Marriage, Merlot & Murder (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 4)

by Gemma Halliday

  "Uh, sort of," I hedged. "Have you seen Freddie?" I asked, trying not to sound as frantic as I felt.

  He shook his head. "No—not since I left the bed and breakfast a couple hours ago."

  "A couple hours ago?" I blurted out, the franticness starting to rise. "You mean he never showed up at the groomsmen's room at all?"

  Baker had the good grace to look sheepish. "I know it's kinda in my job description to keep tabs on the groom, but when I left he said he'd be right behind me."

  "A couple hours ago," I emphasized.

  He shrugged. "I figured he just needed a little alone time before taking the plunge, right?" He grinned at me as if I was in on the joke.

  "Right." I forced down the lump of panic that filled my throat. "So, you haven't seen him at all since you arrived at the winery?"

  "No." Baker frowned. "Why?"

  I inhaled slowly and then pushed it back out. "We're having trouble locating him," I admitted.

  The frown deepened. "You mean he's missing?"

  I nodded. "He didn't say anything to you about…" I paused, not sure I should even float the idea. "…getting cold feet?"

  But thankfully Baker shook his head. "No. I mean, why would he? Juliet's great."

  "She is great," I agreed. "And she's waiting very patiently right now. Are you sure you have no idea where Freddie could be? He didn't mention anything to you?"

  But the man just shrugged. "Sorry." He paused. "Do you want me to help you look for him?"

  I sighed and shook my head. "No, actually, I want your help stalling the ceremony. Ava's with the bride, but if you could just reassure the guests that we're, uh, just experiencing a slight delay but we'll be starting shortly?" Which I hope sounded a lot better than we've misplaced the groom.

  Baker nodded curtly then turned back toward the meadow.

  I took a deep breath and tried to think. If Freddie's car was there, he had to be on the grounds somewhere. Retracing Ava's steps, I double checked that the red Jag was, indeed, in the parking lot. I even looked in all the windows on the off chance Freddie was taking a pre-wedding nap in his car. Negative. I had much the same result rechecking the groomsmen's room, the side lot, and the kitchen, where I was happy to at least see servers had shown up. Conchita, my house manager, was dutifully instructing them on how to describe each of the canapés she and I had spent the last week preparing.

  But no sign of the groom.

  Getting desperate, I even checked the men's restroom. No Freddie.

  I was just about to give up and admit we'd really truly lost him, when my headset crackled to life again. "Emmy?" Ava's voice asked.

  "Tell me you found him?" I pleaded into the microphone.

  "No, sorry," she responded. "But one of the bridesmaids—the one with the brunette bob—her boyfriend said he thought he saw a couple people heading toward the terrace a little while ago."

  The back terrace was where I normally held small dinner parties and more intimate events, though for this occasion we'd decorated it with potted flowers and lush greenery to provide a spot for wedding party photos to be taken before the reception.

  "Was one of them Freddie?" I asked the obvious question, already backtracking toward the terrace.

  "He wasn't sure. But I thought it might be worth looking."

  "Absolutely, thanks," I told her, jogging in my heels down the small stone pathway that led to the courtyard. My heart was pounding in my chest as I rounded the shrubbery. Short of casing the vineyard behind the meadow where the ceremony was being held, we'd checked everywhere else on the property with no sign of Freddie. I mentally crossed my fingers that I'd find him on the other side of those bushes.

  But as the terrace came into view a moment later, I regretted that wish.

  My body froze, and I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

  Lying in the middle of the roughhewn stones, sprawled facedown and unmoving, was Freddie Campbell. And judging by the bottle of expensive champagne on the ground beside him, covered in blood, he would not be saying his vows that day. Or any day.

  Freddie Campbell was dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next hour went by in a chaotic blur of emotion, reaction, and panic. After my initial shock had worn off at seeing the grisly scene in our terrace courtyard, the scream I'd been cultivating did, in fact, rise out of me. Loudly. In a shrieking violence that summoned Ava in seconds flat. Luckily, she'd been clearer headed than I and managed to keep most of the guests away from the scene and instruct someone to call 9-1-1.

