One Foot in the Grape (12 page)

I paused in front of the mirror and looked back at Annie. “Do you think these are sexy?”

“Not the way you're walking.”

Afraid to do any more damage, I managed to peel them off where I stood, handed them to the waif and apologized for the mess. Having once again donned my sensible flats, we made our way out of the store and into the afternoon sunshine. When we were out on the street, Annie resumed the conversation of Brice and Francesca.

“The reality is that his marriage to Francesca has opened a
lot of doors he might have otherwise found closed, hotshot doctor from the city or not. You know as well as I do few things impress people in this town like a local family connection. What I'd like to know is whether or not Francesca knew all the time what he was up to?”

“That's a good question.” I stopped at the police station. “She isn't a pushover, not by a long shot, but sometimes people put up with amazing things in the name of love. If she doesn't know about Chantal yet, I don't want to be the one responsible for her finding out. Nobody, not even Francesca, deserves to have their husband fool around, especially with a younger sister.”

A
T
the door of the police station, Annie extracted from me a promise to tell her everything and walked off. The bounce in her step and diminutive stature would have suggested someone twenty years of age instead of the thirty-eight I knew her to be.

I entered the station and recognized the clerk behind the counter. He waved me in and signaled to Lucas that I was there. Lucas came out of his office, swung open the waist-high counter gate and asked me if I wanted some coffee. When I declined, he poured himself a cup and led me into his office, closing the door.

I caught a glimpse of a file on the desk with Todd Ryan's name on it. Lucas followed my glance and casually scooped it up. He tilted his cup toward the chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

If I wanted Lucas to share with me, I didn't want the desk
between us. Instead of the chair I chose the couch under the window, open to the afternoon breeze. He seemed to understand what I was up to, but he smiled, turned the chair he'd indicated toward me, and sat.

“Have you remembered anything else about that night you want to share?”

“Nothing I didn't tell you. Why?”

“I'm inclined to believe you were right about that light disappearing into the house. There weren't any footprints at the fermenting building or around the crushers that didn't belong to family members. No fingerprints unaccounted for, no unusual car tracks, no reports of vagrants or people that aren't from here, and believe me, in a town like Cypress Cove, we hear about all of them.” He looked at me. “That means right before and after the murder, you were alone with Todd and his killer.”

I nodded. “Trust me, that's crossed my mind more than a few times.”

“I was just hoping something else might have occurred to you. Let's work it backward. If it was a family member, then it was someone with all of you earlier that evening in the library. What if something was said, something the killer wanted kept hidden?”

“I see what you're saying. I was thinking the killer already knew they were going to try to kill Todd later that night, but what if something was said or done in the library that forced the killer to act?”

I got up, paced around the room, and replayed the evening in my head. Finally I shrugged. “I don't know. I can't think of anything. Everyone seemed to behave normally.” I counted off
the names on my fingers: “Marvin, obnoxious as usual. Stephen tried to keep Chantal away from the bar. Chantal, of course, flirted and drank. Veronica didn't say much. Just sat there and rattled those damn pearls. Francesca was her usual condescending self, along with Brice, who had his cell phone glued to his ear, and, of course, Antonia, who seemed fine. Todd came in late, after everyone else.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why was he late?”

Good question. “I don't know. Stephen said Todd was responsible for coordinating the shifts in the tasting booths. The wineries take turns. Otherwise it's too crowded. Maybe he was late because he was finishing up the schedule.”

Lucas looked over his notes. “Do you think his death had anything to do with the festival?”

“Doubtful. The festival happens every year, but this is the first one since Todd's been with Martinelli Winery. If I had to guess, I still think it's something to do with the winery. I told you the night Todd died that Antonia thought someone was up to something, and since then I've confirmed it.” I told Lucas about the person in the fermenting building. When I mentioned going under the police tape, he raised his brows but didn't say anything. “Todd could have found out who was sabotaging the winery.”

“Okay. Any other reason why you think someone would want Todd dead?”

