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

by Gemma Halliday

  "The plan to marry Juliet for her money?" I guessed. "You did know about it all along."

  "Know about it?" He took a step forward, the menace in his voice turning into a growl. "I created it. It was my plan."

  "Yours?" I breathed out, hearing the shock evident in my voice.

  "You thought Freddie came up with this?" He threw his head back and laughed out loud.

  The sudden change in his emotions was unnerving. I felt my eyes darting from side to side, looking for any means of escape. All that I could see on either side of me was more rows of vines. The winery buildings were at least a hundred yards away now—way farther than I thought I could get before his gun went off.

  "Freddie was an idiot," Baker spat out. "Spent money faster than anyone could make it, and thought he was God's gift to women."

  "But he was your friend," I said, still trying to shuffle pieces around in my head to make them fit.

  Baker sneered. "Sure. Some friend. You know what he used to call me in high school?"

  I shook my head.

  "His sidekick." He scoffed. "Without me, Freddie would have been nothing. He wouldn't have even made it through the tenth grade. And still he always thought he was better than me. That he was the star and I was just some poor schlub he let ride his coattails."

  "That sounds terrible," I said, trying to appease him.

  "Yeah well I was used to that. I could have lived with that, you know? Everyone thinking it was the Freddie show and I was just poor Baker along for the ride. Even though I was the one who did all the hard work. I came up with the ideas. I put everything in motion. It was my plan. And what does he do? Screw it all up over some girl. Some stupid, stupid girl."

  I was trying hard to play catch up. "You mean Bridget?"

  "What?" Baker shook his head. "No. Juliet."

  I paused, a sudden thought occurring to me. "You know, she'll be here any minute. Juliet. She's supposed to meet me at the winery, and when I'm not there, she'll call the police and…" I trailed off as I saw Baker's menacing grin widen into something akin to amusement.

  "You women really are gullible, aren't you?" he asked, shaking his head.

  I licked my lips. "What have you done with Juliet?" I asked softly, suddenly fearing for her life as well as my own.

  "Nothing," he replied, his lips still twisted in a sinister smile. "Don't worry, the princess is fine. Let's just say I borrowed her cell earlier today to make sure you'd be here."

  My heart sank. Baker had sent the texts. Juliet had never been coming to meet me. No one was. I was alone. "She'll see the texts," I protested feebly.

  He shook his head. "You think I'd go through all that trouble just to leave the texts behind on her phone?"

  No. Of course he'd have deleted them. He'd covered his tracks. "And you killed Freddie," I said, kind of stating the obvious at that point. But if no one was coming—if I was truly on my own—I had to stall for time to come up with something to save my skin.

  He nodded slowly. "You just now putting that together, Einstein?"

  "But why?" I asked. "I mean, you said this was all your idea—Freddie marrying Juliet for her money. Didn't you need Freddie for that?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Freddie was my puppet. He did what I told him—charmed the women I pointed him at like a trained dog."

  "So, you chose the woman. The marks for your con?"

  He laughed out loud again. "Wow, someone has been watching too many crime dramas. Our marks." He shook his head. "Very dramatic. But, yes, I found wealthy women in need of companionship. I did my research on them—found out their likes, dislikes, soft spots. I groomed Freddie to be exactly what these women wanted—whatever that may be. A Boy Scout for some, a bad boy for others."

  "And Juliet?" I asked, trying to keep him talking as I glanced around the vineyard for anything I could use as weapon. Dry leaves and dormant vines were all that stared back at me. "You were planning to con her out of her money too?"

  "Juliet wanted a knight in shining armor," he said, his tone mocking. "Fitting for a pampered princess, no? Freddie played the part to a tee. God bless him, he really could turn on the charm when he wanted."

  "Then why kill him?" I asked again, having a hard time taking my eyes off the gun. "It sounds like everything was going according to your plan."

  "Oh it was," he said. "Until Freddie decided to change it."

  "Change it?" I asked.

  Baker's eyes went dark, his jaw hard. "I should have watched him more carefully. I should have seen the signs."

