All Night Long

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Luke whistled softly. “No wonder Irene’s cooked up a conspiracy theory to explain the killings. She’s had plenty of ammunition to work with, hasn’t she? No file on the case. The chief who took over after her father dies rather conveniently six months later—”

  “Don’t drag Bob Thornhill into this. He was a good man who got nothing but a lifetime of bad luck. He spent a year taking care of his wife while she died of cancer, and then the poor guy gets hit with a heart attack, goes off the road and drowns.”

  “What are the odds, huh?”

  “Now look here, Danner,” Sam said softly, “you won’t be doing Irene any favors by encouraging her in her loony conspiracy theories. Rumor has it she’s been diagnosed with that trauma thing that soldiers sometimes get after they’ve been in combat.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Not like it’s any big secret around here,” Sam said. “Look, all I’m saying is that you aren’t helping her by feeding her fantasies. In fact, you may get her into some real bad trouble.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Sam hesitated. “When I told Senator Webb about the fire, the first thing he asked me was whether or not I thought Irene had set it.”

  This was bad news, Luke thought.

  “You told him no, right?” he said evenly.

  “I told him I didn’t have any suspects yet. But between you and me, Webb figures Irene may have lost it after she found Pamela’s body. He’s thinking that she torched the house because of some kind of crazy fixation.”

  “You’ve got my statement backing up Irene’s version of what happened.”

  “I told the senator that you were there and what you saw,” Sam said. “Thing is, like a lot of other people around here, Webb figures you’re sleeping with Irene. To his way of thinking that means you’re not the most reliable witness. He also pointed out that you’re new here in town. No one knows much about you.”

  “What’s the senator planning to do about his burned-out house?”

  Sam’s expression hardened. “The man’s making arrangements to bury his daughter. He doesn’t want any more trouble. He just wants to make this whole thing go away.”

  “Looks like he’s using you to make sure that happens,” Luke said.

  Sam turned a dark, furious shade of red. “What the hell are you saying, Danner?”

  “I’m saying it’s not your job to make things go away for Senator Webb.”

  Luke put the SUV in gear and drove back onto the road that led to the lodge.

  Twenty-one

  They met in the cool, fragrant shadows of the red wine fermentation cellars. Most of the big California wineries had opted for modern steel fermentation tanks for their big reds, but Elena Creek Vineyards had used a lot of oak right from the start. The wood, imported from Europe, added distinctive characteristics not only to the cabernets but to the very air of the cellars.

  Jason inhaled deeply, as he always did when he entered the cavernous room. He loved the place. He savored everything about it, from the big vats to the unique smells created in the magical process of fermentation.

  “Did he look depressed?” Katy asked anxiously.

  “We’re talking about Luke,” Jason reminded her. “If he was depressed, he sure as heck wouldn’t make it obvious. Never knew anyone who could hide his feelings as well as Big Brother. But no, I don’t think he was depressed. If you ask me, he’s having a very good time up there at Ventana Lake.”

  Her eyes widened. “A good time?”

  Jason smiled. “Yep.”

  Hackett folded his arms and propped a shoulder against one of the fermentation tanks. “How could he be having a good time? You said he found a dead woman and nearly got incinerated in a house fire.”

  “Yeah, well, you know Luke,” Jason said. “He’s got an odd kick to his gallop when it comes to fun.”

  “Or anything else,” Hackett said wearily. “Damn. The Old Man isn’t going to like this. Neither is Mom.”

  “Or Dad, for that matter,” Katy said. She rubbed her temples. “They’re all so worried about Luke.”

  “I thought it would make them feel better knowing that he’s not sitting around that tumbledown lodge, getting drunk on bad wine and staring at the lake day in and day out,” Jason said, going for reasonableness. “Plus he’s got a new girlfriend. That should be very reassuring to everyone.”

  Katy looked at him with an expression of suddenly sharp interest. “Do you think they’re sleeping together?”

  Hackett was also watching him closely, Jason realized.

  “Well?” Hackett demanded.

  “Maybe not quite yet,” Jason admitted. “Irene arrived at the lodge only a couple of days ago. I got the impression that the first night she and Luke were sort of busy finding the body. The second night there was that business with the arson. Things have been a little hectic up there at the lake.”

  “And extremely stressful, from the sound of it.” Katy sighed. “You know Dr. Van Dyke says that Luke should not be subjected to too much stress.”

  “I’m just telling you that it’s not like Luke and Irene have had a lot of time or opportunity for romance,” Jason explained. “But there’s definitely something going on between those two. I’m sure of it. When you’re in the room with that pair, you can almost hear the sizzle.”

  Hackett and Katy looked at him with expressions of acute doubt.

  “The question,” Hackett said, “is whether the sizzle fizzles before it gets to ignition point.”

  “Okay, so we all know that Luke had that little problem six months ago,” Jason said. “I got the distinct impression it’s not worrying him much now.”

  Hackett’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Katy and then looked away again very quickly. “He’s not likely to talk about that kind of problem to anyone.”

  “It’s a medical issue,” Katy said firmly. “He should discuss it with a doctor.”

