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

by Gemma Halliday

  "Yes, we were hoping to speak to one of your guests. Jada Devereux. Do you know what room she's in?" Ava asked.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," the woman—whose nametag read Judy—said. "We can't give out room numbers of our guests. You know, for security reasons."

  "Oh." Ava frowned and sent me a look.

  "But I could call up to her room and let her know you're here," Judy offered.

  "Could you?" Ava asked, perking up. "Oh, that would be great."

  Judy sent her a pleasant smile again, picking up an old corded style phone from behind the desk. "Happy to. And who may I say is waiting for her?"

  "Ava Barnett, from Silver Girl jewelry."

  Judy nodded then typed in a number from her computer screen. After a short beat, we heard her mumble something into the phone before hanging up.

  She shook her head. "Sorry, she wasn't in. I left a message."

  Ava let out a long sigh. "Thanks."

  She looked so dejected that even Judy seemed to feel a little bad, as she asked, "Is Jada by any chance one of the models in town for that fashion show?"

  "Yes," I answered.

  Judy's eyes darted from one side to the other. "Look, I don't know if your model was with them, but I did just see a group of them go to the pool." She pointed down a hallway to our right. "It's just out the back."

  "Judy, you are a peach," Ava said, giving the woman a winning smile before she quickly grabbed me by the arm and steered me down the hallway.

  It ended in a glass double door leading to an outdoor courtyard. We pushed through, revealing a crystal blue pool at the courtyard's center. Lounge chairs surrounded it, and a large rock waterfall at one end provided some shade and a breathtaking cascade of shimmering water. A couple of families sat near the shallow end, enjoying the break from the heat with their children, and near the decorative waterfall I spied four slim women in bikinis, soaking up the sun's rays.

  Luck was with us. The exotic looking Jada sat on the farthest lounger, her chair pulled a bit away from the rest of the girls, her head down, as if she were napping.

  "Jada?" Ava said as we approached.

  The model flipped over onto her back and propped herself up on one arm. "Yeah?"

  "Hi. Ava. From the fashion show?" she supplied. "And my friend, Emmy."

  Jada pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. "Sure. I remember you." Up close I could see that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. I felt my heart go out to her. I wasn't sure how close she and Gia had been, but even the thought of losing Ava made my chest clench.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss," I told her, honestly meaning it.

  Her eyes misted, and she sniffed loudly. "Thanks."

  "How are you holding up?" Ava asked, gingerly sitting on the edge of an empty lounger beside her.

  Jada shrugged her bare shoulders, shifting to a seated position. "It is what it is, you know?" She sucked in a deep breath, letting it out on a sigh. "The police asked us to stay in town for the weekend." She glanced over at the other models, who were largely ignoring our private conversation as they looked at something on the middle woman's phone. "But I guess it's better to grieve together than alone, right?"

  The other three women didn't look to be particularly grieving to me. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say they were three single ladies enjoying a couple of cocktails and some sun, as laughter erupted from the group at some private joke.

  "I got the impression that you and Gia were close?" Ava asked.

  Jada nodded. "I guess so. I mean, Gia was kind of a hard person to really get close to. But we were roommates when we first started out." Her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she was remembering happier times.

  "When was that?" I asked.

  "A couple years ago, I guess." She blinked her attention back to the present. "We were both new at Smart Models."

  "Hughie Smart is your agent too?" Ava asked.

  Jada nodded. "I introduced Gia to him. I introduced her to Carl, too." She frowned, and I wondered if she was feeling some ill-placed guilt—as if somehow that introduction had led to her friend's demise.

  "Carl Costello?" I clarified.

  "Yes," she said on another deep sigh. "Hughie had booked me for a photo shoot, and one of the other models didn't show. I called Gia to see if she could fill in. The rest, as they say, is history."

  I wondered if there was some jealously on Jada's part that she'd been Costello's model first but Gia had become his star.

  As if reading my mind, Jada added, "Turns out, Gia had the perfect look for Carl's esthetic. She closed all his shows."