  "Signs of what?"

  "Love!" He spat the word out like it made him sick. "The fool fell in love with her."

  I blinked at him. That had been the last thing I'd expected him to say. "Wait—are you saying Freddie actually was in love with Juliet?"

  Baker sneered, seeming to barely hear me as he continued talking. "All he was supposed to do was get in and get out. We'd done it half a dozen times before. Charm her, get your hands on her cash, then disappear and do it all over again somewhere else. We were good at it. A team. I was the brains, and he was the face. We were making out like bandits."

  "Like you did with Natalie?" I asked.

  The wicked grin snaked across his face again. "I don't know how you figured it out about her not being Freddie's cousin, but you did, didn't you?" He wagged his gun at me like he was chastising a naughty child.

  I couldn't help my eyes bobbing up and down with it, riveted to the muzzle with some kind of hypnotic fear. I bit my lip to keep from yelling at him to be careful with that thing.

  "Yes, we played our little game with Natalie," he confessed, though contrite was the last thing he sounded. "She'd just been through a nasty divorce—easy pickings."

  I felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her. "I'm guessing her and Freddie's whirlwind romance in Vegas was not chance?"

  "Ha!" Baker barked out the word. "No, it was all by design. My design. I found Natalie at a bar one day. Listened to her sad story. Heard how she'd taken her ex for all he was worth—just under a cool million. Then I gave Freddie his script and let his charming face do the rest."

  "And once he married her, he took everything," I said, remembering how the PI had told me he'd cleaned out her bank accounts.

  "We took everything. We. You're not getting it. It was my idea, my accounts, my setup." Baker shook his head. "And it was working great until Freddie started getting sloppy."

  "You mean, how Natalie tracked Freddie down under his new name."

  "I told Freddie to get rid of her. She was going to blow our biggest payday yet."

  "But Freddie didn't get rid of her."

  "No." Baker shook his head. "He just said he could handle it. That he'd keep her in line until we took off again. He was so sure of his charm, that cocky fool." His eyes narrowed at the memory.

  "Whose idea was it for Natalie to be his cousin?"

  "Mine, of course," he snapped. "I told you, it was all my idea. Until Freddie deviated from the plan."

  "To be with Juliet," I guessed.

  Baker turned a menacing look on me, as if I'd had something to do with it. "She was too good. Too sweet. She had him under this spell. This perfect little angel. It should have been so easy—I handpicked her, you know."

  "Did you?" I asked. Not that I cared at that point, but the longer I could keep him talking, the longer he'd be not-shooting.

  "Daddy's little princess, always got everything she wanted. I knew she'd be an easy target. All Freddie had to do was smile in her direction and the girl practically fell in his lap. And that family of hers." He chuckled, though the sound held more disdain than humor. "They were loaded. Had been forever. All Freddie had to do was string the princess along long enough to get access to her accounts, and we be set. Juliet was so trusting."

  "What happened?" I licked my lips, glancing to my right. I knew a row over was where the wheelbarrow sat. I racked my brain, trying to think what I could do with a wheelbarrow, but any way you sliced it, in wheelbarrow vs. g
un, gun would win.

  "I told you what happened!" Baker snapped. "He fell in love. The moron actually fell for the pampered princess. He said he wasn't going to leave this one. He figured he could have a nice tidy life enjoying Juliet's trust fund for many years."

  "Which left you high and dry," I said.

  Though, in hindsight, maybe I should have kept that thought to myself, as his face contorted with rage and his gun wobbled in my direction again.

  "I was not going to let him do that to me. Not after I made him. He would have been nothing without me."

  "So you killed him," I said, wondering how I'd missed just how crazy Baker was. Apparently Freddie hadn't been the only one of the pair who had been good at hiding his true self.

  "He was getting sloppy." Baker's voice rose, and if we'd been anywhere but an abandoned vineyard late at night, I might have had hope someone would hear us. "First Natalie tracked him down, and then that Bridget trash showed up at the wedding. I told him. On the terrace, after she left. I told him he had to be more careful. That we couldn't go on like this. And you know what he said?"

