"Accident?" Ava's head popped up from the coffee cup she'd just reclaimed.
"What happened?" David asked. "You okay?"
"I'm fine." Mostly. I quickly filled them in on my faulty brakes and the collision with the oak tree.
"Ohmigosh, you could have been killed!" Ava leaned over the table, giving me a fierce hug.
I winced. "Not so tight. Airbag. Boobs. Bad combo."
"Sorry," she said, pulling back. "Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want to ruin David's night." I glanced over at him.
A deep frown was etched on his features. "You said your brakes stopped working?" he asked.
I nodded. "They did. I mean, when I first left the gallery they seemed okay, but about halfway home, they just stopped."
"Could be a cut brake line," he mused. "If the leak was slow enough."
"You think someone did it on purpose?" Ava asked.
I shrugged. "I had it towed to Bob's Garage. I guess the mechanic will be able to say for sure." I paused. "But, I did coincidentally see Jamie Connolly outside the gallery before it happened."
Ava turned to David. "I didn't see him at the showing. Did you?"
David shook his head. "Was he near your car?" he asked me.
"No. I mean, not when I saw him, but I don't know how long he was there. He claims he's just an 'art lover.'"
"So you talked to him?" Ava asked.
"This morning." I quickly filled them in on the conversation I'd had with Jamie, including the fact that, at least according to Jamie, he wasn't the only one of our suspects who had been hanging around the gallery. "And," I ended with, "Jamie Connolly also said he saw Eckhart arguing with Buckley a couple of weeks before he died."
"Wait—didn't he tell us he hadn't seen Buckley in years?" Ava said.
"Exactly." I popped a piece of scone into my mouth.
"So the detective is a liar," David pointed out, licking crumbs from his fingers.
"Officer," I corrected. "Eckhart hasn't made detective because of the scandal involving his former partner."
"He's also a hunter who may own the same type of gun used to shoot Buckley. He hunts small game," Ava told him. "Like rabbits."
David tsked his tongue. "Poor Bugsy."
"Aww. You softie," Ava teased.
He grinned at her.
Their exchange felt enough like morning-after banter to make me feel distinctly like a third wheel.
"Uh, anyway," I said, trying to ignore the odd sensation in my stomach. "If Eckhart did kill Buckley, and mess with my brakes, where do you think Buckley's blackmail scheme fits into all of it?"
"Blackmail?" David gave us both a questioning look. "What did I miss?"
"Oh, and gigolos!" Ava said with a grin.
"You girls have been busy while I've been toiling away on my art," David teased. "Do tell."
I quickly filled him in on what we'd found out from James Atherton and Derek the Delivery Guy.
"Come to think of it," Ava said when I was done, "I'm starting to wonder if that guy really was her nephew."
"Dear naïve Ava." David patted her hand.
"You know, I wonder," I said, thinking out loud. "If Buckley really was sitting on the original bribery money, why would he need to blackmail Katy and James for cash?"
"Maybe he actually did spend the original money," Ava said.
"On what?" I asked. "According to everyone, he's led a modest lifestyle."
"Maybe he lost it," David offered. "Could be the guy had a gambling problem."
Ava and I both turned to look at David. He had been the one who'd referred Buckley to me.
"Oh no. David, please don't tell me you played poker with him…"
"No!" David laughed and shook his head. "No, I would have told you that. I don't know that he had a gambling problem. It's just a theory."
"Well, whatever the reason, he took James Atherton for twelve grand," Ava said. "Who knows how much he was demanding from Katy."
"Sounds like Katy had the most to lose in the here and now if Buckley didn't keep quiet," David mused.
"Okay, but what about the gun?" Ava asked. "Where would Katy get that?"
David shrugged. "She's a former inmate. I'm sure she could figure out how to get a shotgun from Walmart."
Ava frowned. "Good point."
"But," David went on, "don't forget that while both Katy and Eckhart might have wanted Buckley gone, Carmen is the only one who has actually benefited from his death financially."
