I paused, wondering if I should intrude.
As I glanced around, I noticed Andrew a few paces away, sipping from a cup of coffee as he watched the police proceedings at the back of the house from a distance. To my left, I spied Baker on a small patch of lawn below the porch, cell phone to his ear as he chatted with someone. He looked up and saw me, giving a short nod of recognition before turning his attention back to his conversation.
Considering I had at least two witnesses within earshot, I sucked in a deep breath and approached the Somersbys.
Edward spotted me first, a frown pulling his mouth down in a way that created deep rivets in his skin on either side.
"Miss Oak," he said, his courteous tone sounding forced. "What brings you here?"
"I was hoping to speak to you," I replied. "Uh, about a financial matter."
Meredith's expression tightened at my words.
Edward shook his head. "Now is not a good time."
"When would be a good time?" I pressed.
His frown turned into a downright scowl. "In light of the recent events, I would imagine your bill could wait."
I swallowed, trying not to lose my nerve in the face of his obvious displeasure. "Perhaps," I agreed, though really it couldn't wait all that much longer. "But there's another matter I'd actually like to discuss with you."
His bushy eyebrow went up, and his wife turned a questioning gaze my way as well.
I licked my lips. "About your art collection?"
The scowl froze on Edward's face as the color drained from his skin in a way that told me Ava and I had been right about the Miscetti.
Meredith, on the other hand, still looked confused. "I don't understand. Our art collection?"
"Uh, maybe you and I should talk in private," Edward told me, quickly recovering himself. He rose from his chair, and I couldn't help but notice that his balance was a bit unsteady.
"Edward, what is this about?" Meredith asked.
But he waved her off. "Don't worry. I'll handle it."
I suppressed a shudder at that wording. It was the same he'd used before taking off for Justin's art studio the day before—and possibly bashing me on the head. Which made me slightly reluctant as he motioned for me to follow him down the steps toward the lawn.
"Let's take a walk, shall we," he said. Clearly a demand and not a suggestion.
I bit my lip, glancing around. Both Andrew and Baker were still within eyesight. I supposed as long as there were witnesses…
I complied, following him until we were far enough out of Meredith's earshot for him to feel comfortable. He turned to face me as we came up against the fence full of vines.
"Alright. What do you know about my art collection?" he asked, challenging me as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"I know you're selling some of it."
His nostrils flared, telling me I'd hit a nerve, even though he said nothing.
"You have a Miscetti up for auction next week, in fact," I continued.
"So what if I do?" he spat out. "It's my art. I can sell it whenever I want to."
"And you want to now?"
"I-I I'm tired of looking at it."
I couldn't help the get real look that escaped me. "It's worth almost half a million dollars. You can't tell me that its value is purely decorative to you."
He blinked at me, probably trying to figure out how much I already knew before amending his lie. "Fine. I'm liquidating a few assets. Exactly what business is this of yours?"
I ignored his question, answering it with one of my own. "Why are you selling this particular painting?"
"Excuse me?"
I took a deep breath and went for broke. "Is it because you had Justin Hall paint a replica?"
Edward's eyes snapped to me and flashed with anger. "That's preposterous," he said, voice rising.
"You were at Justin Hall's studio yesterday though, weren't you?" I asked, wondering how far I could push him.
"H-how did you know…" He trailed off, looking flustered. "Have you been following me, Miss Oak?"
Yes. But if he'd been the one to hit me on the head, he already knew that.
"Justin Hall had a perfect replica of Sunlit Pasture at his studio. I saw it."
His jaw clenched. "What that degenerate paints is no concern of mine."
"Was it a concern of Freddie's?"
"Freddie?" His eyes narrowed.
"Or should I say Frank?" I asked, watching his reaction.
The flustered looks vanished and were instantly replaced with one that was hard and suddenly menacing.
I glanced around again for my witnesses and noticed to my dismay that Baker had apparently finished his call and left. Andrew too seemed to have vacated the scene. I could see Meredith a few paces away, but I wasn't sure she'd be any match for whatever her husband had in mind as he took a step toward me.
"Be careful what you say, Miss Oak," he warned, his voice low and unmistakably threatening.
Instinctively I took a step backward, feeling myself come up against the fence.
"You wouldn't want to offend the wrong person," he finished.
He stared me down for a beat, eyes hard and threatening the type of violence that could leave a person bleeding to death on a sunny terrace.
Then he abruptly turned and walked stiffly across the lawn, leaving me alone.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding as I watched him ascend the steps to the porch again, rejoining his wife. He leaned down to say something into her ear.
I could only guess what it was, but Meredith Somersby went rigid. She cut a dark look my way before rising from her seat and following her husband through the back door of the bed and breakfast and disappearing inside.
I took a moment to get my breath under control before I trusted my shaky legs to walk me back to the parking lot. I retrieved my keys from my purse as I did, grateful to be in the familiar protection of my Jeep as I slid behind the driver's seat.
I was still doing deep yoga style breaths when my phone jarred me by buzzing with an incoming text. I pulled it out of my purse, trying to shake the nervous energy, as I checked the screen. It was from Juliet. I swiped to read it.
