"In that case, it wasn't the killer who stole the emerald at all but Gia," Ava went on. "So…where is the emerald now?"
I shrugged. "That is a very good question. If the killer didn't take it…"
Ava's eyes lit up like Christmas. "Then it might still be at the Links!"
CHAPTER TEN
Thirty minutes later, we cruised up to the front of the Links and handed the keys to Ava's GTO over to the valet. The wide glass doors of the exclusive club silently opened with a woosh of cool air that was a welcome relief to the climbing temperatures of the early afternoon. Our heels clacked along the polished marble floors as we made our way across the lobby to the reception counter.
"Good afternoon, and welcome to the Links," a young woman whose nametag read Cindy told us. "Guests or members?"
"Hi, Cindy," Ava said, giving her a bright smile. "We're, uh, guests. Ava Barnett."
Cindy gave her a polite smile before turning her attention to a computer screen behind the polished walnut counter. "Ava Barnett," she repeated, typing the name into her system. A beat later, she turned the same pleasant smile back to us. "I'm sorry, but your name is not on our list today."
"It's not." Ava shot me a look. "Uh, I was here with the fashion show the other day."
"Oh." Cindy's smile faltered. "Yes, well, our vendor passes were only good for the event itself. Sorry." She gave us a palms-up and a shrug.
Ava pursed her lips. "Uh, well, I think I might have left something behind."
Cindy frowned again. "Nothing has been turned in to lost and found. But, if you give me a description of the item, I'll have one of our crew double check for it and give you a call if it turns up."
I had a feeling if the crew had found a hundred thousand dollar emerald, Cindy would have known about it by now.
"There's nothing you can do?" I asked, hearing the plea in my voice. "Ava's dad is a long-standing member."
"Has he left a guest pass for her?" Cindy asked.
Reluctantly we both shook our heads.
"Sorry," Cindy repeated. "Our members really value their privacy."
Ava sighed, shooting me a look of desperation.
While I hated to do it, I did know another member of the Links, and being that it was after noon on a Monday, he'd probably be hard at work in his usual capacity in one of the back rooms of the club.
"Um, what about David Allen?" I asked. "Is he by any chance here?"
Cindy hesitated before answering. "I-I'm sorry. I can't give out information about club members who are on premises."
Which I took as a yes.
"Thanks, Cindy," I told her, stepping away from the desk.
"What now?" Ava asked, eyes going to the forbidden zone beyond the lobby where the club rooms sat.
"Now we exploit a precarious friendship," I told her, pulling up David's number on my phone.
I listened to it ring three times on the other end, hoping he didn't have his ringer turned off. Luck was on my side, as on the fourth ring, he answered.
"Emmy Oak, to what do I owe this fine pleasure?"
"Hi, David," I answered. "You at the Links right now?"
"I am. Just finished a game with a couple of investment brokers who should have stuck to the stock market," he said with a chuckle.
David Allen had grown up a trust fund kid of a Silicon Valley mogul, who now spent the bulk of his days card sharking the rich and unsuspecting of Wine Country. Not that he needed the money—he was in it purely for the thrill of the win. And possibly a little for rebellious enjoyment of watching those in high society squirm. When David wasn't bilking the upper crust out of their hardly earned cash, his hobbies included smoking marijuana, painting dark and brooding artwork, playing video games in the guest house on his mother's estate, and hanging around my winery to mooch free drinks.
When I'd first met David, he'd been a suspect in a murder investigation, and while he'd proven himself innocent of that particular crime, I had a feeling there were some shady parts of his past it was best not to ask about—lest I become an accessory after the fact. We had a complicated relationship that I'd hesitate to classify. David had come to my aid on more than one occasion, but I was never quite sure what he expected from me in return for that aid. Or when he'd choose to cash in that favor.
Which made me hesitant to ask for another one.
"I'm glad you're here," I started, "because Ava and I are too. And we need a couple of guest passes."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with the death that occurred here the other day, would it?" he asked. I could hear rustling on the other end, like he was moving.
"Uh, no. Not really," I hedged.
"Wow. You're even a terrible liar over the phone."
I rolled my eyes.
What? Ava mouthed.
I shook my head. "Look, we just need to get into the Grand Ballroom for a minute. Just to check something. We won't cause any trouble."
"That's disappointing. I could go for a little trouble right about now."
"Are you going to get us in or not?"
I heard more movement, like he was shifting the phone. "Ems, you know I'd do anything for you."
Something about the statement caught me off guard, suddenly making me doubly unsure I'd made the right call.
"You in the lobby?" he asked.
I cleared the uncertainty out of my throat. "Uh, yeah."
"I'll call in the passes. Meet me in the lounge."
I was about to respond that we really didn't need to bother him with a meet, but he didn't give me the chance before disconnecting.
"So is he going to do it?" Ava asked, eyes cutting past me to the hallway again.
I nodded. "He said he'd call in passes."
She sighed in relief, her sunny smile retuning. "I knew we could count on him."