  It seemed like forever before the police arrived, but in reality it was probably only minutes before the air was filled with sirens and flashing red and blue lights. As much as that had not been the way I'd envisioned the afternoon going, I was grateful when they arrived and took charge of the scene, as I was still shaking when they started corralling guests into separate areas of the winery to question them as witnesses.

  Witnesses.

  The words stuck in my brain, rolling around like a terrible song I couldn't get out of it. A man had been killed on my property. Not just killed—murdered. In broad daylight. And now all of my wedding guests were witnesses.

  While I was reeling, I couldn't even imagine what Juliet was going through. My own screams of shock and fear at initially finding Freddie's body were nothing compared to the gut wrenching sobs that had escaped Juliet as she heard the news. She'd collapsed into her father's arms, and I'd been thankful that she'd had so many loved ones around her to care for her. My heart had ached for her as I'd watched her parents whisk her away to the bride's suite. I resisted the urge to break down and cry myself, instead pushing emotion aside and numbing myself to the proceedings long enough to give my version of events to a uniformed officer. She'd politely sat me in one of the chairs we'd set up for the ceremony and taken silent notes as I fumbled through my monologue.

  I was repeating the entire story for the second time, and had just gotten to the part where I'd seen the bloody champagne bottle again, when I looked up and spotted a familiar face in the frenzied crowd.

  Deep assessing eyes, dark brown hair just a little too long on his neck, premature five-o-clock stubble on his chin, even though we were nowhere near the hour. Detective Christopher Grant of the Sonoma County Sheriff's Office, VCI Unit (Violent Crimes Investigations).

  His tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the back doorway of the winery, and he was dressed in jeans and a robin's egg blue button-down shirt. A dark gray tie hung low around his neck as if he'd just loosened the knot, but his eyes were keenly scanning over the scene until they found mine and locked on.

  In a couple of quick strides he was by my side, dismissing the uniformed officer with a curt, "I'll take it from here."

  The younger officer must have heard the authority in Grant's voice, as she quickly shut her notebook and stepped away, leaving Grant looming over me, shading me from the midday sunshine that was struggling to shine through the gloomy situation.

  "Emmy," he said softly. "You okay?"

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to stay steady. Grant and I had something of a history, though how I'd label our relationship I'd be hard pressed to say. Flirtatious sounded a little too juvenile for the way my body responded to his presence, but to say we were dating felt like it was jumping the gun—especially considering we'd only been on one proper date thus far. And it had ended in a chaste kiss at the door.

  Okay, maybe not totally chaste, as I'd been pretty sure every hormone I owned had been on fire after his lips left mine. But beyond smoking hot kisses, I wasn't sure what emotion Grant had invested in me. Or, to be honest, how invested I wanted to get in him. He had a dangerous streak that I'd only seen hints at, but it was real enough that he'd been transferred under a cloud of suspicion from the San Francisco PD to sleepy Sonoma County.

  Though, I guess even sleepy Wine Country still had its murders.

  "Can you tell me what happened?" Grant asked, pulling a chair from the row to my right and
sitting to face me.

  I licked my lips. "I, uh, found the groom. Dead. On my terrace." I shuddered, thinking I'd never again enjoy an after dinner glass of Zinfandel there.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "You were alone when you found him?"

  I nodded. "It was awful," I admitted in a small voice. I'd been trying not to dwell on the horror of discovering a corpse in my courtyard, but now that I was alone with Grant, my guard began to slip. My lip quivered as I pictured the prone figure on the stone tiles and the champagne bottle that had been intended to toast his nuptials—not be used as a murder weapon.

  He must have been able to sense my distress, as Grant reached out and took my hand, squeezing it reassuringly in his larger one. "You sure you're all right?" he asked again.

  No. "Yes." I took a deep breath, mentally putting on my big girl panties. "Pretty shaken up, but I'll be okay."

  "Good." Our sweet moment over, his expression hardened as his professional demeanor slipped back into place. "So, tell me exactly what happened. What were you doing before you discovered Mr. Campbell's body?"

