A leather-bound calendar sat on the credenza, flirting with her to open it. She did. Nearly all of the date squares were filled in. She flipped to the current month just as she heard the sound of heels clicking out in the hallway. They stopped outside Drew’s door. Who was it? She was certain Vera had been wearing an old pair of Keds rather than heels. She set down the calendar and held her breath. What would she say if someone came into the room? She tried to think of an excuse, but her mind went blank. The doorknob turned, and then she heard muffled voices. The clicking sound began again and faded away.
That was too close. She let out her breath slowly before hurrying out the door and back around the corner.
As she hurried past Vera’s desk, Deena grinned. “Oops. Wrong way.” She walked down the other hall into the opened office door and found Gary and Lonnie talking amiably.
“You made it,” Gary said. “You remember Lonnie.”
Deena reached out to shake Lonnie’s hand. His grip was firm as he squeezed her hand with increasing pressure until she nearly winced in pain. The gold ring on his hand dug into her fingers. It was all she could do not to look down and check for blood.
“Nice to see you again,” Lonnie said when he finally let go. His phone buzzed and he answered.
Gary motioned for Deena to take a seat. He leaned in and whispered, “Everything okay? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, shaking out her aching fingers.
Lonnie and Gary could almost be brothers except for the fact that Gary was a foot taller and twenty years older. They both had salt-and-pepper hair and were dressed in polo shirts with crisply creased khakis. Lonnie wore a pair of canvas deck shoes just like a pair that sat in Gary’s closet. No wonder the two got along so well.
As he listened to the voice on the other end, Lonnie’s eyes drifted toward Deena. Was it Vera ratting on Deena?
After hanging up the phone, Lonnie narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t we go over to the tasting room for our conversation. I have a couple of new bottles you might want to try out.”
Gary’s face brightened. “Sounds good.”
Lonnie waited for Deena and Gary to exit the office, then pulled the door firmly behind him.
Deena had a feeling Lonnie found out she’d been snooping around. She needed to get on his good side.
Lonnie stopped outside the building housing the tasting room and turned to Deena. “Mrs. Sharpe, have you ever had the opportunity to stomp grapes?”
“Call me Deena, and no, I haven’t.”
“Ah, just as I thought.” He motioned toward a large barrel. “You must give it a try. There’s nothing like the feel of what the French call pigéage.”
Deena pictured the several days of hair growth on her legs and her unpainted toenails. “I’m sure it’s delightful, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Please, it would warm this vintner’s heart.” He clasped his hands and gave her a pleading look.
“C’mon, Deena,” Gary said. “When will you ever get another chance like this?”
Deena forced a smile. Traitor. “I guess I might as well.”
“Excellent!” Lonnie led her to a bench where she removed her shoes and rolled up her slacks. He held her hand while she made her way up the ladder on the side of the barrel, all the while hoping he didn’t stare at her legs or feet.
She threw her leg over into the dark purple mush. It reminded her of when her brother, Russell, made her go with him to a haunted house where they walked across “eyeballs.” It wasn’t until some years later she found out they were just rubber balls.
She gripped the sides of the barrel and took a few obligatory steps. “Fun,” she said, hoping to sound convincing. She turned to get out.
“Not yet,” Lonnie said. “Give it a good stomp. Really get your toes into the fruit. Remember, wine is the blood of the gods, and you are making a sacrifice.”
Sighing, she marched in place until she stepped on something sharp. “Ouch!” She reached down and looked at her purple foot. A trickle of blood appeared on her big toe.
Lonnie covered his mouth with his hand. “I forgot to warn you about the stems.” She couldn’t tell if he was apologetic or amused.
Gary helped her out and went inside with Lonnie while she hosed off. The sticky violet goo clung to her legs, looking like bits of guts and blood.
She found Gary and Lonnie inside the tasting room chatting about the latest harvest while Lonnie poured Gary a flight of four different wines. Deena wandered around admiring the Italian décor and various products for sale. She had never seen wine-flavored dog biscuits before and debated getting some for Hurley.
“And for you?” Lonnie asked as he set the wineglasses on a small table in front of Gary.
“I’ll just have some water,” she said, wanting to keep a clear head. “One of us has to drive.”
Lonnie motioned for the hostess to bring the water and sat down, crossing his legs casually.
“You really should try this Tempranillo,” Gary said, giving her a signal with his eyes.
Oops. She got the message. It was probably rude not to at least try the wine at a winery. She needed to butter Lonnie up if she hoped to get any real dirt about Drew and Allison. “I’ll just have some of yours,” she said, and chugged the remainder of the glass. “Yum. That was delicious. Really...sweet.”
Gary grimaced as he turned to Lonnie. “Actually, this is a dry wine. I have to apologize. Deena doesn’t know much about wine, other than red and white.”
Lonnie smirked. “I understand. We can’t all have an intelligent palate.”
Deena bristled and stuck out her chin. “Chocolate.”
Lonnie cocked his head at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m a connoisseur when it comes to chocolate,” she said defiantly.
“Is that so.” Lonnie handed her one of Gary’s wines. “And what chocolate would you pair with this Zinfandel?”
