way to deal with the pain, though, because you always control your response. You cry, if you need to. You hurt for a while. But then you look for a way to make a difference.” I held her by the shoulders. “Todd’s dead and we can’t change that, but if the person that did this to Todd scares me and keeps me from living my life or from finding the truth, then I’m a victim too. I’m not about to let that happen. Sometimes, you fight back.”

  Hayley nodded. “I understand.”

  “Of course you do. You’re my niece.”

  * * *

  AT dinner we discussed the harvest. Connor started with the white grapes first, determined by the varietal and location on the property. Those areas with the most sun ripened earlier. The reds needed more time on the vine and came in at the end.

  We didn’t talk about the murder, on his part probably because he hoped I’d forget about it and let Lucas solve it, and on my part because I knew he hoped I was going to forget about it and let Lucas solve it.

  Let sleeping dogs lie, let men in denial, deny. Connor’s sidelong glances throughout the evening told me he wasn’t as deep in denial as I would have liked.

  * * *

  I woke up to a rare morning without a hint of fog. I rolled Syrah off, let Nanook out the back door and threw on my Michelin Man sweatsuit.

  After I turned on the coffeemaker, I went out to the garden to see what was ready to pick. I pulled one weed, then another. An hour went by.

  When I returned to the kitchen, Connor was finishing a wholesome breakfast of strawberry shortcake. I rolled my eyes.

  “Hey, it’s fruit and dairy.”

  The phone rang. I let the machine answer, only to hear Ross on the line. “I know you’re there, Pen. Pick up.”

  I grabbed it. “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself. I saw Annie at the gas station. She said Lucas asked you to go to the police station yesterday after lunch.”

  “He just wanted to know if I remembered anything else.”

  “Oh, come on. Surely you’ve found out something.”

  “Um,” I mumbled, noncommittal. “How is Joanne?”

  “As you’d expect. She went from wedding plans to funeral arrangements for her fiancé. She wants to work, but she doesn’t eat and spends a lot of time crying. I don’t think she’s sleeping either. I’m cooking her favorites to try and restore her appetite, at least.”

  “She’s in good hands with you and Thomas.” I stood up to stretch. “I might stop by the restaurant later. I’m going over to the festival grounds this morning to finish decorating and leave some more postcards at the booth.”

  “While you’re there, stop by our booth and we can talk. I have to finish our decorating as well. See you in a bit.”

  * * *

  IT was sunny but cold when I arrived at the festival grounds an hour later, a day of c
risp sunshine but not much warmth behind it.

  At one point the festival grounds had been owned by Martinelli Winery, but years ago the land had been donated by Antonia’s family to the town for public events. To get to the parking lot, you had to circle around the winery on a back road, which then led into a parking lot for the last fifty yards.

  There were only a handful of cars, and I recognized the catering van used by Sterling. Ross had it parked right up front. I pulled in next to him and grabbed the box of photographs.

  The festival was spread out in a grid of five rows, with ten booths each. The ones in the center were reserved for local wineries by invitation only. Only a few of them held any activity.

  I cut over to the food section to find the Sterling booth. Two rows over, Ross was hanging a banner over the front counter. He had a good spot in the row of specialty and gourmet food, between the organic turkey sausages and Swedish pancakes. I looked at Ross balanced on a ladder. He nodded at me as he hammered a tack through the banner and into the wooden frame of the booth. I did a double take at his outfit: a purple robe with a faux-fur collar and a large gold crown.

  Thomas came out of the booth and waved me over. “Come check out our menu. In honor of the medieval theme Ross is doing leg of mutton. It makes one feel so ‘King Arthur.’ Speaking of which, I designed our outfits.” He turned to model a full knight’s outfit. He wore leggings and sleeves of mesh silver chain, and his chest was covered in a silver-plated sheet. A helmet topped with a purple feather plume sat on his head.

  “Why are you wearing them now?”

  “We wanted to see if we could cook and move around in them.” He tapped on his chest. “It’s a little hard to walk in. I cut the pieces from the solid aluminum strips they use to make cookie sheets.” He pointed at his head, and the purple plume flopped in the breeze. “This was my silver bike helmet.”

  “You look terrific.” I nodded my head toward the box I held. “Let me put this in my booth. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Joyeux Winery was midrow on the first aisle. The winery flag, a golden fleur-de-lis on a background of royal blue and burgundy, fluttered on the roof. The booths were covered with temporary weatherproof curtains to protect the contents between now and the festival. I pushed the corner open with my shoulder and turned to enter the tent, box first. The curtain closed behind me, leaving me in the dark. With my hands full, I couldn’t grab the flashlight on my keys and I crept to the tables just ahead of me. As I felt the edge of the table with my thigh, something exploded against the back of my head. The pain was blinding, and I could hear glass breaking as the world tipped away from under my feet. I dropped the box, grabbed the edge of the table and landed on my knees. Through the roar in my ears, I heard a soft laugh. I tried to concentrate, but my eyes closed. A shove into my shoulder ripped the table from my grip and I fell to the ground.

  Just before the world went black I heard a soft whisper. “Just like a bad penny, always turning up in the wrong place. Bad, bad Penny.”

  Fifteen

  “I’LL get some ice. Don’t move her.”

  “Of course I won’t move her. I’m not the village idiot.”

