We found them in the main room’s bar. David had already downed one beer and was working on another. Jackson gave me a knowing look.
“What the hell is going on?” Simon said.
David didn’t say anything, just pushed his cell phone across the bar to us. There, on the screen, was his photo with a big X across his face and the words “Withdraw from the competition or you’re DEAD!”
“I’m so sorry, David,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. First, I get these threats, then someone tries to poison me, run me down, and lock me in a freezer. I thought things would be different with Scott here, but it keeps happening.”
“It’s difficult to stop this kind of thing,” Scott said. “Unless you want to go off-grid.”
“No, no, no.” David took another drink. “That’s impossible.”
I picked up the phone and scanned through his photos. He’d received several with what looked like a vineyard in the background from the person who’d been sending him threatening messages. There was a sign, but only part of it was visible—and the letters ard.
“David, have you looked at these photos? It looks like they were taken at a vineyard.”
I showed the photos to David. “I know, but I don’t recognize it.”
I handed the phone to Simon. “Me either.”
• • •
Since it was North Fork UnCorked! week, too much was at stake for David to go home, so a few minutes later—after drinking another beer—he got himself together and returned to the barn. Simon had forwarded the photo to Detective Koren, but besides that, the only productive and proactive thing to do was to continue our investigation and try to clear Lily and protect David. The best way to do that tonight was to mingle at the party ourselves, try to gather more information, and keep an eye out for trouble.
The barn had been decorated with tiny white lights along the rafters above, cornstalks in the corners, and giant pumpkins on the floor, and the guests milled around the area, with glasses of wine in their hands, to the sounds of jazz.
Clutches of conversation had quickly formed, and one of special note was with Camille and Carter Crocker and Gerald. Camille now had a big smile on her face and was chatting happily to Gerald.
“So that’s why they came,” Jackson said. “It’s pretty blatant.”
“It sure is.” Simon sipped a glass of Falling Leaves wine. “And I thought that Hollywood was a tough town. If they do make an offer, I’ll have to stop it.”
“The way you did with David when they tried to lure him away?” I said.
“Yes.” Simon gave me a look. “Who told you that?”
“Carla Olsen. She seems to have the scoop on everything. Including the fact that Leonard Sims tried to partner up with Derek Mortimer of St. Ives to try to buy Vista View Vineyards, now Pure, before you did.”
“That’s old news,” Simon said.
“But something we needed to know,” Jackson said.
“I didn’t think it was important,” Simon said.
“Maybe not Mortimer and Sims, but it definitely shows that the Crockers are hungry for your talent.” I looked over at Camille, who had on a faux-leopard-print car coat, jeans, and thigh-high boots, and her manicured hand on Gerald’s arm. Carter was in his usual cowboy garb. “Who knows how far she’ll go to save her winery?”
Simon narrowed his eyes. “I see what you mean, and I don’t like it.”
“It’s too bad we can’t get into Gerald’s office again and try and find out.”
“Maybe after everyone goes,” Simon said, “I can get you in there.” He scanned the room, then returned his attention to us. “You two look good, by the way. Best-looking couple in the room, I’d say.” I hadn’t given my wardrobe much thought and had just thrown on a corduroy jacket over a beige shirt, and black jeans, while Jackson had on a gray cotton shirt, jeans, and boots. Simon, on the other hand, had on a tailored blue-and-black-check suit, right out of GQ.
“Of course that wouldn’t be true if Sara were here. I invited her, but she was busy.”
“So you’re going for it,” Jackson said. “Good man.”
“Yeah, I like her.”
Jackson’s phone rang and he pulled it out. “It’s Shawn Thompson. . . . Shawn, what’s going on?” Jackson put his arm around me and whispered, “It’s going to be okay. Shawn is good, Willow.”
“Right,” Simon said.
“Okay, thanks for the update.” Jackson put his phone back into his pocket. “Bad news. He thinks that the police are close to charging Lily with Amy’s murder.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Why?”
“She’s got means, motive, and opportunity. Detective Koren says that their investigation has led them to no one else but her.”
“So they’re going to arrest her by default? Way to go.”
“I hate to say it, but it sounds like Koren,” Jackson said. “He always zeros in on one suspect and that’s it.”
“Then we’ve got to show them that they’re wrong.”
“And quick, too,” Simon said. “Shawn says they are closing in.”
“Which means that they’ll have the wrong person in custody, and a killer will still be on the loose.” I sucked in a breath. “This is a nightmare.”
“I know it sounds kind of lame, but I’ve grown to really like David, a lot. I’d hate it if something happened to him, beyond any effect it might have on the business.”
“Simon, it’s not lame,” I said. “It’s good that you care about him. In fact, I think it shows your growth as a human being.”
“That’s your influence, honey,” Jackson said. “She’s right, Simon, it’s good.”
“Gee, thanks, you two,” Simon said. “I feel you two are like my moral compass. It’s annoying, but true.”
“Glad to be of service,” I said. “Right, honey?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“So there’s a lot at stake, all around.” Simon looked at Jackson. “Jackson, did you ask her about you know who?”
“Yes.”