Ten minutes later, Cindy had happily issued our passes and unnecessarily directed us down the hall and to our right to the lounge. Unnecessarily, because despite our nonmember status, we'd been there on multiple occasions, not the least of which had been for the reception following the fashion show. As on our previous visits, the hallways were filled with the sounds of a calming flute piped in through hidden speakers, the faint scent of lavender from the nearby day spa, and perfectly cool 75 degree air year round.
While I could feel Ava's eagerness in the way her gaze darted toward the hallway to the Grand Ballroom, she followed as I detoured to the lounge, which was a large dark room overlooking the green, filled with a long wooden bar on one side and a baby grand piano on the other, currently being played by a guy in ripped jeans and a black T-shirt, his long dark hair falling into his eyes.
Which was a surprise. I didn't know David Allen played.
Ava went up to him and gave him a hug from behind. "Thank you so much."
David's hands stilled, the music ceasing, as he turned to face us. "Now, would I leave a couple of my favorite damsels in distress?"
Ava curtsied. "Thank you, my white knight."
My eyes twitched to roll again, but considering he had done us a favor, I kept them in check.
David's gaze lifted to meet mine. "Emmy." He nodded my way.
"David." I nodded back.
Which earned me a lopsided grin. "Okay, so lay it on me. What are you two girls up to today?"
"Women," I automatically corrected.
His grin widened. "Trust me, I'm aware." I wasn't sure if his look was mocking or flirtatious as it roved my person, but I chose to ignore it either way, focusing on his question instead.
"We wanted to look for something that might have been left behind in Gia's dressing room." I quickly filled him in on our theory of Gia's death and the theft of the necklace, as well as the story of the disappearing-reappearing ruby earrings, and the hope that if we were right, the emerald may still be on the premises.
When I'd finished, David was lightly stroking the piano keys again in thought. "'It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.'" He paused, attribut
ing his quote. "Tolstoy."
"Well, the Russian was on to something there," Ava agreed. "The more we find out about Gia, the less goodness we see."
"So, you think maybe she was caught in the act, so to speak, and didn't have time to finish swapping her gems?" David asked.
Ava nodded. "We can hope at least."
He shot her a sympathetic look. "The piece was worth a lot, huh?"
She nodded. "It was a bigger gamble than I should have taken."
"Don't say that." He got up from the piano and faced her. "If you want to win big, you have to gamble big."
"Is that what you told the investment brokers?" I teased.
He chuckled, but turned to Ava. "Don't worry, babe. We'll get it back."
Ava's eyes misted as she smiled and nodded.
David pulled her in for a hug.
"Wait—what's with the we?" I asked, jumping on the word and breaking up their love fest.
David pulled back. "Oh, I'm sorry—did you have a plan to get into a sealed crime scene without me?"
"Sealed crime scene?" I glanced to Ava. I guess I hadn't thought about that factor.
David nodded. "Cheesy yellow tape covering the doors and everything. Cliché, but what can you do?"
"Okay, so what can you do?" I asked.
"Follow me." He gave me a wink and grabbed Ava by the hand, leading us from the lounge and back down the main hallway.
As much as I felt like I was the unsuspecting rat suddenly being led by the pied piano player into territory that no rat should enter, I was already in this deep, so I had little choice but to scurry along behind them.
I tried not to feel like a third wheel as Ava and David mumbled softly to each other, their heads bent together as they walked arm in arm down the hallway. They were huddled a little closer than made me comfortable. I'd suspected lately that David had designs on Ava, a thought that made me nervous, as I knew his bad boy persona was not all for show. But I stowed that worry away as we pushed through the double doors to the Grand Ballroom.
All the remnants of the previous fashion show were gone, leaving in its place a bare shell of a room. The tables that had been used to lay out garments and accessories now had their legs folded in and were leaning against the far wall in neat rows, ready to be stored away. Chairs were stacked on top of each other, tucked into the back corner, and the empty room echoed with the sound of our footsteps on the polished wood floor. The only sign that anything had happened there that weekend was, as David had noted, the clichéd yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the air conditioning across the closed door to what had been Gia's private dressing room.
Ava approached first, gingerly reaching around the plastic barrier and trying the doorknob. "It's locked," she informed us.
Of course it was. It was a crime scene. Again, I felt naïve for not having been prepared for this recovery mission.
"Let me try it," David said, swapping spots with Ava.
She stepped back, and David jiggled the knob with much the same luck.
"See?" she said. "I don't know how we're going to—what are you doing?"
David pulled something from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole. "I'm picking the lock."
"How do you know how to—" I started. Then I shook my head. "Wait, never mind. Don't tell me. I want plausible deniability."
David grinned, his gaze cutting to me. "Then you better cover your eyes for this."
I almost wanted to comply.
Ava glanced over her shoulder nervously. "We're awfully exposed here," she noted, eyes going around the large, empty room. "Maybe someone should go be a lookout?"
"Lookout? Lock picking? Why do I suddenly feel like I'm in a bad eighties cop show?" I asked, feeling worse and worse about this idea as the seconds ticked by.
David tsked between his teeth. "Eighties cop shows are the best. Miami Vice?"
"Cagney & Lacey," Ava added.
"Murder She Wrote," David teased, shooting me a look that clearly said I was supposed to be the Jessica Fletcher style dead body magnet in this scenario.
