Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (15 page)

“According to Aunt Mary, the whole town knows you spend a large portion of your nights here. So do they. Besides, we’ll close the door.”

Dan laughed, a wonderful, warm, comfortable laugh, and grabbed me as I passed the washing machine. He slid his arms around me, his hands inside my unbuttoned blouse. His mustache tickled my earlobe then moved to the nape of my neck. I pushed back, feeling him against me, ready to explode. We might never make the bedroom. I twisted in his arms to face him, my arms around his neck, bringing him down close to me, letting his mouth devour mine, drowning in his kiss.

“We’d better go upstairs while we can,” I finally said.

“I’ve never made love on a washing machine, but it sounds like good clean fun,” Dan said in my ear. His tongue followed. I moaned.

“Not funny. I really would be upset if Mark and Sabrina walked in on us—like that.”

“Might be a little embarrassing,” Dan conceded, but not with much conviction.

“Come on.” I slid my hand down into his and led the way into the kitchen. I wasn’t planning to stop, but Dan paused and stared once more at the basket of flowers.

“What are you going to do about him?” he asked, emphasizing the “him.”

“I’ll get him to back off. But I have to do it gently.”

“You have to do it quickly.” He still had my hand and now he headed for the stairs, pulling me after him. “I have this terrible vision of Larry wandering around after you at our wedding reception, telling everyone about postcards from Paris, trying to get your attention—what’s the matter?”

I’d stiffened. I couldn’t help it. Wedding reception, wedding, marriage. Damn.

“What’s the matter?” Dan tugged at my hand, but I didn’t move.

“Nothing,” I said, a little too quickly.

“Oh yes there is. The minute I brought up the wedding, you acted like I’d smacked you. And it’s not the first time.”

“That’s not true,” I protested, but it lacked conviction.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you of not wanting to go through with this.”

“How ridiculous. How can you even think such a thing.”

Dan put his hands on my shoulders and held me at arm’s length. He looked at me for what seemed like a year, then said, “Ellie, do you love me?”

I started to protest, but the look in his eyes made that seem so false. Truth won out, and I startled myself by saying, simply, “Yes.”

“A lot?”

“A lot.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?”

“Oh Dan,” I said, trying to get past his hands, which still held my shoulders, and into his arms. “I do want to. But maybe not so soon.”

“Why?” His face was still, the warmth gone from his blue eyes.

“Because, well, you know what kind of life I had with Brian and…”

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

“Of course I do.” Damn it anyway. If he didn’t stop this, I was going to break down and blubber. “But, well, why can’t we keep things the way they are now? At least for a while? They’ve been good; we still see each other…” I broke off.

“I don’t want to share your table and your bed a couple of nights a week,” he said, bitterness ripe in his voice. “I want a commitment, a lifetime of commitments, me to you, and you to me. I want to love you with passion, and I want to love you as your best friend, forever. Don’t you get that?”

I didn’t. At least, I couldn’t make myself believe it could happen. Dan was talking about some idealist kind of marriage, the kind you read about in Cinderella novels. I’d been married, and it sure wasn’t “happily ever after.” It had meant loss of freedom, loss of self-esteem, of self-confidence. It meant loss of trust, something I wasn’t sure I knew how to do anymore.

“What’s the matter?” The hurt on his face was unbearable. “Do you think I’ll turn into Brian the night after the wedding?”

“No, no, you won’t turn into Brian.”

“So what do you think will happen?”

I looked up at him, unable to speak, wanting so badly to say, “You’ll get busy, you’ll get bored, you’ll get critical, you’ll quit loving me, and I couldn’t bear to go through all that again.” Instead I said, “I don’t know.”

“Well, let me know when you figure it out.” Dan’s hands dropped off my shoulders. He stared at me for a moment and added, “But don’t take too long. I love you, Ellie, above everything in the world, but I’m not going to sit around forever while you make up your mind. I’m not going to ride roughshod over you. If you don’t know me well enough, love me enough, to know I don’t operate that way, then there’s nothing left to say.” He started for the door, leaving me in the middle of the kitchen, arms hanging loose at my sides, my whole world suddenly upside down.

“Dan,” I started. He turned, waited a second, but I couldn’t go on.

“Don’t forget to feed Jake,” he threw at me, then stormed out, letting the kitchen door swing angrily shut behind him, followed almost immediately by the slam of the front door.

It opened again. I jumped, then ran into the living room, ready to throw my arms around him, saying—what?

Mark and Sabrina came in, laughing.

“Hi,” Mark said. “We saw Dan storming down the walk. What’s he so het up about?”

“Oh dear,” Sabrina said. “Something bad’s the matter. Is it my fault?”

