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

by Gemma Halliday

  "Freddie Campbell?" Carter repeated.

  I nodded.

  He straightened up in his seat and dropped the pen onto the desk with a click. "Alright, what's the gag?"

  "G-gag?" I asked, trying to channel innocence with my voice.

  "You heard me." He pinned me with a look. "Freddie Campbell ain't marryin' anybody. He died two days ago."

  Dang. Apparently my mother wasn't the only person who'd watched the news recently.

  "Uh…he did?" I said unconvincingly. I glanced to Ava, Award Winning Actress Extraordinaire, to help me out.

  "Okay, here's the truth," Ava said, lying through her teeth. "Juliet Somersby is friend of ours. We all went to college with her."

  "You all went to college," he repeated, eyes going up to David in disbelief. Granted, David's ripped jeans, black T-shirt sporting some rock band's logo, and hair falling into his eyes didn't exactly scream academia.

  "We did," Ava went on, nodding her pretty blonde head. "And Juliet is heartbroken over Freddie's death."

  "That is very true," I chimed in.

  "But we think maybe he wasn't such a nice guy after all. We think it would help Juliet's grieving process if she knew the real truth about who he was."

  Carter made a noncommittal sort of grunt in the back of his throat and did some more assessing of the three of us. "You know, you ain't the first one who's come to me wanting the goods on Campbell."

  "We aren't?" I asked, trying my hand at innocent again.

  He shook his head, and I saw dandruff flakes falling to his shoulders like snow.

  I stifled a gag reflex and averted my eyes.

  "No, you ain't. Your friend Juliet's dad wanted me to look into the guy too."

  "What a coincidence!" Ava chirped.

  "Is it?" Carter's eyes went from me to Ava again.

  "Uh…so what did you find out when Mr. Somersby engaged your services?" I asked.

  Those eyes narrowed until they were just two dark slits staring at me from beneath bushy eyebrows. "Nothing."

  I felt my stomach sink. "Nothing?" Maybe Edward had been truthful when he'd told his wife the PI hadn't come up with anything.

  Carter shook his head. "Nothing on Freddie Campbell," he amended, his eyes taking on a mischievous gleam as he put emphasis on the name.

  "What do you mean?" Ava cocked her head to the side.

  A slow smile snaked across Carter's face. "Freddie Campbell is squeaky clean. But I can't say the same for Frank Campbell."

  "Wait—Freddie used another name?" I asked.

  Carter nodded at me. "Oh yeah."

  I felt a frown forming between my brows. "Why would he do that?"

  Carter's grin widened. "I'd be happy to tell you." He paused. "For a fee."

  My turn to narrow my eyes.

  "Hey, you did say you wanted to hire me, right?" Carter spread his hands wide, palms up.

  I sighed and dug around in my purse, searching for my wallet. I finally found it and pulled out a twenty.

  Carter laughed. "What, do you think I charge babysitter rates? I got hours invested in this guy, and if you want the fruits of my labor, you gonna have to pay real money."

  "Didn't Edward Somersby already pay you for your labor?" Ava pointed out.

  Carter's laughter died, his beady eyes sharp again. "Somersby's late on his bill."

  "I know the feeling," I mumbled.

  I looked from Ava to David. The twenty was all I had.

  Ava pursed her lips and swiveled in her seat to give David the full benefit of her wide, pleading smile.

  David sighed. "Right, of course it always falls to Charlie to bail the angels out."

  Carter frowned, clearly not getting the reference, but as David stepped forward and extracted a few twenties from his wallet, I could tell the reference didn't matter in the least to the PI. He only had eyes for the cash.

  "What kind of bill are we talking?" David asked, counting out a small pile of twenties.

  "Add a couple more," Carter instructed.

  David paused, shooting me a look before adding the last of his money to the pile. "This is all the cash I have on me. Better be worth it, Oak," he mumbled in my direction.

  One could only hope.

  "Okay, spill it," I directed Carter as David put his significantly slimmer wallet back into his pants pocket.

  Carter scooped up the pile, and by the look in his eyes, I'd guess he was just barely containing himself from making out with the stack of cash. "Sure. Whadda you want to know about our boy Freddie?"

