Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7)

by Gemma Halliday

  "Forgiven," I told him, standing on tiptoe to plant a light kiss on his lips.

  His arms went around me, and the light kiss might have turned a little heavier. Grant made a low moaning sound in the back of his throat. "You're making me really sorry I'm going to be up all night processing your crime scene."

  I pulled away, the moment of reprieve from all that had happened that evening fading as I became aware of our surroundings again. I glanced toward the ambulance where I'd seen the EMTs wheel Sheila. "What's going to happen to her now?" I asked.

  "Once she's medically cleared, we'll charge her with first degree homicide, as well as your attempted homicide. Then she'll be going to jail for a very long time," he promised me.

  "And the money?" I asked. "What happens to the cryptocurrency now?"

  "I'll let the guys in tech figure out how to access that. But once they do, it will all be seized as police assets now." His gaze went out over the hillside. "Likely to be tied up in court for a while. Especially if Sheila goes to trial."

  "I think she really was doing it all for her son, in the end," I told him, almost feeling sorry for Sheila.

  Almost.

  She had been threatening me at gunpoint, after all.

  Grant nodded. "We picked Jamie up an hour ago."

  I frowned. An hour ago, Sheila had still had me in the vineyard. "What did you pick him up for?" I asked.

  "Putting a hole in your brake fluid line." He gave me a pointed look.

  "How did you know about…" I trailed off. Then it dawned on me. "Ava?"

  Grant nodded. "She called me this morning."

  I shook my head. "I should have never given that girl your number."

  Grant laughed. "What you should have done was call me yourself." He took a step forward, arms going around me again. "Why didn't you tell me about the accident, Emmy?"

  I blew out a sigh. "I don't know. Thing were going so sideways between us. I just… I just didn't want to add another layer."

  He cocked his head to the side. "Things were never that sideways."

  I felt a smile snaking across my face. "Good." I took what felt like the first deep emotion-free breath in days. "But how did you find out for sure that it was Jamie who tampered with my car?"

  "Well, I visited the garage you had it towed to. They confirmed there was a hole in the brake fluid line. Looked like it had been covered with some sort of putty."

  "Putty?"

  He nodded. "Designed to melt as the engine turned on and the car got warm, causing the brake fluid to only leak out once the car was already on the road."

  I shuddered. "So he meant to kill me."

  "More likely to cause you to run off the road, like you did. He's not talking, but my guess is he was trying to scare you away from his mom."

  "She honestly didn't seem to know anything about the brakes," I said. "But it sounds like Jamie knew his mother killed Buckley?"

  "Or at least suspected," Grant confirmed.

  "You think that's why he was here at the winery the next day? Checking to see if his mom left any evidence behind?"

  "It's quite possible." Grant nodded. "Like I said, he's not saying much right now. We've charged him as a juvenile, but the DA could easily push to try him as an adult for attempted murder if Jamie doesn't cooperate."

  I glanced at the ambulance Sheila's gurney was resting in. "I don't think he's going to help you put away his mom."

  Grant shrugged. "And I couldn't blame the kid there. But she's not the only one who will be facing charges in all of this."

  I pursed my lips. "Eckhart?"

  Grant didn't answer right away, the little gold flecks in his eyes moving in a frantic rhythm that told me how conflicted he felt. Finally he broke my gaze and looked out over the hills where crime scene techs were converging. "I'll call it in to SFPD. Let them handle it. Whatever happens, it's out of my hands."

  "Sorry," I said again, putting a hand on his arm.

  He gave me a sad smile.

  "But Eckhart wasn't the only person Buckley was blackmailing," I told Grant.

  "I know."

  That one got me. "Wait—you know?"

  He nodded. "We went over all of Buckley's bank transactions. He'd been depositing large amounts of cash that didn't coincide with any invoices for jobs he'd done."

  I sighed and closed my eyes. Of course Grant knew. He was a cop. And a good one. "So you know about James Atherton?" I asked.

  Grant nodded. "We paid him a visit this afternoon."

  I couldn't help a small grin. "Bet he loved that."