“No, of course not.” I was starting to have a mood change. How dare he storm out of here like that? Who did he think he was? I had a perfect right to decide who, and when, I married. Just because he thought December was a good time didn’t mean I did, and I was not, repeat, not going to be told, by any man, any more, ever, what to do. Just because I loved him didn’t mean—damn. What had I done?

“I’m sorry, Ellen.” Sabrina touched me on the arm. She looked like she was going to burst into tears. That was all I needed. If she did, so would I, and that I refused to do. “You were fighting about me, weren’t you? Because Dan wants to arrest me? Is that why Dan was so mad? Because you stood up for me?”

“No, this has nothing to do with you. It’s something else…”

I never got to finish my sentence, not that I had any intention of explaining anyway, because Mark jumped in.

“What do you mean, Dan wants to arrest you? That’s nonsense, and you know it. If he’s going to arrest anyone in this family, it’ll be me.”

“Why you?” he surprised out of me.

“Because of that missing wine thing, Otto accusing me of stealing, the jerk, and—”

“And what?”

He waved his hand as if to say “nothing” but his face was beet red.

I was curious, of course, but mostly I was tired. Tired of Mark and Sabrina, of murder and murder suspects, of police chiefs, of marriage, of weddings, and of anything remotely connected with any of them. I turned away from Mark and started toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Sabrina asked.

“Upstairs.” I started up. And when I got there, I was going to either have a raging temper tantrum or a long cry. Maybe both.

I didn’t do either. Instead, I sat on the bed, letting my thoughts swirl around me like phantoms, swooping down, then darting away. I loved Dan. Maybe I didn’t love him enough. But what did “enough” mean? Or maybe I was trying to guard this new, independent life I’d worked so hard to produce. Or maybe I really had forgotten how to trust. Twenty years with Brian meant I was out of practice. Or maybe he was bullying me, and he could just back off. After all, this didn’t have to be all my fault. And if we were going to talk about trust, how about him thinking I would miss Brian’s money? Sweatshirts and jeans, dinner at Smitty’s BarBQue, eating ice cream, and watching old movies, all those things were just fine with me. If he really loved me, he’d know that. Wouldn’t he? But what if he’d meant all the things he’d said? Could you really have a life like that? The way he’d described it, like his first marriage. Could ours be like that, also? Damn the man, just look at what he was putting me through! I didn’t need him. I’d curl up with my cat and a—where was my cat? Not here. I pushed open my bedroom door, checked to make sure Mark and Sabrina’s door was closed, and crept down the stairs. A phone was on the coffee table in the living room. Should I? I stared at it for a long time, but somehow, I couldn’t.

“Well,” I told Jake as I plucked him off the top bookshelf, trying hard to control the tremor in my voice, “I guess it will be a while before we see Dan Dunham again.”

As it turned out, that wasn’t exactly true.

Chapter Sixteen

It was four o’clock in the morning when my bedside phone rang. I had spent most of the night tossing and turning, thinking about what I should have done, should have said, trying to figure out what I should do, what I wanted to do, and had just dropped off into an uneasy doze. Dan. It was Dan calling. I fought my way out of the sheets and grabbed the phone.

“Is Mark there?” an anxious voice asked.

“Who is this?” I snarled.

“Hector. It’s Hector from the winery. I have to talk to Mark. Right away. It’s an emergency.”

I was awake enough for the urgency in the man’s voice to override my disappointment. “Wait. I’ll get him.”

Mark answered groggily when I pounded on his door.

“Get the phone,” I said. “It’s Hector.”

I could hear a groan from behind the door. By now I was completely awake, and I wanted to know what had happened. It must be something pretty grim for Hector to call at this time of the morning. Where was he, anyway? At the winery? Questions that needed answers, so, instead of hanging up my extension, I listened in.

“You’ve got to get here fast,” Hector said. “I’ve already called the police. They’re on the way.”

“Just let me get my pants on. Take me about ten minutes,” Mark answered and slammed down the phone.

I rubbed my ear a little as I hung up. It serves you right for eavesdropping, I thought, then something penetrated. Police. Coming to the winery. Not too many police in this town, and this must be serious. So that probably meant the police chief? Maybe I needed to go with Mark. Yep. Maybe I did.

“Why are you dressed?” Mark asked, as I met him in the hall.

“I’m going with you.”

“Why?” asked a bleary-eyed Sabrina.

“Never mind. Let’s go,” I said.

Mark looked at me strangely but didn’t say anything. He just fumbled for his keys and headed down the stairs, followed by Sabrina. I was right behind.

“I can’t believe it,” Sabrina kept saying as Mark careened the car out of the driveway and down the empty street. “I just can’t believe it.”

Believe what? I wanted to ask but was too busy trying to keep from flying across the backseat to say anything. Finally I fastened a seat belt, I wasn’t sure which one, and managed to keep upright around the next corner.