  "It sounds like you all worked together a lot."

  "Mm-hmm," she said. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she turned to me. "Why is it you want to know about Gia?"

  "Actually, we were wondering if Gia ever mentioned someone to you," Ava said, shifting on the lounger. "Someone who might have been getting a little too close to her for comfort."

  Jada frowned, her line-free forehead pulling her eyebrows down. "What do you mean?"

  "Did Gia ever mention anything about a guy following her? Or giving her maybe too much attention?" I asked.

  "Gia was beautiful. Lots of guys gave her attention."

  "We were thinking more along the lines of stalker type attention," Ava said.

  "Stalker?" Jada's face registered surprise.

  I nodded. "We noticed the same guy hanging around in the background in quite a few pictures of her."

  Ava grabbed her phone from her purse, pulling up one of the photos from Gia's social media pages that we'd found earlier. She zoomed in on Baseball Cap Guy and turned the screen to face Jada.

  Jada leaned forward, eyes scanning the picture. "I-I don't know. I mean, Gia never mentioned anything like that to me." She squinted at the man. "Hard to see his face."

  "I know," Ava said. "He's kind of hidden in all of them." She scrolled through two more photos, but Jada just shook her head.

  "Sorry. I don't recognize him."

  "You sure Gia never mentioned anything about someone following her or maybe being a little overly friendly?" I pressed.

  "If this guy really was stalking her, she didn't mention it to me." She lifted her eyes from the phone, gaze going from Ava to me. "You don't think this guy had anything to do with her death, do you?"

  "It's possible," I admitted. "We know he was at the fashion show."

  "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "Positive." I pulled up one of the photos from backstage. "I took this just before the show."

  As Jada glanced at the picture, something flashed behind her eyes, though I couldn't quite read the emotion before it was just as quickly gone. If I had to guess, though, I'd say it was fear. The idea of a man stalking models backstage at a fashion show wasn't exactly a comforting one.

  "This was taken with your camera?" she asked me.

  I nodded. "I didn't notice him at the time. It was just when we were scrolling through some photos for publicity shots today that we found this."

  "You didn't see him backstage?" Ava pressed.

  Jada licked her lips, a frown of concern still on her face. "No. But, I mean, everything was kind of hectic. It always is before a show. Lots of people involved and close quarters."

  "What about after the show?" I asked. "Did you and Gia leave the runway together?"

  She pried her eyes from the image of Baseball Cap Guy on my phone and leaned back in her lounger again. "No. I mean, yes, we all exited the stage at the same time, but Gia had her own dressing room." She paused. "As I guess you know. Anyway, she went straight to it and closed the door. The rest of us changed in the main room." The hint of resentment in her voice again made me wonder if she hadn't harbored a bit of jealousy over Gia's rise to private dressing room status over her.

  "And you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary?" Ava asked. "Maybe see anyone approach Gia's dressing room?"

  But Jada shook her head. "The police asked me the same thing. But I didn't really pay attention. Just
too many bodies all packed into the same place, you know?"

  I nodded. I knew. I'd felt much the same way.

  "Plus," she went on, "Hughie wanted me to get to the reception as quickly as possible so I could mingle with potential clients. Wineries book a lot of print ads. He practically shoved me out the door as soon as I was dressed."

  "Wait—shoved you out the door?" I shot Ava a look. "Hughie Smart was at the fashion show?" His receptionist had failed to mention that Hughie was "out of the office" in Sonoma.

  Jada nodded again. "Yeah. He likes to be at the shows of his bigger clients like Costello. Why?"

  Because according to Costello, Gia had fired him just before she'd been found dead.

  "I was actually hoping to talk to him," I said instead.

  "Emmy is thinking of doing some social media ads for her winery," Ava said quickly, going with her previous cover story.

  "Oh?" Jada asked, perking up at the idea of a potential job.

  I nodded, feeling like a heel for deceiving her. Especially while she was mourning the loss of her friend. "You don't happen to know if Hughie is still in town, do you?"