"And benefited big," I added.
"And she's missing." David popped a bite of scone into his mouth, grinning like he'd made his point.
"But there's still Jamie Connolly," I said. "I mean, really, we only have his word that Eckhart was anywhere near Buckley. And Jamie was at the gallery last night when my car was possibly tampered with."
"But if Jamie is telling the truth, then Eckhart was at the gallery too. And it could have just as easily been him tampering with your car," Ava pointed out.
"Which brings us full circle and no closer to knowing who killed Buckley." I sighed, feeling defeated again.
David must have noticed, as he said, "Let me throw some clothes on and I'll grab my car to drive you home."
But I shook my head. "I'm fine. Besides, I borrowed Eddie's car."
"You sure?" Ava asked, rising from the table with me.
"Yeah." I grinned, loving them both for offering. But I felt like I'd already intruded enough on their whatever-this-was. "I'm fine."
"Are you heading back to the winery?" David asked.
I nodded. "Unfortunately, I've got to make a decision about my employees. Schultz hasn't found me a partner yet, and I'm losing faith he'll be able to with all of this hanging over our reputation. I think it's time to make some hard choices."
"You sure you're out of options?" David frowned.
I shrugged. "Unless a miracle lands in my lap."
"Miracles can happen," David said.
"Since when did you become an optimist," I teased.
David chuckled and nodded toward Ava. "She must be wearing off on me."
Hmmm. Ava and David. That was a pairing that I might need to take some time to get used to.
"Something good will happen. I'm sure of it." Ava gave me a sympathetic smile and squeezed my hand as she walked me to the door.
"See what I mean?" David called after us.
Ava ignored him. "I'll call you later?"
I nodded my thanks and gave her a hug before heading back to my borrowed car.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My mind was whirling with a hundred jumbled thoughts as I made the drive back to the winery. Ava and David together or not together. Grant and me on the outs. Buckley and everyone in his life who'd apparently had great reason to want him dead. His almost stepson hated him, his former partner argued with him and lied about it, his ex-wife was half a million dollars richer with him dead, and Katy Kline had just avoided paying Buckley a second time for his silence. Even James Atherton had been out several thousand dollars thanks to Buckley, though I had to admit his alibi put him out of the running as far as a would-be killer was concerned.
The problem was everyone had motive, most had no alibi, and it was all too easy to see any one of them finding Buckley alone on my vineyard and ending their problems. The more I'd found out, the less the finger pointed in any one direction.
I rolled down the window of Eddie's Civic, letting cool air wash over me. Scents of blooming jasmine and baking grapes instantly made me feel at home, and I tried to ignore the small ache in the pit of my stomach that this may not be home for much longer. I was fighting wet eyes again at the thought when my phone rang, my mom's name lighting the display.
I swiped to take the call, putting it on speaker.
"Hi, Mom," I said. "Everything okay?"
"Hi, sweets. I just wanted to thank you again for the cookies. Though, my scale kinda hates you."
I grinned. "You're welcome. And I'm sure your scale will
get over it."
"Who knew a pimp could make such good oatmeal raisin," she joked.
I couldn't help a laugh. "Well, at least one part of her front is real."
"Anyway, there's something else I want to tell you." I could hear the hesitation in my mom's voice and suddenly feared the worst.
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to remember if she'd had any tests scheduled recently.
"Not wrong, really, but…okay, well, you're going to laugh at me."
"I promise not to laugh," I said, relieved at least it wasn't health related. I couldn't bear to face that right now on top of everything else.
"Sure, but you're going to break that promise."
"Okay, I pinky promise not to laugh, but if I do I could use one today. How's that?"
She sighed. "You were right about Mrs. Pettigrew."
"The cat?" I clarified. "What was I right about?"
"She wasn't stolen."
"So, Oscar Worthington found her?"
"Yeah. Well, actually one of the staff found her. In another resident's room."
"And I'm guessing this other resident did not steal Mrs. Pettigrew?"