  "Almost peed his pants." Grant grinned too.

  "And Katy Kline?" I asked.

  Grant nodded again. "Wasn't too hard to put that one together. Though what he was blackmailing her over, we're still not sure."

  "Derek," I supplied.

  Grant frowned. "Derek?"

  "Her delivery guy. She says he's her nephew, but he's really her gigolo."

  Grant let out a small laugh. "So, she's in the male escort business now?"

  I nodded.

  "How did you find out?"

  "I sort of ordered him for my mom."

  "Wait…" He shook his head.

  "Long story. But Katy's oatmeal raisin cookies are actually fantastic."

  Grant looked as though he'd like the longer version of that story, but for the moment he let it go. Thankfully.

  "There's something I have to tell you," I said, hating to ruin the moment but needing to come clean.

  "Something more than hiring a gigolo?" Grant raised an eyebrow at me.

  I nodded, licking my lips. "The way I found out about James Atherton and Katy Kline was that Buckley had photos of them. I confronted James, and he told me everything."

  "Where did you see these photos?"

  "Can we gloss over that?' I asked.

  He raised the other eyebrow, but he didn't say anything, so I took that as a good sign.

  "Anyway," I said, dreading to say it. But I couldn't not. "I saw that Buckley had photos of you too."

  "You did?" he said.

  I nodded. "Look, I don't know how well you knew Buckley or what went on between you two, but I…"

  Grant's frowned deepened.

  I forged ahead. "…I know he wasn't blackmailing you. I know he wouldn't have any reason to, and I know you wouldn't bite."

  Some of the creases between his eyebrows smoothed out. "You do."

  I nodded. "I know you better than that," I decided.

  The left corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. "I'm glad to hear you say that." He took a deep breath. "But I know about the photos."

  "You do?" Relief rushed through me.

  He nodded. "His bank records were our first clue he was blackmailing someone, but the photos were what put us on to James and Katy. We found copies on his computer. Along with notes."

  "What sort of notes?"

  "Notes he'd kept about comings and goings, people he'd seen them with. Anything he thought they'd pay to keep quiet."

  I licked my lips. "So, why did he have photos of you?"

  "Well, according to his notes, he was hoping to find something he could hold over me."

  I let out a breath. "So he did intend to blackmail you."

  He nodded. "Look, Buckley knew about my past incident in San Francisco and the run-in with Internal Affairs. Only, he assumed—incorrectly—that, like him, I was dirty and lucky to get away with a transfer. Buckley thought if he looked hard enough, maybe he could find something here in Sonoma that was similar. Something he could hold over me. Apparently he'd been digging into my life and…" He paused, glancing down at me. "And that's why he took the job here."

  "Wait—are you saying the only reason he was at my winery in the first place was to get some dirt on you?"

  He nodded. "It appears that way. His notes indicated he felt I might let my guard down around my girlfriend and spill something usable."

  While my mind was whirling with that new information, it somehow
homed in on one part of that statement. "Did you just call me your girlfriend?"

  Grant chuckled. "That's the part you're fixating on?"

  "Answer the question, Detective Grant," I said, not able to wipe the grin off my face for anything.

  He took a step forward, closing the gap between us. Then he leaned down, his lips skimming mine in a seductively soft kiss. "Does that answer your question?" he whispered, sending a shiver down my spine.

  Oh, yeah. I felt myself melting into his embrace as he swooped in for another kiss.

  "There's just one more thing I need to know," I mumbled onto his lips.

  "Hmm?"

  "How did you get the moon shaped scar on your butt?"

  He chuckled, his lips going to my neck. "I'll tell you all about it." He paused. "At your place. Tomorrow night."

  That was one bedtime story I couldn't wait to hear.

  * * *

  Heroic local artist saves the day!

  I glanced down at the headline in the Sonoma-Index Tribune and shook my head.

  "What?" David asked, grinning from ear to ear. "I think it's a very accurate portrayal of the harrowing events last week."