  She nodded. "Like I said, the police told us we all had to stay another day."

  "He has a room here?" I asked, glancing up at the hotel building in the background.

  But Jada shook her head. "No, he's staying at some bed and breakfast. The View something."

  "The Valley View?" Ava asked.

  Jada smiled. "Yeah, that's it. You know it?"

  "My mom is friends with the owner," Ava confirmed.

  "Guess Sonoma is a smaller town than San Francisco," Jada said with a shrug.

  I wasn't sure if that was said as a statement of fact or a subtle put-down, but either way it seemed to be Jada's final word, as she pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes again and leaned her head back down on the lounger. "Tell Hughie I said hi," she added.

  "Sure," I promised halfheartedly as we left the model to her sunbathing-slash-grieving.

  Ava waited until we were through the lobby and back outside the hotel again before pulling her phone out and dialing another number.

  "Calling the Valley View?" I asked, leading the way back to my Jeep.

  She nodded. "Janet Kim runs the place. She plays tennis with my mom on Tuesdays." She put the phone to her ear, and I could vaguely hear the sound of it ringing as we slipped inside my car and I cranked on the air conditioning.

  I'd just gotten the vents pointed correctly at us for maximum cooling as someone on the other end of the call picked up.

  "Hi, Janet, it's Celia's daughter, Ava." She paused a moment, and I heard the sound of a voice responding, though it was too faint to make out the words. "Oh, thank you. Yes, the fashion show was lovely." More pausing. "It is tragic how it ended."

  She glanced at me across the car interior, shaking her head in a way that I could tell she was mentally cursing Bradley Wu and his well-read column for spreading the news like a California wildfire.

  "I appreciate that, Janet," Ava said. "Listen, I was calling to see if I could speak to one of the guests you have there this weekend. Hughie Smart?"

  I didn't have to hear the answer to know the response was not positive. Ava's smile dropped, and her shoulders sagged. "Oh, he's not in." Janet said something. Then Ava added, "Sure, that would be great. Can you ask him to call me when he does? It's kind of urgent. You have my number?"

  Janet must have, as Ava nodded. "Perfect. Thank you, Janet."

  She hung up and put the phone back in her purse. "Well, hopefully he calls back," she said as I pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to Silver Girl.

  "I wonder if Hughie knew about Gia's stalker?" I mused as I navigated the light traffic through downtown.

  "You think she told her agent?"

  I shrugged. "I guess it depends on how close they were. Or if she thought Stalker Guy was a threat."

  "If Gia even knew," Ava added, looking out the window at the passing storefronts—a charming mix of old California mission style buildings and modern coffee shops and art galleries. "If Stalker Guy was stealthy enough at blending into the background, it's possible she hadn't even noticed he was following her yet."

  That was a scary thought for any woman. That a stranger could be cataloguing your every move without you even knowing.

  "Don't you think she would have noticed him lurking in her photos like we did?"

  Ava shrugged. "Depends on how closely she was inspecting them. I know when I look at selfies, I'm usually focused on myself." Ava paused. "And I'm not even a model."

  I grinned. "Good point."

  A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of Ava's shop and I parked at the curb. We were both getting out of my Jeep when I noticed a couple of women standing beside the front window where Ava's Silver Girl logo had been hand-painted. A younger one posed beneath the logo, and an older one took her photo with a small camera.

  "Can I help you?" Ava asked as we approached.

  The older woman started, looking embarrassed. "Uh, no. We were just taking a couple of pictures."

  "Well, I'm the owner," Ava said, giving them a wide smile. "I was just about to open up the shop again, if you'd like to take a look inside."

  "Ohmigosh," the younger one gushed. "Are you the one who made the murder necklace?"

  Ava's smiled faded, her jaw clenching.

  "Uh, on second thought, we're closed right now," I told the two women. "Sorry, you'll have to come back another time."

  The younger girl's face fell, but the older woman must have picked up on the proverbial steam starting to come out of Ava's ears, as she ushered the other one away. "Come on. We'll come back later," she promised.