  I took a calming breath. "I was looking for him," I replied matter-of-factly. "It was time for the ceremony to begin, and Freddie never showed. His car was here, so I knew he had to be somewhere on the property. I didn't want to cause the bride concern if she found out that we couldn't find him, so I asked Ava and the best man to stall while I tried to locate him."

  "The best man. That would be—" Grant checked his notes. Paper ones. Unlike most of the officers sporting electronic tablets, he had a small spiral notebook tucked in the back pocket of his jeans at all times. "Baker Evans?"

  "Yes," I replied, the no-nonsense conversation actually helping me clear my head. "He said the last time he saw Freddie was when Baker left him to come to the winery a couple of hours before the ceremony."

  "They came in separate cars?" Grant clarified.

  I nodded. "I guess so. I mean, Freddie's car was in the lot, so he must have driven here."

  "But no one saw him at the winery?"

  I went to shake my head, but then I paused. "Wait—the bridesmaid's boyfriend!"

  Grant's gaze jumped up from his notebook to meet mine.

  "Ava said the boyfriend said he saw a couple of people walking toward the terrace. That's why I went to look for Freddie there."

  "Did he say he saw Freddie?"

  I licked my lips. "Not specifically, no."

  "When was this?"

  "I-I don't actually know when he saw them," I admitted. "But as soon as Ava told me about it, I headed for the terrace."

  "Got a name for the boyfriend?"

  I shook my head. "But he's dating the bridesmaid with the bob."

  Grant made a note, his pen scratching against the paper. "Where was the rest of the wedding party at the time?"

  I tried to think back. "Well, as far as I know, all the guests were already seated and waiting for the ceremony to begin. The other groomsmen were in the gazebo with the officiant, and the rest of the bridal party was waiting near the back buildings to make their entrance."

  "What about the bride?" he asked next.

  I frowned. "What about her?"

  He met my gaze, and I could see the hazel flecks in his deep brown eyes buzzing with intensity. "Where was Miss Somersby leading up to the ceremony and the discovery that the groom was missing?"

  "She was with the rest of the bridal party. And her father," I added. "Edward Somersby. He was waiting to walk her down the aisle."

  "What about before that?" he pressed.

  "Before?"

  "Yes, where was the bride before they stepped outside to make her entrance?"

  "Um, in her bridal suite. We cleared out some storage space and turned it into dressing rooms for her and her bridal party."

  "How many in the party?" he asked, jotting down notes.

  "Not a lot. Just Natalie, the groom's cousin, her bride's attendant, Andrew, and the one with the bob, one of Juliet's girlfriends from school." I paused. "Why?"

  But instead of answering my questions, Grant moved on to another one of his own. "And they were with her the entire morning?"

  "I-I really don't know. I mean, everyone was getting ready. There was a lot going on." I paused again, reading between his lines. "Are you asking me if Juliet has an alibi?"

  He pinned me with a hard look that said that was exactly what he was doing. "I'm just establishing everyone's whereabouts at the time of death."

  My insides clenched at the word death, visions of Freddie's body washing over me again. "So they know when he was killed?"

  Grant sighed. "Approximately. ME will know more once he gets him on the table, but liver temp indicates that he expired sometime between ten and noon."

  Which was a pretty big window. The bridal party had been with hair and makeup since early that morning, but the groomsmen had only been scheduled to arrive at ten. With everyone rushing to get ready, I doubted anyone could really be accounted for the entire two hours. And it wasn't as if we'd had security guards checking invitations. Anyone could have walked onto the property dressed as a guest, and no one would have said a thing. I held on to the thought that this could have been some random act of violence as I watched Grant scribble more notes.

  "There's no way Juliet did this," I told Grant.

  "You were with her?" he pressed.

  "No, but she's just not the type."

  Grant sighed and set his pen down. "Emmy, anyone can be the type to kill if the circumstances are right."