  "You would," I teased, slapping him on the arm with the newspaper. An actual printed newspaper. David had cleaned out every machine downtown and was even threatening to frame a copy of Bradley Wu's very flattering article.

  Flattering to David, at least. It still made our winery look like a haven for criminals and those with murder on the mind. Which, sadly, had done nothing to bolster sales that weekend, the tasting room holding only a couple of people, despite it being happy hour on a Saturday.

  While David had been touted as the man who had saved the life of the "most unlucky vintner in Sonoma" and brought to justice the "killer among the vines," Bradley Wu had also been able to secure an exclusive interview with Carmen Buckley, the "long-suffering" first wife of the victim.

  According to Wu, Carmen Buckley had, in fact, left town as we'd suspected. But it had not, however, been because she'd been guilty of killing her ex-husband but because she'd been celebrating her upcoming windfall from his life insurance policy. She'd given the guy who'd stood her up the night of Buckley's death a second chance, and, being that he ended up being as cute in person as his pictures online, the two had spent a whirlwind long weekend in Las Vegas, making a dent in Carmen's insurance payout. A small dent. She was, after all, a half millionaire now.

  Wu had also reported that Sheila Connolly was pleading not guilty by reason of insanity, having claimed that living with a man like Buckley had driven her over the edge. While I had to admit that residing in Shady Meadows seemed pretty depressing, I had a hard time seeing an actual insanity plea stick.

  Unlike his mother, Jamie had admitted his guilt in it all. He'd confessed to Grant that he'd cut my brake line at the gallery, saying he'd watched a couple of YouTube tutorials on how to do it. Though he insisted he'd only hoped to scare me into backing off his mom and not actually harm me. While he wasn't saying much about his mom and whether he actually knew she'd been guilty or only suspected, he had agreed to tell the police everything he knew about Eckhart and Buckley's arrangement in exchange for being charged as a juvenile. Which I was actually pretty okay with. While Jamie had, in fact, scared the bejeezus out of me that night and caused the several thousand dollars' worth of damage to my beloved Jeep (thankfully most of which had been covered by insurance), he'd done it to protect his mom. I didn't want to think what sort of things I might be capable of in the same position.

  Like Jamie, Eckhart had also had the good sense to come clean once faced with the evidence of his crimes. However, according to Eckhart's version, it had been Buckley who'd been the mastermind behind the bribery scheme and Eckhart had only gone along for the ride. When Buckley had been caught, Eckhart paid him everything that he hadn't spent in order to keep Eckhart's name out of it. Only, he hadn't counted on Buckley coming back for more two years later. He claimed that's what the argument Jamie had overheard had been about—Buckley looking for more money and Eckhart telling him he had none. After Buckley had died, Eckhart had discovered his rifle missing and had hoped it was just coincidence. Until I'd shown up in San Francisco asking questions about Buckley's death. Eckhart had erroneously thought Grant had sent me, which was why he'd been following Grant that night when Jamie had seen him at the gallery. He'd been trying to find out if Grant knew the truth about the bribery and his part in it. When IA had arrested him, he'd been partly relieved that at least it had only been for bribery and not a successful frame-up for Buckley's murder.

  "So," I said to David, "did you just show up to gloat at your newfound fame and drink my wine?" I gestured to the glass of Zin in his hands.

  David grinned. "Wow, a thanks for saving my life, David would be nice."

  "Thank you," I said with all sincerity. "You know I am forever grateful."

  "Twice." He held up two fingers. "This is twice I've saved your cute little bacon, Ems," he said, eyes flitting to my derriere.

  "Thank you twice," I told him. "I am twice as in your debt."

  His grin widened. "I like the sound of that. Remind me to collect on that someday." He winked at me.

  I cleared my throat. "So, I've fawned over you and you have your wine, so I'm going to go serve the other customers," I said, gesturing to a couple at the end of the bar who clearly already had full glasses.

  "Just a minute," David said, holding up a hand and setting his glass on the bar top. "I actually stopped by to give you something."