  "Let's start with this alias," Ava said.

  "Aliases," Carter corrected. "More than one."

  "More than one?" I choked out.

  Carter nodded. "Our Freddie Campbell was also Frank Campbell, and prior to that, Alfred Camptown."

  "Whoa." Ava blinked, mirroring my surprise. "I'm guessing Freddie wasn't just changing his name for fun?"

  "Most people don't, doll," Carter said.

  "So, why was Freddie?" I asked.

  "If I had to guess, it had to do with outrunning his wives."

  "Wait—wives?" My mental hamster was slow to jump on his wheel. "What do you mean, wives? Freddie was marrying Juliet."

  Carter laughed, a hacking sort of cackle. "Well, let's just say she wasn't his first. I found marriage certificates in both those other names. Took a little digging, but they both traced back to Freddie Campbell. As far as I could see, he had a pattern. He'd marry some chick—usually well off—stick with her long enough to put a healthy dent in her bank accounts, then take off. He changes his name and then pulls the same thing with a new girl."

  While I'd been expecting to hear all sorts of awful things about Freddie from the PI, this was not one of them. "Freddie Campbell was a con man," I mused out loud. "Juliet's dad was right all along."

  Carter snorted. "Oh, even dear old Dad hadn't guessed this one."

  "But you did tell him about it," Ava pressed, shooting me a meaningful glance.

  "Sure. I mean the guy hired me, right?"

  So Edward had been lying to his wife.

  Then again, so had Freddie it seemed. Multiple times.

  "You followed Freddie around, correct?" David asked.

  Carter nodded. "I always start with surveillance."

  "Did he happen to visit an art studio? The Art Initiative off Broadway?"

  Carter frowned. "Not that I saw. Why?"

  "Just curious if Freddie had dealings with one of the artists there. Justin Hall?"

  But Carter shook his head. "Sorry, name don't ring a bell. Mostly that Freddie character just hung around with his best friend. Some guy named Baker Evans."

  "He visit anyone else?" I asked, thinking of Bridget.

  Carter looked up to the ceiling, as if trying to recall. "I know I seen him a couple a times with some chick he referred to as his cousin. The two of them even spotted me one time, but I lost 'em. I always do." He winked at me, clearly proud of himself.

  Little did he know that small blunder had led us to him.

  "Other than that," he went on, "the guy was just with the new fiancée. He did a real good job charming that one."

  "Poor Juliet," Ava mused. "He was just playing her all along."

  "Guy was kind of an expert at that," Carter said, leaning back in his chair again, causing it to moan in protest. "The most recent ex-wife was smart enough to get a prenup, but Freddie cleaned her out anyway. Got access to her accounts online, transferred everything to some offshore bank, then—boom. Guy vanishes. Hits her with divorce papers via messenger. He was a smooth operator."

  "I don't suppose you have a name for this recent ex-wife?" David jumped in.

  Carter thought about that for a beat. "Sure. For a fee."

  "He just gave you all the cash he had!" I protested.

  "That's okay." Carter flashed a row of yellow teeth. "I take plastic, too."

  I glared at him. There was no way any one of us was going to hand a credit card to this sleazeball.

 
"I've got some cash," Ava piped up from beside me.

  I turned in my chair to face her. "You sure?" I glanced at Carter. "I mean, how do we even know he isn't just making all of this up?"

  Carter shrugged. "You want proof? I'll make you a copy of the last marriage certificate Frank Campbell signed."

  Ava leaned toward me. "Hey, that could be info worth killing over."

  I was about to protest that Freddie Campbell—or Frank Campbell or whoever he was—seemed to be a walking billboard of reasons someone might be killed, but I didn't get the chance as she pulled a couple of twenties from her purse and turned to address Carter.

  "Make the copy."

  Carter's twitchy fingers reached for the cash.

  But I beat him to it, snatching the bills out of Ava's hand.

  "Not so fast," I said, holding them out of his reach. "Marriage certificate first. Then you get the rest of the cash." I wasn't about to let him string us along any further.