  I licked my lips. "What?"

  "He said we weren't going on. That he didn't need me anymore. He had Juliet, and he had that family of hers eating out of the palm of his hand. And he was going to ride that gravy train for a long time." He took deep ragged breaths, his eyes taking on almost a sad quality as he shook his head. "He didn't need me anymore."

  He dragged in air and let out a long, cleansing breath down toward the earth. And when he raised his eyes again to meet mine, the sadness had drained, and it was replaced by a dark, flat quality that was almost scarier than his emotional outburst had been.

  "So I had to kill him," he said flatly.

  I swallowed hard. "A-and Bridget?" I almost hesitated to ask. "Did you have to kill her too?"

  He nodded very slowly. "She knew too much. She showed up at the Belle Inn and threatened to tell the police everything if I didn't pay her to keep quiet. That was a huge mistake on her part."

  He took a menacing step toward me.

  "Bad things happen to people who try to get in my way," he said, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. "You should have just left it alone, Emmy."

  Yep. I should have. And every warning Grant had ever given me to leave all this alone rang in my ears now. Oh, how I longed to live to hear him gloat with an I told you so. I shoved that thought down, trying to stave off panic and keep Baker talking.

  "Is that why you attacked me?" I asked.

  He nodded slowly again. "When you came to me about Freddie's previous marriage, I knew you were getting too close to the truth. That it would only be a matter of time before you realized Freddie hadn't acted alone. So, I decided to send you a little warning."

  "You followed me to the studio from the B&B," I said, mentally working it out.

  "I really did try to send you a warning," he said, as if he'd been doing me a favor by knocking me out cold. "I wish you had taken it."

  Me too. More than just about anything right then. I could feel the chill in the air slapping against my face, the panic in my stomach growing that I was out there, alone. With no way to fight back.

  With a mad man who had already killed two people.

  "What about the feathers?" I asked, grasping for ways to stall.

  Baker looked confused. "Feathers?"

  "From Juliet's dress. The police found them on the terrace near Freddie's body."

  Baker tipped his head back and laughed again. "Is that why the police were so focused on poor little Juliet?" He shook his head. "I honestly haven't the foggiest." He paused. "Maybe Saint Juliet is keeping some secrets from us after all, huh?"

  I doubted that, but I had a strict policy to not argue with men who had me at gunpoint.

  "And the Miscetti?" I asked, feeling my time running out. I took a small step backward, but came up against the vines. There was nowhere to go. I was trapped.

  Baker shook his head. "I wish Freddie had consulted me before he did that. I would have told him it was a bad idea. Too greedy."

  "He found out about Edward's plan to sell the forgery?"

  "He did," Baker confirmed. "Thought he could hold it over the old man's head to keep him in line. If I'd known, I would have stopped him. Men like Somersby don't take kindly to that sort of thing. But Freddie thought he could handle it all. Charm all of them into doing whatever Freddie wanted. Stupid, cocky fool," he snarled. "He should have just kept his mouth shut."

  He paused, his eyes meeting mine. "You should have too."

  "Me?" I squeaked out, my heart thumping in my chest so hard that it hurt.

  He took a step forward. "You should have left it alone, Emmy. You should have just let the Somersbys handle their mess. They had enough money. Juliet never would have gone to jail over it."

  He was right. On so many levels. But mostly that I should have left it alone. Freddie's scheme had been unraveling before his eyes, even before he'd died, and it was only a matter of time now before it all came out. Grant was a good cop. He would have figured Baker out.

  Only now, it might not be before Baker took a third victim.

  "Look, I won't tell anyone," I said, knowing how feeble those words sounded even to my own ears.

  Baker gave me a condescending smile. "Nice try."

  I swallowed hard. "You won't get way with this," I said, trying another tactic. "The police will figure out it was you."

  He shrugged. "Maybe. Eventually. But I don't plan to stick around Wine Country any longer. I'll be halfway to Mexico by the time anyone even finds your body, Emmy."