  "Please don't," Ava mumbled under her breath. Though, I was pretty sure both women were out of earshot by then.

  Hopefully.

  "Do you need me to stay with you?" I asked her, resisting the urge to check my watch. While I would never abandon her in a time of need, I did have inventory reports and a harvest budget patiently awaiting my attention back at the winery.

  "No," Ava said, taking a deep breath and letting some of the tension release from her jaw. "I'm fine. I'll just…shoo the looky-loos along and hope some of the Links ladies-who-lunch come by." She gave me a smile that wasn't totally believable.

  "You sure?" I hedged.

  She nodded. "Positive. I'm fine. Go make some wine or something." This time her smile was more genuine.

  I returned it, giving her arm a quick squeeze. "Okay, but call me if you need anything. Or if you hear back from Hughie," I added.

  "Will do," she promised as I got back into my Jeep.

  I waited until she'd unlocked the doors to Silver Girl and turned the sign back around to Open before I pulled away from the curb.

  * * *

  Oak Valley Vineyards was located in the hills above the valley, about twenty minutes outside of the bustling downtown. It was just under ten acres of lush vineyards and majestic oak trees that had been in my family for generations. My ancestors had planted the first Pinot Noir vines on the land, and our family had reaped the rewards ever since. Over the years, generations had added to the property—more varietals of grapes, the long, low winery buildings in the Spanish revival style that housed our tasting rooms, offices, and kitchen, and the tiled outdoor courtyards where we hosted private parties and weddings. But the one constant at Oak Valley was a sense of peace I always felt as I approached. A sense of home.

  I let that familiar, comforting feeling wash over me as I pulled up the oak tree–lined drive, inhaling the warm scents of blooming lavender and grapes ripening in the sun. I parked in the gravel parking lot in front of our main building. It was sparsely populated, being a bit early for the happy hour crowd, though I was glad to see at least a few cars other than those of my small staff. Every sale counted.

  I locked my Jeep and made my way inside, popping my head into the tasting room first. A couple of the tables had groups of three and four people, sipp
ing wine and laughing amiably. An older couple in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian style shirts sipped at one end of the long polished bar, and I spied my sommelier, Jean Luc, opening a Petite Sirah for a woman at the other end.

  Jean Luc had been born and raised in Bordeaux, France, knew everything there was to know about wine, and with his tall, thin frame and long black mustache to rival any vaudevillian villain was a spectacle that kept the tourists coming back for more.

  This afternoon, however, it was the woman he was pouring for who caught my attention. I immediately recognized her pink and blue cotton candy hair and technicolor outfit, comprised of a long skirt in a floral print, a hot pink T-shirt, and lime green feather boa.

  Fashion designer, Daisy Dot.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Ah, here eez Emmy now!" Jean Luc said, gesturing toward me with flourish as I approached the pair.

  Daisy Dot turned toward me, her face breaking into a smile that I suspected had at least a little bit to do with the nearly empty wineglass on the bar in front of her. "Well, what good timing. I was just telling your sommelier, here, that I decided I'd take you up on that offer of a tour of your winery." She gestured to Jean Luc, who was preening at the correct usage of his title. Jean Luc much preferred the term sommelier to wine steward. Then again, he preferred the French term for anything.

  "Of course," I agreed. "I'd be happy to show you around."

  "Jean Luc was such a dear, he's already let me sample several of your wines. I believe this Petite Sirah is my favorite." She picked up her glass and downed the last dribble of wine from the bottom.

  "We only do it in small runs, but it is very popular," I told her.

  "Only in small runs, huh? Well, then I'll have to order at least a case of it."

  My opinion of her was looking up. "We'll be sure to set one aside for you," I told her, nodding toward Jean Luc.

  "Zee mademoiselle's glass, she seems to be a bit light, no?" Jean said, holding up the bottle. "Another pour for zee jolie femme?" While Jean Luc had been living in the California for years, his French accent remained as thick as ever. Sometimes, I wondered if it was on purpose.