Sex, Lies & Bourbon (Sex and Lies Book 5)

by Kris Calvert

  I was doing it again. I was falling into the mantrap of Win Holloway. He would clamp down on my heart like a furry paw ensnared in jaws of unfeeling steel. The only way out would be to chew off my dignity—again. I’d been there. I wasn’t going back.

  I needed to focus on everyone and everything that surrounded Winter Haven and the distillery.

  Pulling the file on Robert Holloway from my bag, I tossed my hair over my shoulder. Sixty-four and the president and CEO of Winter Bourbon, he was, according to his last life insurance check up, in good health. I found my notebook in my bag and started a list: Life insurance policies.

  Examining the post mortem photo, I knew the ear to ear incision that slit his throat would’ve killed him instantly. The twisted nature of his frame at the bottom of the stairs told me he’d been cut at the top, his body beating each unyielding marble step to the bottom of the elaborate staircase, leaving a trail of spurting blood from the severed carotid arteries.

  There was no forced entry into the house, the alarm system was off. I added that to my list. These were questions surely Agent Allen and his crew from Louisville had asked, and yet I didn’t see notes from an interview with Lena or Magnus. After walking in on the family feud tonight I surmised Win’s little sister was in a relationship with the older man. Which begged the question, where was Magnus Page last night?

  I added to tomorrow’s to-do list, background checks on anyone and everyone who worked at Winter Haven and for that matter, Winter Bourbon. That would certainly give the boys from Louisville something to do while I covertly searched for evidence the Potenza family was interested in buying or that Robert Holloway was selling.

  I would need time alone with Lena and Magnus, not to mention Win’s grandfather, Cecil and anyone else who’d been in the house last night and into today. Win was an amazing and highly perceptive agent, but given the circumstances and his breakdown tonight, I knew he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to ask questions of anyone, even if he wanted to—least of all his family.

  I climbed out of the bed and jumped to the floor, wondering why rich people always slept higher off the ground than the rest of us. Inside my suitcase was a copy of the Mary Winterbourne Holloway case.

  I’d not had a moment to look it over before boarding the plane in Teterboro. I needed to spread everything out and take a good hard look at the evidence surrounding the unsolved case. It was easier for me to get a big picture when all the documentation was staring me back in the face.

  Win’s mother was discovered by Win at two in the morning on May 15th, 1993. He was only ten years old. I knew the story that wasn’t in the file—the one from Win himself.

  It was the point in any decent and trusting relationship where you share the tragedies of your life. Opening old wounds and putting them on display, we were handing the keys to our sanities over to the other. The ability to push someone’s buttons was only heightened by the secrets you shared. His tragedies were the one thing Win thought I could understand about him. And he was right. I’d had my fair share of family catastrophe, but mine made me yearn for the kind of love I had growing up. Win’s situation only made him never want to feel again.

  I’d been round and round on this subject with my shrink. I couldn’t blame myself for how Win felt about love. I was merely a casualty along his narrow path of what was possible in a relationship. I wanted to feel and feel everything—excitement, pain and the joy of love. Win wanted Novocain.

  Placing the last photograph at the foot of the bed, I stood back and looked at the horror that was Mary Holloway’s death. Her neck, also slit from ear to ear, was the cause of death although she’d not fallen down the marble steps—she was murdered at the bottom of the staircase. Interestingly enough, her right ring finger had been severed and taken from her body along with the Aegis stone—a rare three carat red diamond that was a family heirloom. Reading the account of that night, none of it made sense. The reports didn’t follow each other. Either there was little evidence or at least half of the report was missing. It seemed as though the entire thing had been truncated and edited in the final paragraph. The police in Valley Springs assumed it was a robbery gone wrong. Their thinking; she was killed for her priceless diamond. The house wasn’t disturbed and there was nothing else missing that they could determine.

  Magnus Page was the 911 caller that night, just as he’d been for his best friend Robert this morning.

