Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6)

by Gemma Halliday

  "I could have stuck to cubic zirconia," she said, regret thick in her voice as she sipped at her wine. Her cake had gone largely untouched, I noticed. A sign of just how upset she was.

  "I'm sure Grant will figure this all out," I said.

  Ava nodded. "Poor Gia. To think someone was strangling her while we were sipping wine and celebrating." She shook her head, clearly feeling guilt weigh heavily.

  "You have to stop doing this," I told her. Usually my friend was the optimism trying to cheer my realist's approach. I hated seeing her this way. "It's not your fault."

  She shook her head. "My necklace was the murder weapon, and my gem was the motive."

  "Assuming the gem was the target," I countered.

  She frowned. "What do you mean?"

  I almost hesitated to voice the doubt that had been creeping into my mind on the ride home. "Well, I overheard Gia arguing with someone. Just before the show."

  "Who?" she asked, shifting her legs underneath her to face me.

  "Carl Costello."

  The frown deepened. "Why would she be arguing with him? She was his star."

  I shrugged. "I don't know," I said honestly. "I didn't hear the whole thing. But he accused her of threatening him. Then he said something about being careful what she wished for, as it could be her last."

  Ava raised an eyebrow at me. "That sounds ominous. You know, considering that it probably was her last."

  That had been my thought too. "It's probably a coincidence, right?"

  Ava shrugged. "I don't know. I kinda liked Costello. You know, in that endearing gay uncle kind of way."

  "Me too," I admitted. While my interaction with him had been brief, he'd seemed lively and charming. Unlike the brief interaction I'd had with Gia.

  Though I tamped that thought down, not wanting to think ill of the dead. Heck, for all I knew, maybe she got nervous before shows and her diva-like behavior had really been a cover for stage fright.

  "Well, not to seem calloused about the woman's death," Ava said, letting out a long sigh. "But I honestly don't know what I'm going to do if Grant doesn't find that emerald."

  "I'm guessing you didn't have it insured?"

  She shook her head. "There didn't seem much point. I mean, I only planned to have it in my possession for a couple of months. I was hoping it would sell after the show."

  "And you had a lot of money tied up in it, didn't you?"

  She nodded, and I could see tears forming behind her eyes. "I had to take out a loan to buy it."

  "Oh honey," I said. That was something she hadn't shared with me before.

  She sniffed. "I know, it was a gamble. But I figured it was a short term thing—I could float the loan for just a couple of months to buy the gem and create the necklace. Once it sold, the profits would pay back the loan in full plus be enough that I could hire someone on to expand the shop hours like I've been wanting to."

  I almost hesitated to ask, but… "What did you use for collateral for the loan?"

  She sucked in a deep breath. "Silver Girl," she said on an exhale.

  "The shop?"

  She nodded, those tears spilling over her lashes now. "I could lose everything, Emmy. There's no way I can pay back that loan without the gem. The interest alone will eat me alive."

  "It's going to be okay," I said, reaching out and wrapping her in a hug.

  I knew exactly what that fear in her eyes felt like. Ever since I'd moved back home to take over running our struggling little winery, I lived with the fear that I might lose everything my family had spent generations building.

  "We'll figure this out," I told her, trying to exude more confidence than I felt. "We'll think of something."

  Even if I had no idea what that something would be.

  * * *

  Morning broke through my bedroom curtains much too early the next day, the bright sunshine and cheerily chirpy birds in direct contrast to my mood. It possibly had to do with the fact I'd been up until the early morning hours trying to console Ava. Or possibly it was due to the several glasses of Pinot we'd both consumed when the consoling had been unsuccessful. Either way, I practically had to drag myself out of bed into a hot shower by sheer force of will, adding an extra layer of mascara to compensate for the sleep I didn't get. I shoved myself into a pair of jeans and a simple white T-shirt before making my way downstairs.