  The stocky man scowled at me but swiveled in his chair and grabbed the pile of manila folders off the corner of his desk. He riffled through the stack until he found the one he was looking for. Flipping it open, he skimmed a sheet of paper and then nodded to himself and placed it in his printer. A moment later the machine roared to life and spit out a copy of the paper, which he slid across the desk to me.

  "There. That's his most recent ex," he said. "From what I could tell, he pulled a disappearing act on her just before he met the Somersby girl." He held out his hand.

  I laid the twenty-dollar bills in his palm.

  "Pleasure doing business with you," he said, pocketing the cash. "Now, if there's nothing else…" He trailed off, rising from his seat and crossing the small room to open the door as a signal for us to leave.

  I could think of nothing I wanted more than to be out of that office.

  I grabbed the copy from the desk, only glancing at it long enough to ascertain that it was, in fact, a marriage certificate, before exiting the office. David and Ava were quick on my heels, and as soon as we were clear, Carter shut the door decisively behind us.

  "I feel like I need a shower," Ava said, making a face at the frosted glass bearing his name.

  "Ditto," I agreed, suppressing a shudder that had nothing to do with the lack of heating in the building.

  "So, who was the unlucky bride?" David asked, nodding toward the paper in my hands.

  I held the copy out, scanning the document until I got to the name of the poor woman who had fallen prey to Freddie's con.

  I sucked in a breath and heard Ava let out a soft, "No way," beside me, surprise hitting her at the same time.

  The name of Freddie's previous wife was Natalie Weisman.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "This can't be right," I breathed, staring down at Natalie's name on the printout.

  "Wait—does this mean that Freddie married his cousin?" Ava's nose crinkled in disgust. "Eww."

  "I think it more likely means Natalie's been lying to us all along," I said, reading the rest of the document. There wasn't a whole lot to it except the marriage date (just over a year ago) and the place (Las Vegas).

  "I still don't get it." Ava shook her head. "Why would Freddie's ex-wife want to pretend to be his cousin?"

  I felt that frown forming between my brows again as we made our way back down the stairs. "Great question."

  "Maybe Natalie traced her Frank Campbell back to Juliet's Freddie Campbell," David suggested as he held the building's door open for us.

  Damp, cool air immediately hit me in the face, and I ducked my head and wrapped my arms around myself as we walked back to the car. "Carter did say Freddie cleaned Natalie out," I said, thinking out loud. "Maybe she was tracking him down in order to get her money back?"

  Ava nodded. "If I'd been duped by some guy, I could totally see myself doing that."

  "So, she finds Freddie and demands her money. I still don't get the cousin angle though," I admitted.

  Ava unlocked her car (still sporting four tires. Hurray!), and we all got in as David picked up the thread. "Well, what if Freddie didn't have her money anymore?"

  "You mean, like, he spent it?" Ava asked, turning the car on and cranking up the heater.

  David nodded in the back seat. "It was several months ago. Maybe Freddie used it all up and was setting his sights on Juliet's bank accounts to fund his future lifestyle."

  "I could see that," I said, feeling the theory solidify in my mind. "A future lifestyle that could all be in jeopardy if Natalie tips Juliet off about who Freddie really is. So, Freddie has to keep Natalie quiet. Maybe he promises her a cut of the haul he's expecting to get from Juliet if Natalie can just be patient and keep quiet until he marries Juliet."

  "So, Freddie agrees to let Natalie pose as his cousin," Ava said, pulling away from the curb, "in order to keep tabs on him until she gets her money back."

  "Which is all very plausible," David said. "But I don't see what motive Natalie would have to kill Freddie. Especially if she wanted her money back."

  "You're right," I admitted. "Killjoy."

  David chuckled.

  But Ava wasn't as easily deterred. "Well, what if Freddie decided at the last minute he wouldn't pay Natalie back? Or maybe he never meant to—maybe he was just stringing her along until he married Juliet and got access to her money. Maybe he was planning to disappear again on both of them."

  "That would fit with his MO," I agreed. "So, Natalie finds out she's being duped—again—and she follows Freddie to the terrace."