  “Magnus, what do you know?” I said aloud as I worked my way through the entire case file. “And why is this file such a hot mess?”

  Reading the transcript, I noticed one staff member questioned at Winter Haven speculated Robert was having an affair. There was no mention of it in the police reports or any other report. It seemed as if any strong lead had been dropped and explained away.

  Win told me he despised his father for being what he deemed a money-grubbing asshole, but he never mentioned anything about his father cheating. Maybe he was too young to know. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Whatever the reason, if he was being unfaithful and didn’t want it made public, you could make a lot of things go away with money twenty-three years ago. Now, the FBI prided itself on putting the wealthy on display and behind bars. It was a badge of honor to bag someone who thought they were above the law. Billionaires and politicians were trophies to the FBI.

  Lying in the bed, I closed my eyes momentarily and thought about what life must’ve been like for Win growing up. Not knowing my father haunted me, but losing my mother was the worst thing that ever happened to me and my brother. We had a loving family and we had each other. Win seemed to have nothing after his mother was gone—his father a nonexistent factor in his life, his sister in and out of mental institutions.

  Yawning, I moved the folder from my chest and decided to close my eyes for a bit. In that moment of silence, I replayed Win’s drunken words over in my head. I love you. You’re the one. You’ve always been the only one.

  My phone blared the obnoxious submarine dive warning as my alert to wake up. Rolling over to my side, a file folder slid to the floor, the contents scattering across the gold oriental carpet. “Rats.”

  Jumping off the edge of the bed I rubbed my eyes and pulled the hairband from my wrist, whipping my long mane into a ponytail. It was only then I realized I’d left my rubber band in the other room on the night stand. Damn.

  It was six and I needed a shower and some coffee in order to function like a human being. Unfortunately, I’d also left my toiletry kit in Win’s bathroom.

  Pulling on a pair of sweatpants I’d packed in case I wanted to take a run, I opened the door, peeking out into the hallway. The coast was clear. The last thing I wanted was to be seen sneaking into Win’s room—even if Lena had tried to trick us into being together.

  Tiptoeing across the hallway, the old floor creaked under my weight and I turned the handle on the door, slipping into the room like a stray cat looking for shelter. I shut the door and turned, hoping Win would still be snoring. I wasn’t disappointed.

  With a silent breath, I lurked through the room with the skill of a seasoned burglar, sneaking my way into the open door of the bathroom.

  Opening the canvas bag that held my soap, shampoo and makeup, I added each item sitting on the fancy marble counter one at a time, making sure they’d not make a sound against each other. Then, tiptoeing across the room again, I turned the handle on the door, only for it let out a sluggish groan.

  “What are you doing in my room, Agent Grace?”

  His voice was hoarse and groggy, but I’d been made all the same.

  “I wanted to get my things out of here. I didn’t manage to do that last night,” I replied, shutting the door again.

  “Last night?” he asked rolling over, burying his head in a pillow. “Mmmm…the bed smells like you. Is there something I should know?”

  I did a double take and leaned against the door. “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “No. I’m not kidding,” he replied, sitting up with a s
exy snarl across his lips. “Did you take advantage of me last night, Agent Grace?”

  I allowed my expression to drop and my resting bitch face to take over.

  “Well?” he asked. “I’m waiting.”

  “Dude, I wouldn’t take advantage of you if you were the last man on Earth and besides…” I hesitated.

  “Besides what?”

  His smug attitude coupled with the fact he had no recollection of crying and confessing his love for me last night was more than I could take. I landed a punch right where I knew it would hurt, even if it was a bold-face lie. “Your penis is really small when you’re drunk. Just remember, being a big dick doesn’t mean you have one.”

  I flipped my hair and closed the door behind me, walking in proud strides back to my own room.

  Climbing out of the shower, I thought of the day ahead of me. It hadn’t started well and I knew asking Lena questions was going to be ugly.

  Quickly, I dried my hair with the hairdryer left for me with all the other convenience items on the long marble sink. Everything about the old home was beautifully appointed.