“Well, Francesca owns some land outside of Monterey. She got it from Todd's mother, and it doesn't sound like Todd was very happy with the way she acquired it.”

“You know you should have led with all of this at the beginning of the conversation. Anything else you care to tell me?” He gave me a stern look and waited.

In the end, I told him about my roadside chat with Chantal, along with finding out Francesca didn't graduate from Layton, as well as her fight with Brice at the restaurant. I didn't know what would help him, so I gave him everything I knew. Besides, I didn't like the look I was getting. He wasn't happy, and I couldn't help it—I cracked like a walnut.

Lucas crossed his arms. “Sounds like I need to have a talk with Brice and Francesca, as well as Chantal. You've been busy.”

“Hey, most of this just dropped into my lap. Except for going to Francesca's law school. And the fermenting building visit. Sorry about that sneaking-under-the-police-tape thing.”

He just watched me.

I stared back. “What?”

“I'm trying to decide if I should tell you what we know or lock you up for unauthorized entry of a crime scene.”

“If those are my only two choices, I'll take the first one.”

Lucas walked over to the open window and watched the street as he spoke. “We didn't find much, but there was one thing of interest. In the crusher next to Todd was a torn corner of a document.”

“A document? What do you mean? Something official? Like a deed or something?”

“Yes. It's still up at the lab, but the preliminary reports show it's older and there's a mark, part of an embossed shape, like an emblem.” He turned to me. “You were a reporter?”

I nodded, confused at the turn in the conversation. “Of sorts. Photojournalist.”

“What are you working on now?” He watched me.

“Nothing. I had a disagreement with my editor at the paper. Since then I've been focused on my own photography. Landscapes mostly. Why?”

Lucas turned back toward the window. He didn't respond. He just sipped his coffee as I started to squirm. “If you see or hear anything, I want to be the first to know.”

“Sure.”

He turned and walked to the door of his office. As he opened the door, he caught my eye. “I'm serious about this. And don't enter any more of my crime scenes.”

“I promise.” Yikes.

I walked back to the car and thought about what Lucas had said. An emblem. Something embossed. Like a diploma. Or maybe the deed to property. Or maybe just about anything else.

What I needed was to put the problem away for a while. I pointed the car toward Pacific Coast Highway. The late-afternoon sun was low over the ocean as I pulled the car out of town and made a right on Highway 1. Here, the sea breeze met redwood forests and the air was cool even on the hottest days.

I drove south until I hit Big Sur, where I finally turned around and headed back. I arrived home just as Hayley placed vegetable-and-shrimp kabobs on the outside grill.

I went inside to make rice, one of the few things I reliably cook. Hayley came in behind me and I spoke without turning. “So you and Lucas looked pretty cozy.” I turned, expecting to see the happy smile I'd seen earlier, but the eyes that met mine were strained and red as though she'd been crying. I put my arm around her. “What's happened?”

“I just keep thinking about that night and if there's anything I should have done that I missed. Lucas is great and I think he might be the one, but Todd's death and my being there has strained our relationship. He doesn't want to talk about it and I understand he can't, but when he said for you to meet him at the police station it scared me. I tried to ask him about it but he got all official with me. I'm just worried.” Hayley looked toward the back door. “Connor's coming up in a few minutes.” She took a seat at the counter. “Can I ask you a question?”

I looked at her. She dug her teeth into her lip and there was a line of tension between her brows.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“It must have been pretty bad when you found him. I guess I just want to know what to do to make it okay. How do you put it behind you?” She gave me a soft smile touched with sadness. Todd had been around Hayley's age. People with that much ahead of them weren't supposed to have their time cut so short.

“Here's the thing. Sometimes things happen in life you can't control.” I brushed back her hair. “There were times at the paper when I hid behind the camera because I didn't want anyone to see my tears. You think you're making a difference when you cover a story and you bring it into the spotlight, but the sad reality is that sometimes things still don't change. It can make you feel helpless. Make you want to hide.”