  Ava had beaten me to the coffee, putting the one appliance in my tiny kitchen—a stainless steel coffee maker—to good use. Generally I took the bulk of my meals in the large commercial kitchen attached to the winery. It was better equipped, always well stocked thanks to my house manager, Conchita, and much more comfortable to cook in than the cubby hole in my small cottage at the back of the property.

  "Hey," Ava said by way of greeting, her eyes on her phone as she leaned against the counter.

  "Hey, yourself. Sleep okay?" I asked, knowing that my guest room faced the sunrise—probably why Ava had beaten me to the kitchen.

  She nodded, setting her phone down. "Well enough." She shot me a smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here last night."

  "Like I was gonna let you drive home after the barrel of wine we consumed," I joked, pulling a mug down from the cupboard and pouring myself a cup of coffee.

  "Grant just left me a message," she said, glancing to her phone on the counter again.

  "Oh?" I tried to tamp down the flare of giddiness that his name produced in my empty belly.

  "He said they've finished processing the backstage area and I could come pick up my jewelry anytime." She paused. "Minus the murder weapon, of course."

  I put a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

  She shook her head, obviously doing her best to pull out some cheerfulness. "It's okay. I'm sure he'll find whoever did this soon."

  "And the emerald along with them," I added.

  "Right." She smiled, though it was shaky at best.

  "Want me to come to the club with you?" I offered.

  "Would you?" she asked, clasping her hands in front of her in a pleading motion. "Honestly, I would not turn down the moral support."

  "Of course," I offered, taking a sip from my cup. It was hot enough that it almost burned my tongue, but the acrid beans served as a much needed wake up call to my brain. "Just let me get one cup in me first."

  "Ditto." Ava grinned. "And maybe I could bum a couple of aspirins to go with it?"

  * * *

  Once we were fully caffeinated and had enough painkillers in our systems to combat the mild Pinot hangover, we hopped into my Jeep and headed back to the Sonoma Links. A short drive later we were pulling up the winding drive that was much like my own at Oak Valley. Though, while Oak Valley sported mature oak trees, rustic gravel, and wildflowers that had been planted in accordance with Mother Nature's blueprint, the Links entrance was lined with carefully manicured cypress trees, lines of bright non-native annuals, and a sprawling expanse of lawn that shimmered an impressive green color year round, despite the threat of drought.

  We handed my Jeep over to the valet at the entrance, and I was glad I'd added a pink floral scarf and kitten heel sandals to my T-shirt to at least have a prayer of fitting in among the rich and idle on a sunny summer morning. I gave our names to the woman in the blue club polo shirt at the desk, who, with a few clicks of her keyboard, ascertained that we were approved to enter, giving us a warm smile that I knew was reserved for members and their guests.

  Our heels clacked against the polished marble floor as we wound our way through the club, passing the lounge, which was largely empty at this time of day, except for a couple of early morning Scotch drinkers getting a jump on the day before their first round of golf. The outdoor terrace, however, was brimming with brunch-time life. Men in checked shorts and golf shirts chatted beside the green, and ladies in tennis shirts and sundresses with wide brimmed hats sipped mimosas. They were all laughing, chatting, drinking, and generally carrying on as usual. There was no indication that anything out of the ordinary had hap
pened there the day before. The upper crust were quick to bounce back from a little thing like murder.

  As we entered the Grand Ballroom, only a couple of uniformed officers still lingered. Crime scene tape had been erected across the doorway to Gia's dressing room, but the rest of the room looked as if it was in the throes of being transformed from backstage at a fashion show to a club room once again. The makeup artist stations were empty, chairs being folded and put away along a far wall by a couple of club employees. I spied Daisy's assistant zipping garment bags shut and a couple of young men carefully packing away the shoes and handbags Costello's models had worn.

  Ava's jewelry was once again laid out on the back table, though several pieces had been taken from their boxes. Apparently the police had wanted to inventory what was there themselves. I didn't blame them. It would have been a very convenient end to the search for the emerald if Ava had just misplaced it in another box. Unfortunately, she was much too thorough to have done that.

  "Let's get this over with," she said, and I could tell by the pale color of her cheeks as she averted her eyes from the dressing room that she was as uncomfortable being there as I was.