  Winter Haven was over a hundred years old, but had every modern convenience wrapped inside old world luxury and tradition of the South. Truth be told, I loved the old estate. To Win, it represented his messed up family. To me, it was a homestead. A place where generations of people had laughed, loved and shared life experiences. How many babies were born in this house, and how many people died?

  On that note I paused. I never wanted to go back to the hospital where my mother took her last breath, let alone visit the road where my father was killed. It made sense that Winter Haven wasn’t Win’s favorite place. I took a long look at myself in the mirror and decided I would cut the man some slack for his behavior. That didn’t mean I would be stupid enough to fall into his mantrap, but simply that I would be kind to him—no matter what.

  Twisting my hair into a bun, I dressed in a black pencil skirt, heels and a robin egg blue blouse. I hung my FBI badge around my neck and put my service weapon on my side. I wasn’t on vacation and needed to make sure I didn’t act like it.

  With one look in the mirror, I opened the door and walked down the back staircase into the south end of the house. The yellow do not cross tape still roped off the staircase and the area below. I needed to make sure it was cleaned today.

  “Good morning,”

  A gruff voice greeted me from the kitchen. I could only see a newspaper and boots, but I had a gut instinct it was Win’s grandfather, Cecil.

  “Good morning,” I replied, walking into the kitchen.

  He sat at a butcher block on a stool, not at the kitchen table that hugged the edge of an enormous bay window that overlooked the back of the property. He wasn’t in the fancy dining room either. Cecil Winterbourne was sipping his coffee at what I thought to be a food prep area with the house cook.

  Closing his newspaper and setting it on the block filled with hatchet marks from years of cutting meat, he stared at me with his soft green eyes. It was like looking at an older version of Win.

  The silver waves of his hair were combed back, and his brown pants, button down and braces complemented the Red Wing work boots he wore. I knew Cecil Winterbourne was a multi-millionaire—his great-grandfather the founder of Winter Bourbon—but he looked like an ordinary man with an impeccable work ethic. I instantly knew where Win’s everyday man demeanor came from.

  “You’re with the FBI, right?” he asked, taking a sip from the sturdy white mug. “Would you like some coffee, maybe some eggs and toast? Vernon makes the best damn scrambled eggs this side of the Mississippi. Says he’s taking whatever it is he puts in ’em to his grave.”

  “Between the two of us, that won’t be too long now,” Vernon replied with a deep southern drawl.

  I gave Vernon a smile. “No thank you on the eggs, but I’ll take some coffee.”

  “Sidle up if you care to,” Cecil said, tugging at another wooden stool and extending his huge hand. “I’m Cecil Winterbourne. In case you didn’t know.”

  I shook his heavy-handed grip, unable to dismiss the rough feeling of his palm. He might be a millionaire, but he was no stranger to hard work. “I do know who you are Mr. Winterbourne. I’m Ginny. Ginny Grace.”

  “Ginny Grace?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. “Ginny Grace, what’s your last name?”

  “Um,” I said, looking at the fresh cup of coffee now sitting in front of me courtesy of Vernon. “Grace is my last name. I’m Agent Virginia Grace—but Ginny.”

  “Well, Ginny Grace. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You too, sir. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

  His green eyes flashed with the charisma of a young man, but the delicate skin that folded like soft fabric on his weathered face told a different story. “Well, nothing ever turns out the way you plan, Ginny Grace. But it always seems to turn out the way it’s supposed to in the end.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. Was that code for my daughter was murdered and my son-in-law got what was coming to him? Instead I simply agreed with him. “Yes sir.”

  With a deep breath, Cecil looked to the eggs and toast on the plate Vernon sat in front of him. “So if you don’t want breakfast, Ginny Grace. What do you want?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  He took a bite of his eggs and closed his eyes. “Mmm mmm mmm. Damn you, Vernon. You better hope I kick the bucket before you do.”