I need to talk to you.
I stared at the words, wondering what it was she wanted to talk about. Did it have something to do with her altercation I'd witnessed with Justin? Or perhaps the accusation I'd just thrown her father's way—could she have found out about it that quickly? Or maybe the grieving almost-widow was just taking me up on the offer of a shoulder to cry on.
I'm at the B&B now. Meet me here? I sent back. Justin had mentioned that she'd left, but maybe she was still nearby.
However, as her answer came back a moment later, that idea was shot down.
Can't get away now. I'll come to your winery later. 9pm.
I glanced at my dash clock. It was just past five now. Whatever she needed could apparently wait. I wanted to ask just what she was doing that she couldn't get away—not to mention inform her that I had just caught Natalie going through her things!—but that felt like a conversation better had in person. The last thing I wanted to do was upset her or interrogate her. I'd done that to enough of her family already that day.
I'll be there, I told her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I left the B&B, and before heading home to the winery, I stopped by Silver Girl to fill Ava in on my confrontation with Edward. I caught her between customers, and she had much the same reaction I'd had to Edward in person, minus the near heart attack—that he was definitely not acting like an innocent man. I was almost certain he was guilty of trying to sell a forged painting. And considering the disdain he already had for Freddie, I didn't see murdering his future son-in-law as a big leap.
Unfortunately, Ava had a private client coming in that evening, so I left her with a promise of a call tomorrow to let her know what Juliet's request to chat was about. The sun had already sunk into the hill as I made my way home, the sky turning from
deep purples streaked with pastel pinks and then to an inky black dotted with thousands of pinprick stars as I pulled up to Oak Valley.
I got out of my car and tried Grant's number again but again got voicemail. Instead of leaving another one, I shot him a quick text.
Call me when you're free.
I traversed the driveway, gravel crunching beneath my feet, and was unlocking the winery's front entrance in anticipation of Juliet's arrival when a response buzzed in.
Everything ok?
While it was short and to the point, I couldn't help smiling at just how quickly it had come.
Fine, I typed back. Just found out—I paused, trying to come up with a way that was both truthful about how I'd learned of Edward's involvement with Justin and the forgery as well as seemingly not interfering. Finally I settled on, an interesting rumor you might want to hear.
There. That sounded benign and totally innocent. Ish.
I flipped on lights in the tasting room and set my purse on the bar before his response came in.
Stuck in autopsy. Will call later.
I grimaced as I imagined him texting me over the remains of poor Bridget McAllister. I quickly shot back, No rush. Not an emergency.
While I was honestly dying to tell him about Edward, the truth was, it really wasn't urgent. Grant had already given the Somersbys the order not to leave town, and even if he hadn't, it wasn't as if Edward felt like a flight risk. His roots in the Bay Area ran deeper than the oak trees dotting the property. And the Miscetti wasn't scheduled to be auctioned off for another week.
I glanced at the time on my phone. 8:43. With a few minutes before Juliet was scheduled to arrive, I stuffed my phone back into my purse and perused the selection of wine Jean Luc had left in the chiller behind the bar. Whatever Juliet had to discuss, it would likely be better done over a glass of Chardonnay. I'd just selected one and stood on tiptoe to grab a couple of glasses from the overhead cupboards, when something outside the back window caught my eye.
A flash of movement between the trees.
I froze, blinking out into the darkness.
Had it been an animal? A person? Or just my overfueled imagination?
I set the bottle down on the counter and moved closer to the window, squinting out into the night.
There it was again. A flash of something dark, moving between the trees again.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. I grabbed the wine bottle by the neck, holding it like a club as I stepped to the back door and opened it a crack, listening.
Crickets chirped among the vines, and the wind rustled the leaves in the trees, almost sounding like the ebb and flow of waves crashing on the shore. I strained, trying to catch any sound that felt out of place—anything that would break the sleepy serenity of the quiet vineyard.
Nothing.
I licked my lips. "Hello?" I called, my eyes scanning. "Juliet?"
I thought I heard a rustle to my left, but it could have just been the wind.
"Juliet? Is that you?" I asked again. The answering silence only made my nerves more raw, adrenaline pumping in my ears.
I was a second away from jumping back inside, bolting the door, and calling 9-1-1 purely on a suspicious feeling in the creepy darkness.
Then I saw it.
A deer bounded across the meadow where the wedding gazebo still stood as a silent hulking skeleton.
I let out a sigh, the adrenaline rushing out of me. Deer were regular nuisances at the vineyard—I should have guessed that was what my nighttime visitor had been. Unfortunately, they were almost as bad as whatever else I'd been imagining, being the number one pest to pillage a crop of grapes before it could be harvested. In the spring, we often mixed up homemade deer repellant and employed nets to keep them away. At this time of year, there was little for them to nibble, but once they found a spot they thought would yield, it was almost impossible to get them to go without force. And as much as I needed a good harvest, I couldn't bring myself to actually harm any of them. I'd seen Bambi too many times.