  "Where she grabs the most convenient weapon," Ava said, raising her hand up above her head. "And kills him with it!" She brought her fist down hard on the steering wheel.

  I rolled my eyes. "You really like that part of every theory, don't you?"

  She shrugged. "Just going for dramatic emphasis."

  "You know, Natalie was with Juliet in the bridal suite most of the morning. I could easily see her accidentally transferring some feathers from Juliet's dress to the crime scene," I said.

  "I wonder what Natalie would have to say about all this," David piped up.

  "You think Grant is still keeping the wedding party in Wine Country?" Ava asked.

  "I don't know." I shrugged. "But I think we should find out."

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, the three of us were standing at the reception desk of the Belle Inn, facing Sam the freckled-faced clerk again. She'd informed us that Natalie had not, in fact, checked out yet, and then agreed to call up to her room. Unfortunately, several rings in, it appeared no one was answering.

  "I'm sorry," Sam told us. "Ms. Wiseman isn't picking up. Would you like to leave a message for her?"

  I bit my lip, not really sure all of our accusations would fit on a pink memo pad or thirty second sound bite. "Oh, no. Thank you," I told her. "We'll just try back later."

  "So now what?" Ava asked, once we'd stepped back outside into the chilly air.

  David glanced at his watch. "Sorry, my lovelies. Now I have a date."

  I detected the slightest hint of disappointment on Ava's face.

  But before I could warn her against whatever emotion had produced it, David added, "With Dr. Julius Barnaby." He grinned. "Poker game at the club."

  The club was the local golf club, the Links, and Dr. Julius was about to be fleeced by Wine Country's best card shark. I felt a pang of sympathy for the good doctor as I watched Ava grin in relief.

  "I could drop you off?" she offered. "It's on the way to Silver Girl."

  "I'd be much obliged," David said with a mock bow her way. Then he turned to me. "But it's a bit out of the way from Oak Valley."

  I waved him off. "I'm fine. I'll call Conchita or Hector to come pick me up." Which was actually preferred to spending more time with Flirty and Flirtier. I hoped Ava knew what she was doing. The brooding bad boy thing David had going on was only halfway an act. Issues ran deep in the Price-Allen family, and while David had fared better than some of his family—who wer
e now deceased, depressed, or in jail—he hadn't been totally immune to their dysfunction.

  I made a mental note to have a long chat with her later about David—preferably over a bottle of wine and a chick flick—when we had a few spare moments. Until then, I waved to Ava from the B&B's porch as she tied her scarf over her hair and roared off in her GTO with David in the passenger seat, grinning like a wolf who'd just been invited into the sheep's convertible.

  I pulled out my phone and was about to dial the winery to beg a ride from one of my employees, when I spotted a familiar face coming up the walk to the B&B. Thick glasses, crooked nose, acne scars.

  Baker Evans.

  He paused when he got to the steps, recognition taking a moment to light his face. "Oh. Hey. Emma from the winery, right?"

  "Emmy," I corrected automatically.

  "Right." He paused again. "Were you looking for Juliet?" He nodded back toward the building.

  "Uh, actually, I was hoping to talk to Natalie," I told him truthfully. "You don't happen to know where she is, do you?"

  He shook his head. "She took off about an hour ago. She said she was going to do some window shopping downtown."

  I tried to hide my disappointment. "Did she happen to mention when she'd be back?"

  He shrugged. "Sorry. She didn't say." He paused again and cocked his head to the side. "Why? Everything okay?"

  I hesitated, not sure how much to share about what the PI had told us. But Baker had been Freddie's childhood friend, and it was quite possible he'd been at Freddie's previous wedding…maybe even both.

  "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions about Freddie," I told him.

  His eyebrows drew down. "Why?"

  "Uh, some things have come up," I answered vaguely. "You said you've known him a long time, right?"

  He leaned his back against the porch railing and crossed his arms over his chest. "We were best friends," he said, an almost defensive tone entering his voice.

  "So, you knew pretty much everything about him," I said, studying his reaction.

  "Sure."

  "Like, say, the fact that he'd been married before under the name Frank Campbell?"