  “Penny, if you can hear me, try not to move.” It was Ross. “We couldn’t find you, but your car was still here, so I called the police. Lucas should be here any minute. I would have made it to you sooner, but these tents all look the same with the curtains down. I only found you because I recognized your flag.”

  A few moments later the front curtain was rolled up and the light hit the backs of my eyelids.

  I blinked and saw Ross’s worried face staring at me. Then the world swayed once more, sweat beaded my forehead and I shut my eyes against the wave of nausea that rolled through me.

  “What happened? Your hair’s wet. Is that wine?”

  “Somebody hit me.”

  His hand felt the back of my head. “They sure did. That’s quite a lump you’ve got.”

  “Lucas will want to see this. You were hit with a wine bottle.”

  Thomas returned. “Here’s the ice.”

  Ross pressed the ice against my scalp.

  I waited, reopened my eyes, and this time everything stayed in place.

  “Should we call an ambulance too?” Thomas leaned on his sword to get a closer look.

  “I don’t need one. It hurts like hell, but I know who both of you are and who I am. No concussion. No ambulance.”

  There were footsteps outside the booth. Lucas stepped into view and surveyed the scene before him: Ross dressed as King Arthur, Thomas kneeling before me in his knight’s attire and me flat on my back.

  “I see you found her.”

  I hated to look foolish in front of Lucas, so I struggled to sit up. Lucas waved me back down. I wasn’t feeling so great and was happy to fall back into the folds of Ross’s robe.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. Pain shot through my head and settled behind my eyes. The earth tilted.

  “At the risk of sounding unprofessional, you don’t look so hot. What happened?”

  I told him what little I could while Ross and Thomas listened with rapt attention. When I finished, Ross joined in.

  “She said she’d be back, but when half an hour had passed, I decided to look for her. There were only so many places she could have gone and I just knew something was wrong, so I phoned you.”

  Lucas looked up from his notes. “Did you recognize the voice?”

  “No. They spoke after they hit me, so I was hardly conscious. I only remember what was said because it kind of freaked me out, if you want to know the truth.”

  Lucas boxed the bottle, soggy bits of our blue-and-burgundy wrapping paper still clinging to the broken glass. Hayley had prepackaged some of our bestsellers in case we got busy during the festival.

  “You’re lucky this bottle was gift-wrapped. Otherwise, you’d be on your way to the emergency room right now, having glass removed from your scalp.”

  “If you say so, but lucky isn’t exactly what I’m feeling right now, to be honest.”

  “I do want you to go to the hospital.” He raised his hand at my protestations. “If you don’t agree to go there immediately, I’ll drive you myself after I get done here. Although I doubt I can get any prints off of this.”

  Thomas, who still knelt at my side, looked around. “I don’t understand how anyone could have known you were here. Were they just waiting in the dark?”

  “My car is easy to recognize. Someone could have seen it coming down the back road.”

  Lucas and I looked at each other. Anyone from the Martinelli house might have seen me. They could have walked down the path with plenty of time to get into the tent before me.

  “We’ll be talking to everyone here, but did either of you see anything that seemed unusual?” Lucas asked Ross and Thomas.

  Thomas spoke first. “Well, I don’t know about unusual, but I haven’t seen anyone that doesn’t belong here, if that’s what you mean.”

  Ross nodded. “I was on the ladder hanging the banner and facing our tent. I didn’t see a thing.”

  I felt the back of my head. It hurt, but the skin hadn’t been broken and there wasn’t any glass. Lucas was right; I was lucky. I looked around the booth. Whoever had hit me hadn’t been intentionally kind. The wrapped bottles were lined up on the counter and the easiest to grab. If someone was trying to warn me, they could consider the message received.

  I signed the police report Lucas had filled out and handed it back to him.

  “Go to the hospital.”

  “I will.”

  He just stood there.

  “I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

  Lucas looked over at Ross and Thomas. “Follow her.”

  In truth, my head was pounding, and I felt no compulsion to do anything else.

  * *
*

  KASEY Hospital is set into the hillside north of downtown. The land for the entire facility was donated years ago by a silent screen actress, and the facility has been operating for the last seventy years. Surrounded by redwoods and pines, the main building was brick and faced west, with large windows out toward the sea. To the right and behind a high chain fence was the Kasey Children’s Home. To the left and behind an even higher fence was the Kasey Recovery Clinic. The hospital sat in between.

  I swung into the parking lot, near the swings and slides for the Children’s Home. The Sterling van pulled in next to me, and I rolled down the window.

  “See, I made it. Thanks for the escort.”

  Thomas leaned out, the silver-plated chest piece bright in the sunlight. “You were just lucky it was all side streets, otherwise we wouldn’t have let you drive yourself. Do you want us to come in with you?”

  He was getting stares from the kids on the monkey bars. “You’re dressed like Lancelot.”

  “Right. Call us later.” They pulled back onto the main road, my own private band of merry men.

  I walked to the hospital entrance, watching the children on the playground. The little ones, jumping rope or on the swings, were bundled up in bright knitted caps and scarves, while the teens, ultracool in their low-waisted jeans, played basketball. All of the play sets appeared to be new, the rubber matting beneath the swings decorated with a jungle theme. Large murals of orange and yellow dinosaurs covered the outside walls of the cafeteria and dormitories.

  The Children’s Home worked with kids of all ages, some given up at birth, some removed from dangerous home environments. They lived here year-round and even attended school right at the facility. The home was a model example of how this type of establishment should work.