“What exactly happened?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

“Don’t you know?” Sabrina said, obviously surprised.

“No,” I said, trying hard for patience. “No. I don’t. Only that it’s an emergency.” Then for the first time a thought struck me. “It’s not another body. Is it?”

“Worse,” said Sabrina.

“Wine,” Mark said. “Someone stole the wine.”

I didn’t think that was worse than a body. I wanted to ask, “What wine?” but was too busy keeping myself upright to get the words out.

By now we were charging up the hill to the winery. Gravel crunched, tires skidded, and we came to an abrupt halt in front of the huge roll-up doors that led onto the cellar floor. They were up, all the lights were on, and Hector, the dark-haired, sinewy-looking young man I’d met on Saturday, stood on the concrete ramp, waiting for us. He’d been all smiles then; now he glowered.

Mark jumped out of the car and ran up to the doors.

“What happened?” he demanded, grim voiced.

“Come on, I’ll show you. The bastards.”

They disappeared into the cavernous room, Sabrina and me right on their heels.

The huge fluorescent lights that had burned so bright Saturday night seemed dim. Shadows played around the towering stainless steel tanks; the tall stacks of wooden barrels refused to show their labels. The chill of the cellar caught me by surprise and I shivered.

We stopped almost immediately.

“There.” Hector pointed at one of the tanks, indistinguishable from any of the others. “That’s the one. They emptied it.”

Mark squatted on the floor, examining the huge hose nozzle, reading the volume valve, staring at the drain that ran in front of all the tanks. Only this one showed vivid red drops in front of it, crimson red, blood red. Wine red.

“How did they get in?” Mark asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Hector answered. “But they must have known how to turn off the alarm.”

“Then how did you know?”

For the first time, Hector looked almost happy. “I saw them.”

“You what?”

“Yep.” There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Hector’s voice. “I saw a tanker truck coming out the gate. I couldn’t figure out why it was here. I didn’t think we’d scheduled any bulk wine to be moved, but I wasn’t sure. Then I came up here and found everything locked up, no one around. I got worried, so I turned on all the lights, started looking around, saw the wine in the drain, and checked the valve. That tank is empty.”

“But why are you here so early?” asked Sabrina. A question that had been running around my mind as well.

“I got a call from the Martinelli brothers about two thirty. They’d finished picking grapes and were on the way. Matter of fact, they should be here any minute, and I haven’t even been up on the crush pad. Better do that right now.”

“Wait,” said Mark. “The police are coming?”

“Called them before I called you. They should be here any minute.”

“Minute’s up,” I said. “Here they are.”

Headlights shone in the parking lot and car doors slammed.

“Get going. Get that crush pad ready,” Mark ordered. “They can talk to you later.”

Hector hurried off and was replaced by two uniformed men. Men I knew well.

“Gary. Sergeant Riker,” I said, nodding politely.

They looked a little startled to see me, which was understandable. I usually saw them when I stopped by the station house to collect Dan for lunch. Back in the good old days.

Gary looked around uneasily, then back at me. “You folks didn’t find another body. Did you?”

“What we found was an empty storage tank,” Mark said, pointing up at the stainless steel monster. He thumped its side. “Hear that? Empty. See that valve? Says empty. We’ve been robbed.”

They both stared up at the tank, then looked around the cellar. Hector had turned on the crush pad floodlights and opened the double doors at the other end. The place was bathed in light, forcing every corner to give up its mysteries.

“What’s that smell?” Gary asked.

“Wine fermenting,” Mark told him.

“Smells good,” Gary commented. “Sort of earthy, maybe like yeast. Would it be yeast?”

Riker gave him a disgusted look, then favored the rest of us with it. “Don’t you folks lock up this place?”

“Of course we do,” Sabrina said indignantly. “We have an electric gate down by the road, and the whole place is on an alarm system.”

“Then how did someone get in? Seems like it would take a while to empty a tank that size,” Riker said.

It certainly did seem that way. We were all silent, staring up at the equally silent tank.

“I’ve no idea how they did it. But yesterday that tank was full of wine; this morning it’s empty,” Mark finally said.

“How did you find the tank was empty?” asked Gary.

“Hector Munoz, my cellar rat, found it. He came in early to meet a truckload of grapes.”

“Cellar rat? That’s a funny kind of name,” said Gary. He was ignored.

“Hector saw a tanker truck leaving, got suspicious, started looking around, and found this tank empty.”

“You people keep strange hours,” Riker commented.

“We’re in the middle of the crush,” Mark said.

Riker didn’t look as if that explained much.

“What’s a crush?” Gary asked. No one bothered to answer this question either. I was beginning to feel sorry for Gary but was immediately distracted.