She sniffed the glass as she’d often seen Gary do, then took a sip. She smacked her lips together a few times before answering. “Swiss.” She stated it with an air of authority.
“I see. Are you sure you mean chocolate and not cheese?” He grinned smugly, then he and Gary chuckled.
Ugh. What nerve. Who was to say what chocolate goes with what wine? It’s not like she had said Hershey’s. “Let’s get to the interview, shall we?” She reached in her handbag for her spiral and pen. “Tell me what you think people should know about Andrew Granger now that he’s gone.”
Lonnie gave the usual answers, including Drew’s successes in business and personal attributes like being a hard worker and having a good sense of humor.
Deena wrote a little and doodled a lot. This, of course, wasn’t the information she really cared about. She nodded at the appropriate times and asked a few follow-up questions.
Whether it was the bottle of wine or just letting him talk, Lonnie seemed to relax and even take a liking to Deena. She put away her notebook and then asked to try a small glass of Lonnie’s favorite wine.
He popped out of his seat with a big smile on his face and headed to the counter to get it.
Once he was out of earshot, Deena whispered to Gary, “What do you think?”
“About the wine? I wasn’t too keen on the Viognier but the Albariño was excellent.”
“No,” she said. “I mean about Lonnie. Do you think he’ll give me any of the real dirt on Drew?”
“As long as you keep kissing up to him. Be sure to rave about the—”
“Here you go,” Lonnie said, and set the glass in front of her. “This is a 2010 Bourbon Barrel Cabernet. I think you’ll see it hits all the right notes.”
“Thanks.” She took a sip and tried not to gag. The red liquid burned on its way down her throat and then performed a somersault in her stomach. “Wow. I’ve never tasted anything quite like that.”
“Let me have a sip,” Gary said. He nodded in appreciation. “You can really pick up the vanilla no
tes. I was expecting the Cab to be more spicy, but it was actually quite smooth.”
“Lonnie,” Deena said, “you were obviously a close friend of Drew’s. Were you surprised when he...killed himself?”
He darted his eyes as though a pain shot through his body and he was trying to hide it. “Yes and no. You see, I knew he was having trouble at home. He wasn’t happy with Allison. I think he felt trapped. In fact, he told me they hadn’t been intimate in quite a while.”
“Really?” Deena wondered if Lonnie knew that Allison was expecting. That would contradict the lack of intimacy. “How well do you know Allison?”
“We get along fine,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “She was never much involved in the business. I’d see her occasionally in social settings. She was quite possessive of Drew.”
“Possessive, how?”
“She didn’t like him working late or hanging out with the boys.” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t think she ever particularly liked me.” Then he drifted into silence.
Deena stared at the ring on Lonnie’s hand and remembered the aggressive handshake. She took a fake sip of the wine and gave Gary a nod to signal that he should finish it. While Gary drank, Deena waited to see if Lonnie would continue. Finally, she asked, “Has Allison talked to you about the business? Surely she plans to keep you on to run things.”
Lonnie brushed away a piece of lint from his slacks. “I don’t know. Like I said, she and I never really got along that well. In fact, anytime I came to the house, she’d conveniently have someplace to go, like the salon or shopping or like that last night when she was at her book club.”
“Last night? What do you mean?”
Lonnie took in a deep breath. “The night Drew shot himself, she was at her book club.”
“And where were you?”
The question seemed to startle him. “Why do you ask?”
“You said that Allison would leave the house when you came over and then you said she was at her book club. Were you at Drew’s house that evening?”
“No. He invited me to the house to play cards, but I was busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
“Mrs. Sharpe, I’m not sure I like your tone.” He stared at her with furrowed brows.
Gary broke the tension. “We’ve taken up too much of your time, Lonnie. We should be getting on our way.” He stood up and reached out to shake hands with their host. “We really appreciate your time, right, honey?”
“Of course.” She knew she was in hot water with Gary. He always called her “hon.” When he was ticked off, he’d call her “honey” or even “Deena Jo.”
Gary put his hand on her back and pushed her gently toward the door. “Here’s the keys. Why don’t you wait for me in the car. I can’t leave without buying a few of these wines.”
Deena took the keys and headed outside. Was Lonnie Fisher hiding something? Obviously, there was bad blood between him and Allison. Maybe he was worried about losing his job.
She stared in the visor mirror waiting for Gary. She saw him exit the tasting room. Lonnie patted his back. Apparently, they had played good cop, bad cop after all, and Gary seemed to still be in Lonnie’s good graces.
As soon as they got back on the main road, Gary let her know how he felt. “Deena, the man lost his best friend, and you practically accused him of conspiring to have him killed.”
“Conspiring? What on earth do you mean?”
Gary shook his head. “Don’t tell me you weren’t implying that Lonnie and Allison had something going on on the side.”
“Um, I wasn’t. I swear. But now that you mention it...” Deena’s head spun with the possibility. Edwina Granger had said Allison was cheating on Drew. Could Lonnie be covering up the affair by telling people he and Allison didn’t get along?