  I felt my breath come fast at the way he was already talking about me as if I were a dead body. Tears pricked the back of my eyes as I realized he could be right. No one knew I was with him. It would be morning before anyone even missed me. Maybe hours later before they'd come looking for me. No one would have any reason to think I'd be in the vineyard. With the vines dormant, it could even be days before anyone came out here. Days before I was found. Plenty of time for Baker to drive the length of California and slip away into the anonymity south of the border.

  "Please," I heard myself say as a last ditch effort to appeal to some humanity within him. I suddenly wondered if Bridget had pleaded too. If she'd begged for her life as Baker had strangled the last breath out of her.

  "I'm sorry, Emmy," Baker said, though the look on his face held no hint of sympathy. In fact, the way his eyes suddenly lit up and the gun in his hand was rock steady, I had a sick feeling that he was almost enjoying the moment. Feeling some sort of rush at me being so completely at his mercy.

  The tears leaked from my eyes, though I couldn't tear them away from the muzzle of the gun as Baker slowly raised it to aim at my head. He took a step forward, and I watched the small hollow metal barrel come closer. My focus blurred so it was the only thing in my world. I could almost feel its cool, deadly touch.

  I shivered—from fear, the cool night air, the desperate sadness of everything that would be left behind.

  I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the inevitable.

  A shot rang through the air—loud, brief, and sharp enough to make me jump.

  I stopped breathing, and it took me a moment to realize I wasn't dead.

  I opened my eyes, sucked in air, and watched the world sway in front of me.

  Wait—no, it wasn't the world that was swaying. It was Baker.

  My heart pounded as I watched him blink in surprise, his mouth moving up and down wordlessly. His body teetered back and forth on his feet in precarious balance before he finally keeled forward with a crash that made me jump again.

  I tore my eyes from the bright red spot spreading across his back to look upward, across the field. Two rows over I saw a figure outlined in the moonlight and the faint whiff of smoke rising from a gun in its hands.

  For a brief moment fear was renewed, thinking I'd just traded one gunman for another, before the figure called out.

  "Emmy! Are you okay?"


  I cried out in relief as I recognized the voice. Grant.

  "Emmy?" Apparently my cry did nothing to alleviate his concern, as he crashed through the rows of vines toward me.

  Before I could attempt to answer him again, he was at my side, arms wrapped tightly around me, as I cried into his shoulder.

  "It's okay," he said, his hand in my hair, lips whispering at my temple. "You're safe now. Everything is going to be okay."

  And for the first time in days, I actually believed that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Please tell me that is not an option tonight?" Eddie gaped at me as I held up a little black dress that I had thought was actually kind of cute. Ruffled hem, long sleeves, cowl neck.

  "What's wrong with this?" I asked, smoothing down the skirt.

  "Nothing," Eddie said, eyes wide as he shook his head. "If you're a nun going to a funeral."

  Ava snorted. "He's right. Show some skin, girl."

  I reluctantly put the LBD back into my closet. "It's January. My skin will freeze," I mumbled.

  It had been just over a week since my altercation with Baker in the vineyard, and Grant had finally closed the file on Freddie Campbell, aka Frank Campbell, aka Alfred Camptown—whose real name turned out to be Alfred Campbell Clark—and Grant had asked me to dinner to celebrate. I had, of course, said yes. When I hadn't bargained for was the entourage who had insisted they needed to help dress me for my "hot date." (The entourage's words—not mine.)

  When Grant had called to let me know the case was officially closed, it had been the first time we'd really had a chance to talk since the shooting—both of us having been caught up in various forms of damage control immediately afterward. Grant had finally given me his version of the events of that evening that ended in my vineyard. He'd told me that as soon as he'd finished attending Bridget McAllister's autopsy, he'd decided to make a personal visit to the winery instead of calling me back. He'd arrived just in time to hear gunshots and had finally found us in the vineyard, catching the very tail end of Baker's confession before discharging his own gun.