“Ask me what?”
“We were just wondering if you still think that Lily couldn’t have done this.”
“Yes. She’s mixed up, yes, but I believe that she’s innocent. Do you?”
“I told you last night that if it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me,” Jackson said.
“Me, too.” Simon put his arm around me. “We’re good.” Suddenly, he spotted someone across the room. “Oh, no. Guess who’s here?”
“Lily?” I felt my stomach drop. Why couldn’t she just stay away? I mean, I knew why, but still . . . not another scene, not now.
“No, Leonard Sims.”
“What are you doing here?” David said, his voice carrying across the room.
We turned to see Leonard Sims, in a cheap-looking suit, at the entrance to the barn. But he hadn’t been allowed access because Scott, David’s bodyguard, had stopped him.
“We’d better try to defuse this,” I said, taking Jackson’s hand. “Simon, you keep an eye out for Lily. I don’t want her causing a scene like last night.”
“Okay, but get rid of him, pronto. We really don’t need this right now.”
When we reached them, David said, “I want you to leave now. I don’t need any more harassment. We’re not selling!”
“Leonard, why don’t we go outside?” Jackson said.
“But I don’t want to go.” Sims made a face.
“Too bad.” Jackson grabbed his arm and led him out the door.
When we got outside, the night air was cool, and the sky was clear and dotted with stars. Sound carried easily and we could hear kids laughing and screaming from the direction of the haunted Halloween maze. Simon had hired a local special-effects company and high school and college kids to dress up as vampires, ghosts, and zombies. It was supposed to be G-rated, but it sounded more like PG-13.
“What are you doing here, Sims?” I said.
“I came t
o hear his talk, that’s all, and my wife is taking the kids through the maze. What’s up with David tonight?”
“Someone has been sending him threatening texts and e-mails, and he received another one in the middle of his talk—which you were late for. Not to mention the attempts on his life over the past week.”
“And you think I did it?” Sims looked flummoxed. “Now why would I do that? I want to buy the place back, and its value goes down the tubes if David loses it. It’s his talent I’m buying. He’s the biggest asset that Pure has. I wouldn’t be interested in buying Pure back without him. I’m a businessman, not a killer.”
“That may be true,” Jackson said. “But I think it’s best that you go, and keep your distance from now on. You’ve stated your interest.”
“More than once,” I said. “But I’m curious how you’d intend to pay for Pure or any other vineyard like Crocker Cellars when you’ve had big money problems in the past.”
Sims narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that? Probably Carla Olsen, that gossip.”
“I can’t say.”
“I may have had problems before, but I’m more than solvent now, thank you very much. Would you like to check my bank statement?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Jackson said. “And Simon will be in touch if anything changes here.”
Fuming, Sims walked off.
When we went back inside, Simon waved us over.
“He’s gone,” Jackson said. “Hopefully, he won’t bother you again.”
“Good. Things are winding down a bit,” Simon said. “If you can stick around, I’ll try to get you back into Gerald’s office.”
Jackson checked his watch. “If we can, I’d really like to catch the rest of the jazz concert in Mitchell Park.”
“You will. Just stay for a bit longer. I need you.”
“Yes, you do.” Jackson nodded in the direction of the door, where Lily, wearing a jean jacket, a polka-dot blouse, and tan cords, had entered and made a beeline for David.
• • •
We told Simon that we’d run interference, again, and while he talked to a new distributor for Pure’s wines, we went over to talk to David and Lily before things got out of hand. Already, Ivy, who was in a confab with Ramsey Black and Gerald, was shooting daggers in her direction.
“David,” Lily said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Not now, Lily.” He walked across the room to get another glass of wine. Lily started after him, but I stopped her.
“Lily, no.” I took her arm. “Didn’t you get my text?”
“I’m okay, Willow. I just want to apologize to David for last night.”
“Time for some tough love, Willow,” Jackson said.
“You’re only making things worse for yourself, Lily,” I said. “If the police find you here, it will just reinforce their thinking. Simon talked to Shawn, your lawyer, just a few minutes ago, and the police think you tried to kill David because he left you. You have motive, means, and opportunity. You’re their primary suspect.”
Her face went white, and she sucked in a breath. “I knew it was serious, but they let me go today. I thought . . . I hoped that this was all going to go away. Because I didn’t do it, Willow. No way. I’d never hurt him.”
I put my arm around her. “We know that, but you need to leave.”
“If I could just talk to him . . .”
“Not now,” I said firmly. “Jackson, can you walk her out to her car? I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “Be right back.”
After they left, I went to find Simon, who was with David and Scott Peters, outside Gerald’s office. “Where’s Lily?” David said, slightly slurring his words. “I love that girl, you know.”
Unfortunately, Carla Olsen and Derek Mortimer were tasting wine at the nearby bar. She wore a purple fleece jacket with jeans and boots, and he had on another conservative three-piece suit. Carla turned around, gave David a disdainful look, and said something to Mortimer, a man she supposedly disliked. He laughed.
“Sure you do, David, but she had to go,” Simon said as he took David’s wineglass away. “You need to cool it, man.”