  Jason spread his hands. “What everyone in this family can’t seem to grasp is that Luke is a little different.”

  Katy and Hackett exchanged glances again. This time they did a little eye rolling.

  What was it with these two? Jason wondered. On occasion they seemed to be able to communicate telepathically. But most of the time these days they danced around each other like a couple of bad-tempered cats. It wasn’t unusual to see them go from shared laughter to edgy irritation in the space of a couple of heartbeats. They argued over everything from the plans to remodel the old tasting room to the design of the new label for the zins.

  It hadn’t been like that in the old days when they were all growing up together, he recalled. Katy and Hackett had been best friends since forever. It was Hackett who had taken Katy to the senior prom when her date dumped her at the last minute. And it was Katy who had consoled Hackett when his college girlfriend ditched him in favor of his roommate. They’d always had a lot in common. They enjoyed going to the opera together in San Francisco, and they loved sampling new restaurants and the competition’s wines.

  But something about their relationship had changed dramatically about six months ago. It was almost as if Katy’s short engagement to Luke had done something weird to both of them.

  “Okay, so we all do grasp the concept of Luke being different,” Jason conceded. “But what I’m trying to say is that he’s different from the rest of us because he doesn’t feel the way we do about the business.” He motioned toward the jungle of large vats that surrounded them. “The Old Man and Gordon have got to give up the idea of bringing him into the company. It’s not going to happen.”

  Katy looked thoughtful. “I think they could deal with his refusal to come into the business if they felt assured that he had found something stable and secure for himself. It’s the fact that he’s so unsettled that’s bothering them. They’ve got visions of him winding up on a street corner in San Francisco, panhandling for spare change.”

  “For what it’s worth, I honestly don’t think he’s on t
he edge of flipping out or anything,” Jason said. “He’ll be at the birthday party. You can see for yourself.”

  “It isn’t us he has to convince,” Hackett muttered. “It’s Mom and Gordon and the Old Man.”

  “Okay, that could be a problem,” Jason said.

  Twenty-two

  The sound of Luke’s SUV in the drive interrupted Irene just as she was preparing to come up into a full teaser position. Two sharp, demanding knocks a short time later told her that the driver was not in a great mood.

  “Come in,” she said, holding the V-shaped pose, her legs and arms in the air, toes pointed, balanced on her sitting bones.

  Luke opened the door and looked at her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Pilates exercises.” She came out of the movement and rolled to her feet. “I took it up a couple of years ago. It’s all about core strength. A lot of dancers use it. It didn’t replace leaving the lights on all night long. But it did take the place of needing to check the kitchen sink half a dozen times to make sure the water was turned off every time I left my apartment. That was getting bad.”

  “Replace one obsessive little habit with another? Yeah, I know all about that theory.” He closed the door. “But do us both a favor. Don’t let any of the locals see you practice your Pilates, okay? We don’t need to add any more layers of weirdness to your image.”

  Definitely not a good mood.

  “I find the exercises helpful when I’m trying to clarify my thoughts.”

  “Getting away from Dunsley for a while would help me clarify mine.” He walked into the kitchenette. “What do you say we take a drive?”

  She watched him open the refrigerator, acting like he owned the place. She reminded herself that he did own it.

  “All right,” she said, oddly cautious.

  He took out a bottle of water and snapped off the top. “Figured we could have dinner in Kirbyville.”

  It wasn’t what anyone would call a romantic invitation, she thought. On the other hand, dinner on the other side of the lake sounded like a lot more fun than the two outings she had recently organized for him.

  “Okay,” she said. “But first tell me what’s wrong.”

  He settled back against the counter. “For over five months I have been a model citizen here in Dunsley. Not even a speeding ticket. Today the chief of police felt it necessary to deliver a warning.”

  Guilt and dread splashed through her like acid. “Sam McPherson threatened you?”

  “It was a little more subtle than that, but yeah, that was the bottom line. Kind of ticked me off, if you want to know the truth, given my exemplary behavior and all.”

  “Luke, this is all my fault.”

  “That,” he said, tossing his car keys into the air, “has not escaped my notice.” He caught the keys and started toward her. “Come on, let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”

  The farther they got from Dunsley, the more relaxed Irene felt. It occurred to her that she had not realized how much stress and tension had been locked up in her muscles since she arrived in town.

  Night was falling fast. The waters of the lake were almost black under a dark, heavy sky that promised rain sometime before dawn. She was intimately aware of Luke’s presence next to her in the front compartment of the big vehicle.

  The road that wound around the long, convoluted border of the lake was a two-lane strip of pavement that twisted and curved in a whimsical fashion. Luke drove it with efficiency and precision but he took his time. She got the impression that he was in no rush to reach their destination.

  “I talked to Addy today,” she said after a while. “She told me that I shouldn’t bother going to San Francisco to cover Pamela’s funeral. She said it’s bound to be a carefully orchestrated event and that I’d be wasting my time because I won’t be able to ask any tough questions.”

  “She’s probably right.”

  She looked at him. “What did Phil Carpenter have to say?”

  “He confirmed what Connie Watson told us. No indication that Pamela had a man with her when she arrived in Dunsley on her last visit.”