I threw my hands up in surrender. "Fine! Ava, go be a lookout."
Ava grinned. "Codeword: Columbo."
"Codeword?" I asked as she turned away. "Why do we need a codeword?"
"In case anyone comes," she called over her shoulder, jogging toward the hallway to stand guard.
"She's joking, right?" I asked David.
He shrugged. "She's your friend."
"Yeah, but she's your—" I wasn't quite sure what she was to David. I'd witnessed flirtation, and I suspected it might be more. At least on his side. How Ava felt, I hadn't had the courage to ask yet. "—friend too," I finished lamely.
David shot me a funny look, but luckily the lock picking had most of his attention, so he let it go.
"How much longer?" I asked, whispering in the cavernous room.
"Almost there," he said.
"How can you tell?" I bent down, squinting at the knob, which looked exactly the same as it had when we'd first come up with this harebrained scheme.
"It's just a matter of getting all the pins above the shear line. I've got the first one already. A few more to go."
"How long will that take?"
"Patience, my dear." He started whistling the Jeopardy! theme song as he worked.
I sighed, staring out at the large, empty, and very exposed room again. "What was that you were playing in the lounge? Bach?"
"Beethoven."
"I didn't know you played the piano," I told him.
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Ems," he said, eyes on the keyhole.
"Like you know how to pick locks, for example?"
"Hey, when your family is as good at keeping secrets as mine is, you learn a few choice skills."
He wasn't kidding. The murder I'd once upon a time suspected him of had been his stepfather's. When the truth had finally come out, it had resulted in one member of his family in prison and another fleeing the country. No one put the fun in dysfunctional like David's family. To be honest, I sometimes thought it was a wonder he'd grown up to be as normal as he was.
Well, normalish.
I was about to ask how his mother was doing, when he froze, a triumphant smile on his face. "I think that's it," he said. He put his hand on the knob and slowly twisted.
And the door pushed easily open.
He straightened up and shot me grin. "Thank you, once again, David."
I couldn't help a laugh. "Thank you, David," I repeated.
He stepped his long legs over the yellow ribbons crisscrossing the doorway, holding them down with a hand for me to do the same. My left foot got caught part of the way over, but I managed to pry it free with a couple of less than graceful hops forward and a lunging landing.
"You okay?" David asked.
"Peachy. Let's find this emerald." I wasn't sure why I was whispering, but somehow in the confines of the murder scene, it felt appropriate.
While I'd gotten a quick look in Gia's dressing room on the previous occasions that I'd been there, Gia herself had been the focus of my attention then. I looked around, taking in the room itself for the first time. It wasn't large—probably used as a small office or conference room on other occasions. A dressing table to my left looked specially placed for the fashion show and held a large mirror above it surrounded by LED lights. A couple of tote bags of personal items sat beneath it, along with a black makeup bag. To my left was a small rolling suitcase, like I'd seen Jada with. Some old filing cabinets stood behind it, and on the far wall were built-in wooden cupboards and drawers.
David started with the built-ins, randomly opening them to reveal extra toilet paper and brown paper towels for the restrooms.
I moved to the vanity, grabbing the tote bag. I wasn't sure if Gia had been inherently messy or if the police had left things in disarray, but all of the contents seemed to have been thrown together in a jumble that had no organization to it. A pair of black flip-flops, a b
ag of tissues, a charging cord, a couple pens, a pair of novelty socks. No emerald.
And, I noticed, no phone, tablet, or laptop. If Gia had had any electronics on her, the police had already confiscated those.
I looked under the vanity, along the floor behind the door, and behind the bright mirror. Still nothing.
David was making a show of digging through the rolling suitcase, but he'd probably already accepted what I didn't want to admit.
"It's not here," I mumbled.
David glanced up at me. "Looks like your boyfriend has already done a pretty thorough search." He set the suitcase aside. "Not very tidily, I'll add."
"He's not my boyfriend," I said as I plopped down in the chair.
David gave me another funny look before zipping the suitcase shut again. "Whatever you say, Ems."
"But you're right. It looks they've been through everything. If the emerald was in Gia's things, the police would have found it already."
Which, now that I said it out loud, sounded ridiculously obvious.
"Hey, it was worth looking," David said softly. "It was always possible they overlooked something."
Possible. But not likely.
Even though I knew it wasn't my fault, I felt like I'd let Ava down.
I absently grabbed the makeup bag, riffling through its also-not-tidily searched contents. Partly out of a last shred of hope there was something left behind and partly out of at least being able to tell Ava we'd left no stone unturned.
Eyeshadow, liner, lipstick in a dozen or more shades. Even though professional makeup artists had been on hand for the show, it appeared Gia didn't like to leave anything to chance. Or maybe this was just her personal stash—all the important tricks of her trade that made her look as stunning as she had for after parties and meet-and-greets. I noticed several small jars of different types of moisturizers, cover ups, under eye concealers. And one round container that caught my attention.
I reached inside the makeup bag and pulled it out. "Wrinkle cream?"
David looked up from the fruitless searching again. "What?"
"Gia had wrinkle cream in her makeup bag."
"So?" he asked. "Don't all women have that?"
Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6) Page 11