“So there's no way to make it any better?”

“Sometimes you can't prevent things from happening, and once they're done, you can't change the past. There is a way to deal with the pain, though, because you always control your response. You cry, if you need to. You hurt for a while. But then you look for a way to make a difference.” I held her
by the shoulders. “Todd's dead and we can't change that, but if the person that did this to Todd scares me and keeps me from living my life or from finding the truth, then I'm a victim too. I'm not about to let that happen. Sometimes, you fight back.”

Hayley nodded. “I understand.”

“Of course you do. You're my niece.”

*   *   *

AT
dinner we discussed the harvest. Connor started with the white grapes first, determined by the varietal and location on the property. Those areas with the most sun ripened earlier. The reds needed more time on the vine and came in at the end.

We didn't talk about the murder, on his part probably because he hoped I'd forget about it and let Lucas solve it, and on my part because I knew he hoped I was going to forget about it and let Lucas solve it.

Let sleeping dogs lie, let men in denial, deny. Connor's sidelong glances throughout the evening told me he wasn't as deep in denial as I would have liked.

*   *   *

I
woke up to a rare morning without a hint of fog. I rolled Syrah off, let Nanook out the back door and threw on my Michelin Man sweatsuit.

After I turned on the coffeemaker, I went out to the garden to see what was ready to pick. I pulled one weed, then another. An hour went by.

When I returned to the kitchen, Connor was finishing a wholesome breakfast of strawberry shortcake. I rolled my eyes.

“Hey, it's fruit and dairy.”

The phone rang. I let the machine answer, only to hear Ross on the line. “I know you're there, Pen. Pick up.”

I grabbed it. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. I saw Annie at the gas station. She said Lucas asked you to go to the police station yesterday after lunch.”

“He just wanted to know if I remembered anything else.”

“Oh, come on. Surely you've found out something.”

“Um,” I mumbled, noncommittal. “How is Joanne?”

“As you'd expect. She went from wedding plans to funeral arrangements for her fiancé. She wants to work, but she doesn't eat and spends a lot of time crying. I don't think she's sleeping either. I'm cooking her favorites to try and restore her appetite, at least.”

“She's in good hands with you and Thomas.” I stood up to stretch. “I might stop by the restaurant later. I'm going over to the festival grounds this morning to finish decorating and leave some more postcards at the booth.”

“While you're there, stop by our booth and we can talk. I have to finish our decorating as well. See you in a bit.”

*   *   *

IT
was sunny but cold when I arrived at the festival grounds an hour later, a day of crisp sunshine but not much warmth behind it.

At one point the festival grounds had been owned by Martinelli Winery, but years ago the land had been donated by Antonia's family to the town for public events. To get to the parking lot, you had to circle around the winery on a back road, which then led into a parking lot for the last fifty yards.

There were only a handful of cars, and I recognized the
catering van used by Sterling. Ross had it parked right up front. I pulled in next to him and grabbed the box of photographs.

The festival was spread out in a grid of five rows, with ten booths each. The ones in the center were reserved for local wineries by invitation only. Only a few of them held any activity.

I cut over to the food section to find the Sterling booth. Two rows over, Ross was hanging a banner over the front counter. He had a good spot in the row of specialty and gourmet food, between the organic turkey sausages and Swedish pancakes. I looked at Ross balanced on a ladder. He nodded at me as he hammered a tack through the banner and into the wooden frame of the booth. I did a double take at his outfit: a purple robe with a faux-fur collar and a large gold crown.

Thomas came out of the booth and waved me over. “Come check out our menu. In honor of the medieval theme Ross is doing leg of mutton. It makes one feel so ‘King Arthur.' Speaking of which, I designed our outfits.” He turned to model a full knight's outfit. He wore leggings and sleeves of mesh silver chain, and his chest was covered in a silver-plated sheet. A helmet topped with a purple feather plume sat on his head.