  "I'll help," I added, handing her one velvet lined box after another as she carefully cataloged and replaced accessories in them.

  We'd almost gotten them all boxed up again and back into her large storage bin to transport them home, when a familiar voice piped up from the other side of the room.

  "No, no, no! You cannot fold that. It must be laid flat or you'll ruin the integrity of the garment." Costello shook his head at one of the young men we'd seen earlier, taking a large black cape from the man's hands. "Just—get these other boxes in the van. I'll take care of the rest."

  "Poor Costello," Ava said, sympathy in her eyes. "Do you think we should go pay our respects?"

  Personally, I didn't think Costello looked like a man who was grieving. He'd dressed today in another pair of white leather pants with shimmering rhinestones on the back pockets and a hot pink shirt that billowed around his portly frame in a cascade of ruffles. If his outfit were any louder, it would be shouting.

  But, people grieved in all different sorts of ways, so I nodded and followed Ava's lead as she set the storage bin down and approached the designer.

  "Mr. Costello," she said softly.

  He spun to face us, his eyelashes fluttering for a beat before recognition set in. "Oh, Ava. Hello, my dear. And…"

  "Emmy," I supplied.

  "Yes, yes, of course." He shook his head in apology. "We met before the show."

  "We're so sorry for your loss," Ava said, taking one of his hands in both of hers.

  At the reference to Gia, his expression changed, all emotions draining from it as if wiped clean. "Thank you. Yes, such a tragic loss."

  "I can't imagine what you must be going through," Ava added, genuine sympathy in her eyes.

  "It's…shocking. Hard to believe it's real." He attempted a smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. "Such a waste. All that beauty taken too quickly."

  "You and Gia were close?" I asked, my mind going to the argument I'd witnessed.

  He sighed deeply. "As close as anyone can get to a beautiful creature like Gia, I suppose."

  "Oh?" I said. "Was she difficult to get close to?"

  But he waved me off with a laugh. "Oh, don't get me wrong. Gia could be a pussycat when she wanted to be. But, like all successful people in this business, she had her eccentricities."

  "Had you worked with her for long?" Ava asked.

  Costello nodded. "A couple of years." He gave us a sad smile. "She was my star. She closed every show."

  "She was stunning," I agreed.

  He turned to fiddle with the sleeve of one of the jackets on the rack. "Yes, well, thankfully beauty is not a rare gift in my line of work."

  "I only had the chance to meet her briefly," Ava added. "At the fittings the week before the show. But she seemed—" Ava paused, and I could see her mentally searching for a complimentary thing to say. It was a long pause. "—very professional."

  "Yes, well, I suppose she had her moments…" He let that thought trail off. Clearly everyone was having a hard time speaking well of the dead woman.

  "Did Gia normally have her own dressing room?" I asked, thinking hers was the only name I'd seen on a private room.

  "Oh yes," Costello said with a laugh. "She insisted on it. One that had to be stocked with champagne and Belgian chocolates." He shook his head.

  "She sounds like she could be demanding," I noted.

  Costello turned his attention to the hem of the jacket on the rack again. "Well, can't we all? But as my boyfriend Fabio says, to get the best prices for your designs, you have to hire the best. And, as I'm sure you know, Gia was the best."

  Actually, I didn't know that. I got the impression that she'd thought she was the best, but I'd seen a lot of beautiful women on the stage the previous day.

  "The police asked if we saw anyone hanging around backstage," Ava said. "You know, anyone who wasn't supposed to be here. You didn't see anyone like that, did you?"

  Costello shook his head. "Goodness me, no. But then, I was running around like a madman, wasn't I? Always am before a show. Barely had a moment to breathe, let alone notice anyone else."

  "I think we were all a little preoccupied." Ava frowned, and I could see her veering into guilt riddled waters again.

  "Did you see Gia after the show?" I asked.

  "After?" I might have imagined it, but I thought his voice rose just the slightest on that word. "No." He shook his head vigorously. "I did not see her."