  “No sir,” Vernon drawled. “I plan on dying first and taking all my cookin’ secrets with me. You best be finding yourself a woman to take care of you when I’m dead and gone.”

  Cecil grumbled with a smile.

  I could hear footsteps coming from the back staircase, and hoped it would be Win’s sister. I wanted to set up a time to speak with her early before the rest of the FBI descended upon the house later this morning. I glanced at my watch. It was only seven-thirty and Lena didn’t seem like the rise-and-shine kind of girl to me. That meant there were only two more possibilities, Magnus or Win.

  “Good morning, Cee Cee. I see you’ve met the dazzling Agent Ginny Grace from the New York office.”

  I swallowed hard without turning to greet him, then watched him embrace his grandfather. I could tell by his tone he was still miffed at me for the penis comment.

  “I have indeed,” Cecil said, glancing back to me. “I’m sorry I missed you last night, son”

  “It was late by the time I got to the house—well, late by your standards.”

  “If I’m up with the chickens—”

  “I know, Cee Cee. If you’re up with the chickens, you’re down with the sun.”

  Slowly Cecil closed his eyes and nodded his head. “And on that note, I’m a little surprised to see you up with us chickens this morning,” he said, looking back at me while I took a sip of coffee.

  “Well, I hadn’t planned on getting up this early, but someone was in my room and woke me,” Win said, making a goofy face in my direction.

  “That’s not a fair statement, Win,” I began.

  “Fair? You woke me up and told me my penis was small. In my book that’s beyond the rules of engagement for fair play,” he said taking a sip of the cup of coffee Vernon had brought him without asking. “At least in the bedroom.”

  “Ah—” I began to speak, but my throat was as dry as the desert and no words were forming in my head or mouth. All the blood in my body had rushed to my face and I felt dizzy. Win just implied to his grandfather—a man I admired after only ten minutes—I had sex with him last night and remarked on the size of his manhood.

  Too stunned to move, I watched as Cecil stood, placing a hand on Win’s shoulder. “Well son, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog. Y’all have a good day now.”

  My jaw was agape as Cecil left the room.

  “Mr. Win, can I fix you some eggs?” Vernon asked.

  “Nah, Vernon. I’m just gonna finish up Cee Cee’s br
eakfast here. But thanks.”

  When Vernon left the kitchen, I watched Win eat without saying a word, as if nothing was wrong—as if he hadn’t just ruined my reputation as an FBI agent with his grandfather, but also my reputation as a woman.

  “What—is wrong—with you?” I deliberately paused between words to accentuate my disgust.

  “What?” he asked, sipping his coffee without looking me in the face. I could tell by his rumpled shirt and wrinkled khakis he’d not had a shower.

  “What do you mean what? That was an asshole thing to do.”

  Win looked at me—really looked at me. The blank stare on his face was making me wonder if he’d lost his mind. “Well…I am an asshole. Isn’t that what you told me the last time we saw each other before you were brought in on this case?”

  I took a step back and hung my hands on my hips. Did he really want to rehash the way he dumped me now? Now? With his father lying in the morgue, funeral plans pending and an unknown killer on the loose?

  “What do you want me to say, Win? Your sister put me in your room last night.”

  “C’mon Ginny. You knew it was my room. We made love in there.”

  He was right. We had. And I replayed every second of it in my head the moment I stepped foot in the room. “I was only going where Lena told me to go,” I said, looking to my feet. “I should’ve gone to the hotel like I wanted.”

  The quiet of the enormous house was eerie, and a sense of loneliness came over me. It was the same kind of loneliness I saw in both Win and his sister. But it was that very quiet that allowed me to hear him whisper his next words.

  “Why didn’t you stay with me last night?” His deep voice was soft—barely an audible breath, but I heard it all the same.

  I swallowed hard, bringing my eyes from the floor to lock onto his green-eyed gaze. I didn’t know how to respond.

  “Jesus, Gin. I practically begged you.”