She calculated her next move. Gary would drop her at home and head back to work. Then it would be time to pay a visit to her favorite police detective. Maybe she could worm some information out of him.
Chapter 9
Linus Guttman had grown a beard since Deena had last seen him. It served to strengthen his weak jawline and soften his dark eyes. He had put on a few pounds, which helped fill out his too-slender frame.
Deena wondered if maybe he’d finally found a lady friend. He’d had a hard time adjusting to small-town, Southern life since moving here from Philadelphia.
“What do you want?” he asked in his usual Yankee manner.
Deena just smiled at him across his desk. “Nice to see you, too, Detective Guttman.”
“Don’t tell me you found another dead body. Did you kill somebody this time or are you just here to harass me?”
Deena snickered. “While all those possibilities are tempting, I’m here on business.”
“I see. You still working with that attorney, Ian Davis?”
Ian was a defense attorney who worked with legal aid. Naturally, he and Guttman were adversaries.
“No. As a matter of fact, I’m back at the Tribune.”
Guttman scratched his new beard. “Didn’t you get fired from there?”
She flinched at the f-word. “That’s all water under the bridge. But actually, I’m working on a trial basis and I need your help.”
The detective had good reason to eye her suspiciously. Deena had been either a thorn in his side or a confidant on several cases. He probably wasn’t sure which she would be this time. “Like I said, what do you want?”
“I’m writing a feature on Andrew Granger. A tribute. I wanted to see if you could tell me anything about his death.”
Guttman cocked his head. “That’s not usually the sort of thing you put in a feature story. Besides, the paper already ran stories about his suicide. Time to move on.”
Deena had anticipated Guttman’s resistance. In the past she’d been able to wriggle loose bits of information if she was persistent enough. After thirty-something years as a high school teacher and then through her various stints as an investigator, she’d gotten pretty good at getting information she wanted. Adults were often more transparent than teenagers, but Detective Guttman would be a hard nut to crack. She was prepared to be patient.
She tilted her head coyly. “I know, but there were some details missing from those stories that I thought you might fill in.”
“Like what?”
“Like who found the body and who the responding officer was. Also, did he leave a suicide note? Did he own the gun he shot himself with?” Deena reached in her purse for a notepad and pen.
“All that info is going into a tribute to the man?” Guttman leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Give me a break. What are you really up to?”
She hesitated before letting out a sigh. “Look, you’re right. I got a tip that maybe Andrew Granger’s death wasn’t a suicide, but instead was a murder.”
Guttman remained expressionless. “A tip. Seriously, Mrs. Sharpe, you know better than to listen to every crackpot conspiracy theory that comes along. Tell me about this tip.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. It was confidential.”
“You expect answers from me but won’t tell me who you’ve been talking to?”
“I can’t reveal my sources, you know that.” She hugged the notebook to her chest.
“Sources.” The detective sat upright and reached for a folder on his desk. “Just so you know, my guys thoroughly investigated that scene. Asked all the right questions. The last thing I need is the press stirring up trouble where there isn’t any.”
“But—”
“No buts, Mrs. Sharpe. That’s it. I’ve got work to do. Thanks for stopping by.”
She stood to leave. “Okay, but you know I’m not going to stop digging.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She opened the office door and turned back. “You look good, by the way. I like the beard.”
He nodded. “So does Officer Linndorf.”
Puzzled by the comment, Deena closed the door behind her. Offi
cer Linndorf? Larry Linndorf? What was that about? She made her way out to the parking lot and then it hit her. Guttman had thrown her a bone. Officer Linndorf must have been the responding officer at the Granger house when Drew was found dead. That’s why he was talking to Allison at the reception. She was sure of it. But why didn’t Guttman just come out and say so?
It seemed like there was another mystery behind the mystery.
* * *
DEENA MAY HAVE BEEN starting over as a cub reporter, but it didn’t mean she was without her own sources. She called one she knew she could trust and asked to be notified when Linndorf was spotted.
As a former journalism teacher, Deena had taught her students how to write the perfect news lead, how to organize facts in an inverted pyramid, and how to properly attribute quotes. But never having had on-the-job experience as a real reporter had left her unprepared for what crime reporters had to do to sluice out the real story. Luckily, her experience as an investigator with Ian Davis’s law firm had helped her get her hands dirty and had shown her what it took to get to the truth. That, along with her natural curiosity—or what Gary would refer to as nosiness—had prepared her for this assignment, and she was determined to do whatever necessary to get to the real story behind Drew’s death, even if it turned out to be suicide.
But if he had killed himself, something had led him to that point, and Deena wanted to know what it was. She sat at the desk in her home office and started organizing her notes. It wasn’t long before her cell phone rang. She recognized the number and answered. “Yes?”
“The eagle has landed,” mumbled the voice on the other end of the line.
Deena checked the name on the phone again and put it back up to her ear. “What are you talking about?”
“Linndorf. He’s at the doughnut shop.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said and chuckled. “I didn’t realize you were using code. I’ll drop by to see you later.” Deena hung up.
She looked down by her feet. Hurley, her black terrier, looked up expectantly. “Sorry, boy. You have to stay here. I’m on an assignment.”
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