“More visitors,” said Riker.

We could hear tires crunch and headlights glowed. Several sets, judging from the glow. Voices called, then truck gears groaned, and most of the voices were transferred to the crush pad. Except one.

“Will you look who’s here?” asked Dan. His tone left a lot to be desired. “I wonder why I’m not surprised. Find another body?”

“Sarcasm isn’t your thing. Stick to billy clubs and thumb screws.” I wanted to bite my tongue. Damn! Why did I do that?

Dan glared at me but turned to listen to Riker, who was pointing at the tank.

“This tank is empty. He,” he pointed at Mark, “says it was full of wine yesterday. Claims someone stole it.”

“What do you mean, claim?” protested Mark.

“Someone did,” Sabrina said hotly. “Hector saw him.”

“Who’s Hector?” asked Gary. Finally someone took note of one of his questions.

“Yes. Who’s Hector?” Dan asked. “And exactly what is going on? Will someone please start at the beginning?” The look he gave me made it plain I wasn’t the someone.

“Hector Munoz, my cellar rat,” Mark looked at Dan’s raised eyebrow, “my assistant, got a call that a load of grapes was ready. We weren’t expecting them until tomorrow night, so he hurried over here to have the gates open and the crush pad ready.”

Dan nodded for him to go on, ignoring Gary’s open mouth, ready with another question.

“Hector saw a tanker truck, the kind we use to move bulk wine, driving out our gates. Only we didn’t have any juice scheduled to be moved. So he came up here and, instead of opening up the pad, checked the cellar floor. He found this tank empty.”

“How did they get in?” Dan asked. “Don’t you have an alarm system?”

“A good one,” said Sabrina. “And the gate is electric, you have to punch in the code.”

“How long would it take to empty a tank that size?” Dan stared up at it, then squatted down to examine the valve.

“Hours,” Mark told him. “Whoever it was had to have started around ten, maybe earlier.”

“Pretty risky, staying that long, pumping all that stuff,” commented Riker.

“Probably not,” Mark told him. “Usually the building is locked up by eight and unlocked about seven in the morning. You can’t see lights from the street, so if the gate was locked, no one driving by would have any idea someone was here.”

“Only Hector showed up at just the wrong time. For our thief,” Dan said thoughtfully.

“This time of the year, our hours get pretty erratic,” Mark said. “Machine harvesting is done at night, hand picking during the day, and they pick when the sugars are right. It’s not uncommon to get a call, like tonight, that grapes we’ve contracted for are on their way. And, believe me, we aren’t about to let them sit around. Like now. Those grapes haven’t been off the vines more than a few hours.”

We all turned to look at the brightly lit crush pad, where gondolas of deep purple grapes were being poured into the stemmer. It slowly turned, pulling grapes, twigs, leaves, whatever it could get hold of, under its jaws. Twigs and leaves were slowly spit out and the pulp and skins, along with the dull red juice, made their way into the fermenting tanks, hopefully not the one Otto had so recently inhabited. We watched, fascinated, but started as two new voices broke the spell.

“What’s going on here? I saw lights. Those are police cars. Why? What’s happened?”

I was almost positive I heard “shit” escape from Dan, but it was quickly replaced by “Hello, Carlton. What are you doing here?”

“I, that is, we saw the gate open. The gate shouldn’t be open now. Anyone could come up here and—something’s going on, and I demand to know what it is.”

Carlton advanced toward our group, dragging a disheveled-looking Jolene behind him. Her dress was wrinkled, her champagne-colored hair badly mussed, and her shoes seemed to be missing. Carlton’s shirttail was hanging out, his pants were rumpled, and there was a mark on his neck, right about where his ear started, that was rather interesting. The temptation to ask where they had been and whata they’d been doing was almost irresistible.

Dan isn’t as polite as I am. It’s probably his police training. “Where are you two going at this time of the morning?”

“I was taking Jolene back to her room at the bed and breakfast,” Carlton stated with as much dignity as he could muster. “I saw the gate open as we were passing. I thought I had better check on things, so we started up the driveway and saw all the lights. Would you please tell me what is going on?”

“We’ve had a little problem,” Mark said.

“I can see that,” Carlton told him. I thought the sarcasm in his tone excessive, even for him. “The police don’t usually show up for the fun of it. What is it this time?”

Sabrina gasped, and Mark ground his teeth. I didn’t really blame them. Carlton was making it sound like everything that had happened was not only their fault, but that they had thought it all up. Jolene started to giggle, which didn’t help things much.

“Carlton got just real upset when he saw that gate open. He takes his responsibilities real serious, don’t you Carlton, honey.”

Carlton honey looked like he could have done without sweet Jolene’s input. He ignored her, along with all the rest of us, and went right to the top.