Mom sighed again. "No. Well, I suppose technically, yes, but it wasn't on purpose. Mrs. Henning gets…confused sometimes."
"Don't we all," I joked.
"Very funny, Em. But apparently she had a cat once that looked very much like Mrs. Pettigrew, and she had a moment where she, well, she kind of got pulled back in time and thought Mrs. Pettigrew was Buster."
"Buster was her old cat, I take it?"
"Yeah. Anyway, she's been enjoying Buster's company for the last few days, stashing him under her bed at night because the Acres does not allow pets."
"Very sensible," I said, trying my darndest to uphold my pinky promise and keep the laughter bubbling up in my throat at bay.
"Anyway, Donny, the night nurse, finally found her."
"Well, I'm sure Oscar is relieved."
"Mostly. Mrs. Henning kind of petted a bald spot into Mrs. Pettigrew's back, so she's going to need some repairs."
I stifled a laugh.
"You promised you won't laugh!"
Okay, I guess I didn't stifle too successfully.
"Sorry. But it is a relief to know that there isn't a thief at Sonoma Acres."
"I didn't say that," Mom hedged. "The photo and the pillow are still missing, you know."
"You don't think that maybe those will just turn up too? I mean, did they do a thorough search of Mrs. Henning's room?"
"Yes, and the other items were not there. I'm telling you, those really were stolen." She paused. "Just not the taxidermy cat."
"Okay, okay," I said, figuring it was better to humor her than argue it at this point. "Well, thank you for the cat update," I told her, turning left into the winery's oak-lined driveway.
"You'll pass that along to Detective Grant, right?" Mom asked.
Oh boy. That was a whole other conversation I didn't want to have. "I'll let him know when I see him." When that would be, I had no idea. "But," I added, "I'm just pulling up to the winery now."
"Okay. I'll let you go. Give Conchita a hug for me."
"Will do."
"And you're still coming for dinner this weekend, right?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I promised her before we said our goodbyes and hung up.
* * *
As soon as I got to my office, I was greeted by a message from Gene Schultz. No luck on the partner front. Ditto the venture capitalist front and bank front and any private investors front. He did find one loan shark who was willing to give me a short-term loan, but I had a bad feeling it came with a hefty interest rate and my kneecaps as collateral. Meaning I was pretty darn sunk.
I spent a depressing afternoon processing my last month of payroll and even went so far as to leave James Atherton a message to inquire just how much Bay Cellars might offer for Oak Valley's vineyards. I was about to go drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine from our cellars—possibly our last run at this rate—when Eddie popped his head through my office door.
"Hey, boss. I'm clocking out for the day."
"Hi, Eddie. I parked your car in the front lot," I said, reaching into my purse to extract his keys. "Thanks so much for the loan."
"Anytime," he said, taking them back from me. He must have sensed my mood, as he paused in the doorway. "You okay?"
"Fine." I nodded, lying through my teeth. "It's just been a long day," I added, infusing some truth into the statement.
"Well, don't worry," Eddie said, giving me a wide smile that dimpled his pudgy cheeks. "Things are bound to pick up soon."
I tried to match his smile, but I was pretty sure it didn't reach my eyes as I shut the top on my laptop, lest he see just how not-bound-to-pick-up things were. I didn't like hiding our status from him, but I was dreading how I would tell him. And Jean Luc. And Conchita and Hector.
I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind as Eddie waved goodbye and I traversed the short hallway to the tasting room. Jean Luc had apparently gone home for the day already as well, as it was dark but cleaned and organized. Not surprising—Jean Luc was fastidious, and with a nearly empty tasting room the past week, he'd had a lot of time on his hands. I pulled a bottle of our small run Petite Sirah from the chiller behind the bar. A 1997. If I was drowning my sorrows, I was going to do it in style. I was just reaching for the corkscrew when something outside the picture window caught my eyes.
Movement.