  "Did you go to the lounge?" I asked. I didn't recall having seen him there, but it had been crowded.

  "Wh-what?" He blinked at me as if not understanding the question.

  "After the show. Did you go straight to the lounge for the reception or did you come backstage?"

  His eyes narrowed, and I noticed for the first time that they were rimmed in soft, nude eyeshadow. "The police asked me that too. Though, I can't imagine why everyone wants to know. Surely no one thinks I stole that necklace and did poor Gia in."

  Actually, the thought had crossed my mind.

  "Of course not," Ava said, quickly jumping in. "We're just wondering if you saw anyone heading backstage. Or noticed anything out of place."

  "No." The word was laced with finality. "I was with Fabio, my boyfriend. We were celebrating a successful show. Together," he emphasized.

  "That's so important," Ava said, putting a hand on his arm. "You know, to have someone you can lean on at a difficult time like this."

  Her sympathy softened his expression some. "Yes, well, Fabio is a doll. Love of my life."

  I noticed that he hadn't actually answered my question about where he and the love of his life had been, exactly. "So you and Fabio went straight to the lounge to celebrate?" I asked.

  "We were actually celebrating privately, if you must know. In one of the cabanas by the pool." He gave me a pointed look, like if I had to ask exactly what sort of celebrating they were doing together, I was terribly naïve.

  "So I guess you didn't see Gia at all after the show, then," Ava surmised.

  "No," Costello confirmed. "Like I said, I did not." He fiddled with the button on the sleeve of the jacket hanging on the rack in front of him.

  "Were you avoiding her because of your argument?" I asked, watching for a reaction.

  His fingers froze, and his gaze slowly rose to meet mine. "I'm sorry. Argument?"

  I licked my lips, feeling distinctly intrusive. "I, uh, couldn't help but overhear the raised voices. You and Gia just before the show yesterday."

  He blinked at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to deny it. But then he spread his arms wide in a theatrical motion. "Oh that. It was nothing."

  I'd overheard him accuse her of threatening him, which had not felt like nothing at the time. "What was it about?" I pressed.

  "This is a high stress business, and people arg
ue all the time."

  I wasn't sure, but he seemed to be avoiding my questions.

  But before I could say anything in response, he continued. "Listen, Gia was a very opinionated person. She argued with people all the time. In fact, I heard her arguing with Hughie over the phone just before I went into her dressing room."

  "Hughie?" Ava asked.

  Costello brushed stray lint off his sweater. "Hughie Smart. Gia's agent. From Smart Models?"

  Being that I was a few inches too short and more than a few pounds too heavy to qualify as a model, I'd never heard the name.

  "Anyway, confrontation was just Gia's way," he said, still trying to make light of it all.

  "What was Gia arguing with her agent over?" Ava asked.

  Costello let out a humorless laugh. "Well, she only threatened to fire him."

  "Fire him?" Ava echoed. "Why?"

  He shrugged. "Search me, dahlings. Gia's business was Gia's business." His eyes went to a spot behind us. "Uh, Joey, let's get the rest of these bags into the van quickly, huh?" He turned his attention back to us. "Sorry, ladies, if you'll excuse me."

  He didn't wait for an answer before brushing past us to grab an armload of garment bags and shove them at his young assistant.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Since we were at the Links anyway and we'd both skipped breakfast, Ava and I found an empty table on the terrace and ordered a couple plates of the brunch special, a Roasted Tomato Frittata. In deference to the mild headache still pounding out a memory of last night's overindulgence, I ordered more coffee in lieu of a mimosa. Ava went for an herbal tea, and as soon as the server arrived with them both, Ava turned to me.

  "So what do you think of Costello's story?"

  "Story?" I asked, sipping my coffee.

  "About Gia threatening to fire her agent?"

  I shrugged. "I think it was a good diversion from answering our questions about why he'd argued with Gia."

  "You caught that too, huh?" Ava nodded, blowing off her hot tea. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if maybe you weren't right last night."