"Shoo!" I yelled, hoping to scare the creature off. I ran toward the gazebo, still wielding the wine bottle as a weapon above my head. "Scram!"
The deer lifted its head, showing an impressive set of horns in the moonlight that gave me pause. My wine bottle would be no match against those if he decided to charge.
"Go! Shoo!" I yelled again.
He was still a moment.
Until a sound more menacing than my raised voice startled him.
A loud crack cut through the air, frightening the deer into motion, causing it to scamper away up the hill in a rustle of leaves and rushing limbs.
It had much the same effect on me, as I intuitively ducked, eyes darting around to find the source of the sound.
Then it happened again, the loud crack closer, and I saw a chunk of the wooden post beside me go flying.
I blamed the darkness and the near miss with the deer that my brain was slow to realize what was going on. But as a third shot rang out, this one hitting the wine bottle in my hand and shattering it into tiny shards of glass that rained down on me in a torrent of wasted Chardonnay, it finally became clear.
Someone was shooting at me.
Instinct kicked in, and before I could even make the conscious decision to do so, I was running. The shots had come from somewhere to my right—near the winery buildings. So I ran left, out of the gazebo, and sprinted toward the rows of grapevines. Another shot ripped through the night, and the dirt near my heels flew up in tufts that were so close I heard myself whimper in fear. I nearly lost my balance as I propelled myself down the steep hillside behind the meadow, glad at least I hadn't opted for heels that day as my boots sank into the soft soil.
I struggled to regain my footing as another shot exploded from somewhere behind me, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. Whoever was shooting at me was moving closer. And their aim would only get better.
I picked up my pace, ducking under the first row of dormant vines. I ran as fast as I could down the rows, weaving in and out where I could in an effort to throw the footsteps behind me off my trail. Even though that seemed futile, as they pounded the dirt louder and louder until I could hear panting accompanying them.
Whoever was behind me was gaining on me.
A sharp cramp tore through my side, and I realized I was not going to outrun my attacker. The best I could do was hope to hide.
My mind was racing as I spied a wheelbarrow that someone had left behind. I ducked behind it, crouching low, trying to figure out who was chasing me. Had I pushed Edward too far that afternoon? Had Natalie seen me spying on her as she'd stolen that mystery item from Juliet's room? Or had Justin seen through my lie about coming to the bed and breakfast to see Juliet? Perhaps he'd spoken with Edward and had learned that I knew about their art forgery scheme. Could one of the two men have come to the winery to silence me before I told someone else about their plans?
I'd been wrong when I'd told Grant it wasn't an emergency that he know about Edward's plan for the Miscetti—I only prayed not dead wrong.
I sucked in a deep breath and held it for what felt like an eternity, straining to hear my attacker's footsteps over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Only now the vineyard was eerily silent. I stayed crouched low, breathing in shallow spurts to stay quiet as I strained against the chill in the air to hear anything.
A twig snapped nearby. The noise sounded as if it had come from the next row over.
Still crouching close to the ground, I moved as quietly as I could toward the end of the row and peeked my head around the grapevines, trying to get a look at my attacker.
A figure stood perfectly still at the opposite end of the row, poised as if listening for me to make a sound and give away my hiding spot. It was too dark to make out more than a silhouette, but from the bulky frame, I was almost certain it was a man.
I flinched when my hand accidentally brushed dry leaves, causing them to rustle. I backed up a few steps, ready to
retreat into the next row.
But it was too late.
He had heard the noise. He whipped around, and my breath caught in my throat as his face was illuminated in the slim sliver of moonlight.
I'd been wrong. It wasn't Edward Somersby. And it wasn't Justin Hall.
Standing over me, a shiny black handgun pointed at my chest, was the best man.
Baker Evans.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Don't move," he directed, the gun in his hand much more steady than I felt.
I did as told, freezing on the spot, even though my mind was moving at an alarming rate. Of all the people I might have put in the role of shooter as I'd run through the vineyard, Baker Evans had not even been on my list.
A mistake that suddenly felt very grave.
"Wh-what are you doing?" I asked, even though the gun in his hand kind of made it clear he wasn't there to taste my Pinot Grigio.
"Taking care of loose ends," he replied in a chilling monotone.
Being considered a loose end was never good. "I-I don't understand," I told him truthfully.
"Don't you?" He took a step forward, and I felt my legs moving backward, despite my orders not to move, fear propelling them without a single say-so from me.
"Don't play the dumb blonde, Ms. Oak," he continued. "I overheard you talking to Somersby."
My eyes pinged from the gun barrel up to his face, something clicking. "About the Miscetti?"
He frowned. "About Frank," he clarified. "You should have kept your mouth shut about that."
I wholeheartedly agreed in that moment.
"Edward already knew," I blurted out. "He hired a PI to follow Freddie."
Baker's eyes narrowed. "So that's how you knew." He shook his head. "I told Freddie he was getting too sloppy. That his ego was going to get us in trouble. I told him to just stick to the plan."
Marriage, Merlot & Murder (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 4) Page 19