“I think that’s a really good idea,” I said. “David, why don’t we go into the kitchen and I’ll make you some coffee? Anyone else want some?”
“No, thanks, Willow. Some of us are sober,” Carla said.
Mortimer touched her arm, said something, and they both laughed. Obviously, it had been difficult for her to hear David express his feelings for Lily. “Besides, I have to get into town. The Blue Crab is featuring my wines in a pairing tonight.”
“Fab, darling. I’ll go with you,” Mortimer said, and turned to David. “Lovely talk, David. Your futures are, well, rather interesting, but frankly I don’t see any contenders like Falling Leaves.” The two of them headed for the door.
“We’ll see about that, Mortimer,” David said. “You hack.”
Mortimer turned, gave him a smug look, then made a pointed gesture with his hand and laughed, again. So much for civility.
“David, coffee?” I said.
“No, thanks, Willow. I just want to get some fresh air.”
He walked out of the barn, stopped under a spotlight, and lit a cigarette. Scott Peters followed him out and they started talking.
“He’s had one rough night,” Simon said.
“He sure has.”
Simon glanced inside Gerald’s office. “He’s going home if you want to take another look. I’ll cover for you.”
We watched as Gerald, Ivy, and Ramsey Black headed for the door. Most of the guests had left by now or had gone out to the Halloween maze, so it could be a good time to snoop.
“But I don’t have his computer password,” Simon said. “So we can’t check his e-mail.”
“I had an idea about that. What if it’s something simple, like ‘Amy’?”
“Makes sense. Go for it. I’ll tap three times on the door if you need to get out.”
After I checked to see if anyone was watching, I slipped inside. The lights were off, but the computer screen glowed blue brightly. First, I checked the files on the desktop. The four new documents were the lineup for tonight’s barrel tasting, the growing plan for next season’s vintages, an order for supplies for such things as nutrients and fermentation acids, and a PDF of an elaborate new winepress.
Simon stepped in the room. “Anything new?”
“Not yet. You’ve got to keep watch.”
“Okay.” He went back outside and I clicked on Gerald’s e-mail. The computer asked me for his password. Holding my breath, I inserted the letters A-M-Y. The screen flickered, and the e-mail account opened. Technically, I was hacking his account, but I wasn’t looking for proof for the police but a clue to point me to a killer. I was okay with that.
Simon stepped in again. “What about now?”
“I’m in the e-mail account. Pay attention to what’s going on out there, not in here, okay?”
“It’s boring out here. I want to know what’s going on.”
“I know. But do it, Simon, please.”
“Okay, stop nagging.”
He stepped out again, and I quickly scanned the in-box looking for anything that was connected to the Crockers, other wineries, his dissatisfaction with his job at Pure, or Amy Lord. Halfway down, I spotted an e-mail with the subject line “CA Job Offer.” I clicked it open and scanned the message, but it was from a vineyard in Napa Valley. Was he really considering moving back to the West Coast? The e-mail was marked read, but when I checked the sent folder, there was no reply. However, in the middle of that group of messages, I did spot a reply to Crocker Cellars.
Gerald Parker To: Camille Crocker
Re: Offer
Hi Camille—It was a pleasure meeting with you and Carter this week. Thank you for your offer of employment. I can certainly make time to meet with you to discuss the details. However, I am still considering all my options and will not be making
a decision until after Sunday’s judging. I hope that this is acceptable. Best, Gerald.
From: Camille Crocker [email protected]
Sent: Thursday, October 29, 2015 2:38 PM
To: Gerald Parker
Subject: Offer
Dear Gerald: We would like to hire you for the position of head winemaker at Crocker Cellars. Our compensation package, including salary, benefits, and bonuses, is extremely generous. Please let us know the level of your interest and when we can set up a time to meet and discuss the details. Best, Camille
Simon came back in. “Anything?”
“Yes, a vineyard in Napa Valley and Crocker Cellars are interested in hiring him.”
“Crap!”
“But he’s not making a decision until after the judging on Sunday.”
“Of course not. If we win, he wants to use that to up his asking price. That bastard. Like I need this right now.”
“I know, Simon. But try to remain calm. I want to check one more thing, and I’ll be out. Is Jackson back?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay, go.” Simon went back out again, and I focused on Gerald’s in-box. I pressed find and put in the word Amy, but I wasn’t prepared for what I found. The messages kept scrolling until at final count there were 256. I didn’t have time to go through all of them so I went to the first one, which was sent a week ago, last year.
Amy Lord To: Gerald Parker
Re: Today
Not yet. I’ll go see him at lunchtime. Please switch to phone messaging. Ivy seems super-suspicious. Love, Amy
From: Gerald Parker [email protected]
Sent: Thursday, October 23, 2014 9:32 AM
To: Amy Lord
Subject: Today
MP: :D Did you talk to Ramsey yet? Let me know. Love, G
Jackson walked in. “Lily is on her way home. You need to finish up in here. There are still people wandering around.”
“I know,” I said, flummoxed by the messages. “But I just found 256 messages between Gerald and Amy dating back over a year ago.”
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