I froze, peering out into the dusky evening. While the sun had set, the sky was still a hazy blue, leaving the vineyard and surrounding areas shrouded in shadows.
And one of those shadows was moving.
I set the bottle down on the bar top and crossed to the French doors that led to the courtyard, peering out the glass panes. Standing at the edge of the patio was a woman in jeans and a navy sweatshirt. She had her back to me, but I recognized her immediately. Sheila Connolly.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. She had said she'd stop by to discuss the damage to my car.
I unlocked the back door, stepping out onto the patio.
"Sheila?" I said, approaching her.
She turned to give me a sad smile over her shoulder. "Beautiful place."
My heart clenched. She meant the place where her boyfriend had spent his last moments. "Thanks," I told her. "It's been in my family for generations."
She nodded, her gaze going back to the dusky hills. "Lucky you. Only thing my family left me was debt."
"I'm sorry." I cleared my throat awkwardly, knowing full well Buckley hadn't left her with anything either. "I, uh, didn't hear you at the door. My manager just left for the day."
"Yeah, I passed a couple of cars leaving. Did you talk to Jamie?" she asked, eyes still on the vine covered hills spanning the horizon before us.
I nodded. "I did."
"And?"
I licked my lips. While I wasn't 100% sure Jamie had tampered with my brakes, I wasn't 100% sure he hadn't either. "And I think we can wait and see what my insurance company says about covering the damages to my car," I hedged.
"He's not a bad kid, you know."
I had my doubts, but I just nodded. Even though I realized her full attention was still on the scene in front of us where Buckley had died and not me. "He seems…troubled."
She gave a snort of laughter. "That's putting it mildly. But if you had to live the life he has, it would be a miracle not to be troubled." She shook her head. "All I wanted was to give him something better, you know? I thought Bill would be better."
"I take it he wasn't an easy man," I said, knowing now what he'd really been up to.
She shook her head slowly in the negative. "Do you know what he got Jamie for his seventeenth birthday?
"Uh, no," I said, feeling almost like I was intruding on some grieving moment between her and the vineyard.
"Slippers. Fifteen dollar slippers from Target." She shook her head. "Jamie's friends were
getting cars."
"Jamie has a motorcycle," I pointed out.
"He does. I worked double shifts all summer to buy it for him. Used." She paused. "Bill refused to chip in at all."
I bit my lip. "Well, it's been a tough financial year for a lot of people," I hedged.
She turned away from the hillside just long enough to give me a get real look. "You seem to be doing okay here."
"Appearances can be deceiving," I mumbled.
Though if she heard me, she didn't delve deeper into that statement, clearly lost in her own thoughts. She drew in a deep breath of air, as if drinking in the serene landscape. "It's almost magical here, this time of day. Somewhere in that hazy in-between light and dark. It's softer than it felt at night."
While the statement was true, the wording in it made me freeze. "At night?" I asked slowly, my mind suddenly whirling.
She nodded. "It was so cold then." Her voice was wistful and haunting.
"Sheila," I said, feeling my body tense. "When were you here at night?"
She turned to fully face me for the first time, and I realized she was holding something in her hands.
A gun.
A small wooden rifle.
And suddenly it was clear to me when Sheila had been at my winery before. In the dark. At night.
When she'd killed Bill Buckley.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Sheila, put the gun down—" I started.
But that was as far as I got before she cut me off.
"Don't." The one word was a command and threat all in one. "Don't speak. Don't move. And don't even think of crying for help."
I licked my lips, eyes riveted to the gun. While crying for help had admittedly been my first thought, my second was that there was no one at the winery to help me anyway. Jean Luc and Eddie had gone. Hector and Conchita's cottage was far enough down the road they'd never hear me. And even if anyone had been on the premises, there was no way help would arrive before a bullet would.
So, I slowly nodded my head in agreement.
"Good." Sheila took a step toward me. "Now let's go for a little walk, shall we?" she asked, her eyes flitting to the tasting room doors.
Doors I longed to lunge for.
Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7) Page 19