  I bit my lip. The something he'd mentioned the other night when he'd "saved my bacon." I'd had a full week and a half to contemplate just what it was David was giving me, and only one dreaded thought had come to mind.

  "David, I don't want the painting," I blurted out, the words rushing from my mouth before I could stop them.

  David frowned. "The painting?"

  "The one you made of m—" I stopped myself from saying me just in time. "Of the woman. The lost woman," I amended. While it was hauntingly beautiful, the fact that everyone seemed to think David had painted me was even more haunting. And unnerving. And brought up emotions I wasn't sure I wanted to have. "It's beautiful, but it's…just not for me."

  David's frown slowly dissolved, a grin taking its place. "Emmy, I'm not giving you a painting," he said. "Do you know how much my paintings sell for?"

  I shut my mouth with a click. "I guess not."

  "A lot more than you could afford," he said, grin widening. "Besides, I sold that piece at the showing."

  "Oh." I pursed my lips together, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks. "Well, good for you."

  He cocked his head to the side. "Why did you think I was giving it to you?"

  I licked my lips. "No reason. I just…I mean, you said you had a present for me…and I sort of thought maybe…well, you know, because I said I liked it…and it sort of looked like it could have been…" I trailed off, going absolutely nowhere I wanted to be with that sentence.

  David raised a questioning eyebrow at me as if daring me to finish the thought.

  I took a deep breath. "Okay, I have to ask you something."

  "Yes?" David asked, arching the eyebrow further, grin still punctuating his cheeks as he swirled his Zin in his glass.

  I took another deep breath…and realized I didn't want to know the answer to that question. Instead, I chickened out and went with, "Did you sleep with Ava?"

  David's wineglass paused halfway to his lips. "What?!"

  "The other night. After the gallery opening. You spent the night."

  "On the couch," David said with a chuckle.

  "You were in her clothes."

  "I spilled champagne on my blazer."

  "You drank from her coffee cup."

  "I'm rude and needed caffeine," David said, laughing in earnest now. "Ems, Ava and I are friends."

  "I know, but how good of friends are you?"

  "Not that good."

  "Really?" I asked, g
iving him the side-eye.

  "Really. I slept on her lumpy futon. Like a gentleman. Had an uncomfortable rod in my back all night."

  I gave him another dubious look.

  "Would you like to see the mark it made?" he asked, lifting the hem of his T-shirt.

  "No!" I gave him another playful swat with the newspaper. "Do not disrobe in my tasting room!" I glanced around at the sparsely populated room.

  "You prefer I should I disrobe elsewhere?" He winked at me.

  "There will be no disrobing. Here, there, or anywhere."

  "You're no fun." He picked his wineglass back up and took a sip, the smile still present on his lips. "But you're adorable when you're flustered."

  I took a deep breath and shook my head at him. "You said you were here to give me something?"

  He nodded. "I am." He set his wineglass down on the bar and reached into the back pocket of his jeans, extracting a folded sheaf of papers. He slid them across the bar to me.

  I glanced from him to the papers. "What's this?"

  "Read it." He leaned back in his chair and sipped wine around his smile again. Which was practically wicked enough that I suddenly feared what was on the pieces of paper.

  I reached out and unfolded them, seeing a document in small font. I read the first few lines silently before their meaning hit in. "David, what is this?"

  "It's a partnership agreement."

  I shook my head. "Partnership?"

  "You said you needed to take on a partner here. Someone to infuse the place with a little capital."

  An odd mix of hope and dread filled my chest. "Are you saying you want to invest in the winery?"

  He shrugged. "Why not? It's a nice place. Lots of history. I fully endorse the product." He held up his glass. "And I happen to know the owner very well." He gave me another wink.

  My mind was whirling, eyes scanning the paperwork in front of me. Which looked perfectly legit and perfectly enticing. "You're serious?" I asked. "I mean, you can afford this?"

  David threw his head back and laughed. "Well, not if you're going to bleed me dry. I mean, I do expect to see a return on my investment. Eventually," he added.

  "Eventually could be a while," I hedged, looking around at our mostly empty happy hour.