  Irene watched the evening shadows move out of the trees and swallow up the rest of the landscape. “The one thing everyone seems to agree on is that Pamela did not follow her usual routine this time. She had a special reason for traveling to Dunsley, and it wasn’t to kill herself.”

  “She wanted to meet with you.”

  “Yes.”

  He chose a restaurant that he had discovered by accident shortly after moving to the lake. The Kirbyville Marina Café was a tad ritzier than most of the other eateries in the vicinity. He hoped Irene would find the fake Italian palazzo atmosphere cozy, maybe even intimate. Like every other establishment in the area, the place was only lightly crowded at this time of year. He had no trouble convincing the hostess to produce a table near the windows.

  Irene sat down and looked around curiously. “This is new. It wasn’t here when I lived in Dunsley.”

  Luke opened his menu. “Contrary to popular opinion, some things do change.”

  She smiled. “Maybe on this side of the lake. Not over in Dunsley, at least not as far as I can tell. It’s scary how little that town has changed.”

  “We came over here to get away from Dunsley for a while. What do you say we talk about something else?”

  “Good idea.” She gave the menu her full attention. “I think I’ll have the sautéed shrimp and the avocado salad.”

  “I’m going for the spaghetti. Same salad.”

  “I don’t see any Elena Creek Vineyards wines on the list,” she said.

  “Check out the Rain Creek selections. It’s the label Elena Creek Vineyards uses to market some less expensive blends.”

  “I know that label. I can actually afford Rain Creek wines. I especially like the sauvignon blanc.”

  “Rain Creek was my brother Hackett’s idea. He wanted to go after the mid-range customer, but he had a heck of a time convincing the Old Man and Gordon to buy into the idea. They liked the exclusive image they’d cultivated all these years. So Hackett came up with the idea of using another label. It’s worked well.”

  “What do you think about using another label?”

  He shrugged. “Not my problem. I decided long ago that I wasn’t going to be an asset to the family business. After I got out of the Marines, I let the Old Man and Gordon talk me into giving it a shot, but it was a disaster.”

  They gave their orders to the waiter. When the young man left a heavy silence enveloped the table. Irene seemed absorbed in her glass of wine and the view of the night-darkened lake.

  Luke wondered if he had made a serious mistake when he suggested that they change the topic of conversation. Maybe she found him hopelessly dull and boring if they weren’t discussing the problem in Dunsley. He wondered what she talked about when she was with other men.

  “Looks like rain,” he said, digging deep for inspiration.

  “Mmm, yes.”

  Dig deeper, pal. You’re losing her here.

  He reached into the bread basket and selected a breadstick.

  Inspiration finally struck.

  “I have to put in an appearance at the Old Man’s birthday celebration tomorrow night,” he said. “I could use a sidekick.”

  She gave him a blank look. “Sidekick?”

  “Date,” he corrected quickly.

  “You need a date to go to a birthday party?”

  “Trust me, we’re not talking a small family get-together. The Old Man’s birthday is a major social event in Santa Elena. Every winemaker in the valley and a lot of people from the town will be there. You’d be doing me a very big favor.”

  “Sounds like fun,” she said. “I’d love to go with you.”

  He suddenly felt remarkably more cheerful. “Thanks. We’ll drive to Santa Elena tomorrow afternoon. The party will run late, so we might as well spend the night at the Santa Elena Inn and return to Dunsley the following morning.”

  �
�Just one thing,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Why will I be doing you a big favor?”

  He turned the wineglass a little between his fingers, deciding how much to tell her. “I’ve already explained that my family has been worried about me for the past few months.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think that if I show up with you, it will reassure everyone.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Got it. You think that if you arrive at the party with a date, your relatives will think you’re moving past the PTSD thing and getting back to normal.”

  He took a swallow of the wine and slowly lowered the glass. “Unfortunately, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “How much more complicated can it get?”

  “Like I said, when I got out of the Marines, everyone was very anxious for me to return to the family fold. What can I say? Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “In other words, you subscribed to the notion of getting back to a normal life. What’s wrong with that?”

  He looked at her. “Lady, I’m a Marine. I don’t just subscribe to notions. Once I decided to go for normal, I committed myself one hundred percent to the mission. I established the goal and devised a strategy for achieving my objective. I then proceeded to execute that strategy using a very precise timetable.”

  She winced. “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh is right. Turns out being normal is a little trickier than it looks. One of those nuance things, I guess.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I was doing okay for a while,” he said judiciously. “Making real progress. Met my first objective just fine. Took the job in the family business. It was boring as hell, of course, but I did it. Went to lots of meetings. Read the company financials. Entertained some clients. But I ran into a little trouble with the second objective.”

  “Which was?”

  “I decided that part of the definition of being normal meant getting married and starting a family.”

  She watched him with a veiled expression. “Jason said something about an engagement that did not work out?”

  “Dad’s partner, Gordon Foote, has a daughter. Katy. She’s a couple years older than Jason. Her parents were divorced when she was in her teens. She spent most of her time with her father, and that meant she grew up in the wine business, surrounded by Danners. She works in the public relations department. I’ve known her all of her life.”