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "You're wrong." I hesitated to argue more, as I knew Grant had, in fact, been pushed to kill once. It was the reason for his transfer, though I'd never quite gotten all the details. But I knew Grant had shot a man, and after Internal Affairs concluded their investigation, Grant had been reassigned.

  However, a wedding party was a far cry from the dangerous streets of The City.

  "You don't know Juliet," I told him.

  "Do you know her?" he pressed.

  "Not that well," I admitted. "But she was in love with Freddie. Like, stupid crazy in love. Why would she want to hurt him?"

  "Juliet's father seemed to think Freddie had a bit of a wandering eye."

  I frowned. "Mr. Somersby said that?"

  Grant nodded. "According to the officer who interviewed him, Mr. Somersby said Freddie was even checking out 'the blonde at the wedding rehearsal,'" he said, reading the quote from his notes.

  "Not me. Ava," I clarified. "And, yeah, he might have been checking her out a little."

  One of Grant's eyebrows rose my way.

  "A very little," I emphasized. "But, come on—all guys check out Ava."

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. "Most guys," he countered.

  He was right. I'd never seen him checking out my best friend. One point for Bad Cop. But I didn't let his sexy smile distract me.

  "Even so, it's hardly grounds to kill him right before the wedding ceremony," I argued.

  Grant shrugged. "You're right. If Freddie stopped at just checking out other women."

  I bit my lip. He had a point there. I could imagine that if I'd found out that my intended was sleeping with someone else moments before my wedding, I might have been tempted to swing a champagne bottle or two near his head.

  "When was the last time you saw Juliet?" he asked.

  "I left her with her father and the bridal party." I glanced up at Grant's face, trying to read just how serious he was about pointing the finger at the bride. Unfortunately, the hazel flecks in his eyes were still and stoic, giving nothing away. "Look, with all the preparations, I'm sure Juliet wasn't alone for more than five minutes all morning. Talk to the bride's attendant. He'll tell you."

  Grant nodded. "I will," he said, though it held more of a threat than promise.

  He stood, reaching out a hand to steady me to my feet, his eyes a little softer as they met mine. "You sure you're going to be okay?"

  "I'll be fine," I said, actually
feeling much calmer now.

  "Good." He inclined his head toward the tasting room, where the uniformed officers were still taking statements from the last of the wedding guests. "We'll be here for a bit longer. I'm going to ask that the wedding party stay in town for the weekend, but everyone else should be cleared to leave soon."

  Leave. With the shock and horror of finding Freddie, the thought of the cancelled wedding hadn't even hit me until then. Someone had to send the band and servers home and do something with the hundred uneaten dinners and several dozen canapés. Not to mention break down a never used ceremony space and discuss the financial obligations of the event with the grieving father of the bride.

  The overwhelming weight of it must have shown on my face as Grant's eyes softened with concern again. "Call me if you need anything," he said.

  I nodded, forcing a smile. "I will. But I'll be fine."

  He gave my hand a quick squeeze before walking away, making strides toward the tasting room to interrogate my wedding guests as witnesses.

  And possibly suspects.

  * * *

  I spent the rest of the afternoon on autopilot, checking my emotions in favor of rolling up my sleeves to take down what would have been a lovely wedding. I sent the photographers, servers, and band home, and Ava, Conchita, and I packed up what we could salvage of the food—storing what could be reused in our freezer and packing the rest for Conchita to take to a shelter in town on her way home. At least someone could enjoy the Lobster Tails Thermidor that evening.

  As soon as Grant had spoken with the bride, the Somersbys packed up to leave, understandably to help their daughter grieve in private. I'd mumbled my condolences to Juliet, though I wasn't sure she even heard me, her entire being still in a state of shock. She had hugged me back, though, when I'd put my arms around her for a comforting squeeze before she left, and I told her to call me anytime. While I knew she had the support of her friends and family with her, somehow I felt responsible for making sure she was okay.

  Pity surged through me as I watched Andrew and Juliet's father help her to the black Mercedes, still dressed in her wedding gown, her tastefully done makeup streaking down her cheeks in smudged trails.