"Thanks," I mumbled, still doing my sarcasm routine.
"Let me fix you something to eat, mija." Conchita fussed over me like a second mother. Not that I complained. I'd hoped to have my own mother fussing over me for many more years than I'd gotten, but life had intervened. So I welcomed what I could get.
"No thanks. I'll just have some coffee," I said. While the cinnamon and vanilla scents were both soothing and familiar, I wasn't sure my churning stomach could handle food yet. And there was that smidge-too-tight dress to take into consideration too.
She clucked her tongue but moved to the coffeepot as I pulled a mug from the overhead cupboard.
"Coffee will rot your stomach," she warned, pouring me a steaming mug of the liquid anyway.
"That's the least of my worries." I grimaced and reached into another cupboard for a painkiller, swallowing two of the over-the-counter tablets dry.
Conchita tutted once again, but knew she was wasting her breath lecturing me about it.
"How did the party go last night?" she asked instead. "I want all the details, especially those of Nolan Becker. Is he as handsome in real life?"
"Ava seems to think so." I sat on the nearest stool, making a mental note to call her later. I'd texted her the briefest of updates before falling into bed the night before, but I knew she'd want the in-person version soon.
"I don't suppose he took his shirt off during the party, huh? He had it off in a hot tub scene last week on the show. Whew!" Conchita fanned herself. "Sent me into hot flashes for the rest of the afternoon!"
I chuckled. "No, Nolan kept his clothes on. But, he was the least eventful part of the evening." I paused. "The night did not end well."
"Oh? What happened?" Apparently Conchita had not tuned in to the news that morning, because I was sure Harper's death was probably on every outlet in America by now.
By the time I had brought Conchita up to date with the events of the previous night, she was sitting opposite me, sipping from her own cup of coffee.
"Poor Harper," she said, shaking her head. "It's a reminder that life is too short to not enjoy what we love."
"Amen to that." I raised my mug and clinked it against hers. Then we sat in silence for a few minutes, each in our own thoughts. Mine wandered toward Harper, wondering if she'd lived her life to the fullest—enjoyed what she'd loved while she'd had the opportunity.
"Anyway," I said, rising and setting my empty coffee mug in the sink, "I wanted to duck over to Carrie's to check on her. Unless anything here needs my immediate attention?"
Conchita shook her head. "No, Jean Luc just stocked the tasting room, and Eddie has the day off." She gave me a knowing grin. "So everything should run smoothly here."
Jean Luc Gasteon was my sommelier—French, finicky, and as knowledgeable about wine as any man I'd ever met. I had no doubt he could run our tasting room blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back if he wanted to. Eddie Bliss, my winery manager, on the other hand, was the exact opposite—as inept as he was jovial and about as quick to catch on to the winemaking business as a sloth being chased by a snail. Eddie had come to me after a long career as a househusband to his partner, Curtis, and while he'd been completely unqualified for the job, he'd been the only person willing to do it for what I could afford to pay. Plus, the customers seemed to enjoy his friendly nature and snappy wardrobe enough that they were usually willing to overlook minor details like him pouring them the wrong wines.
Usually. Though, I had to admit, I'd worry less about my absence that morning without Eddie on the grounds.
"Would you mind finalizing the menu for the weekend brunch for me?" I asked her, already gathering my purse.
She nodded. "Sí. Of course. You go to your friend. Don't worry about us here."
I gave her a grateful smile before I headed back out to my Jeep.
* * *
The Sonoma Valley wasn't large, and it was mostly made up of wineries and weekend estates. Those who lived there full time either owned a winery, worked for a winery, or were part of one of the many businesses that relied on winery driven tourism. The valley's part-timers were often Silicon Valley millionaires—enjoying their vacation homes—and those who flocked to the many bed and breakfasts that their trade kept afloat.
The beauty of the valley was something that I would never tire of. The backdrop of mountains, contrasting against the soft rolling hills and patchwork of vineyards, soothed my nerves as I lowered my window to enjoy the warming spring air.
However, as I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror a few moments later, I quickly wound the window back up. The breeze seemed to be having a detrimental effect on my current hairstyle—which was much more "messy" than "bun" now.
Using one hand to steer and one hand to smooth my hair down, I slowed my Jeep and turned onto Carrie's street.
A bevy of vehicles was parked on both sides of the road, almost blocking the drive to the estate. Slowly moving past them, I noted the dozen or so men snapping their cameras in my direction. Only once they'd had a good look at me, however, they put their cameras away. I took a guess they were paparazzi, and as I was a non-celebrity, it seemed I was of no interest to them.
I gave them a finger wave regardless and made my way past them to where a uniformed officer was standing guard at the driveway entrance. I rolled down my window again and gave him my name, saying I was a friend of Carrie's. It took him a moment of chatting into his radio before I was apparently approved to enter.
As I continued up the paved driveway, I noted the front of the house held almost as many vehicles as the street had, though these were largely white sedans marked as belonging to the Sonoma County Sheriff. I did spot Grant's black SUV as well, and I pulled my Jeep to a stop behind it.
I'd only just gotten out of my car when the front door opened and Carrie came rushing out, grabbing me in a fierce hug.
"Oh Emmy! I'm so happy to see you."
She didn't look happy. In fact, she looked as if she'd been awake most of the night crying, her eyes red, puffy, and sans makeup.
"How are you?" I asked, even though it felt a ridiculous question under the circumstances.
"I don't even know," she answered, her voice cracking. "It's all been such a shock."
"How did you even know I was here?" I asked as I beeped my car locked.
"I've been watching the drive from upstairs. Can you believe how many reporters have gotten wind of Harper's death already? They've been camped out down there since four this morning." She gestured down the driveway, frowning.
"It seems like the police have them under control."
Carrie shrugged. "Physically maybe, but you should see what they've printed."
"That bad?" I asked, following her inside the house.
She nodded. "Some guy at the Sonoma Index-Tribune led with the headline 'Horse Hates on Harper.'"
I cringed. "Let me guess, Bradley Wu?" I'd had a few run-ins in the past with the syndicated food columnist turned Sonoma county gossip who had a flair for the dramatic and an affinity for alliteration.
"I don't know. I didn't pay attention. It's all just too much, you know?"
I put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry."
She patted my hand before leading the way into the kitchen. "They started knocking on the door before the sun was even up," she continued. "Only when Bert called the police did they move off the property for fear of being charged with trespassing. Not that it's stopped all of them." She sat heavily on a stool and rested her elbows on the marble counter, rubbing her face with her hands.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.
"What can any of us do now?" Tears brimmed behind her lashes before she dissolved into a sobbing mess, dropping her head into her hands.
I moved to her and pulled her close, hoping that at least the warmth of another human could fill some of the void she was feeling. Only when she had regained some control of her breathing did I release my hold.
"Can I get you some cof
fee?" I asked, knowing that a hot drink often helped.
She nodded. "Make it an Irish please."
I grinned. Now there was the woman I knew.
From spending the hours that I had the previous evening in her kitchen, I already knew my way around it. I quickly made two cups of coffee—one Irish Coffee laced with whiskey for her and one regular cup loaded with cream and sugar for me.
"I'd invite you to sit on the terrace," Carrie explained as I handed her drink to her, "but the view isn't up to par this morning. I have no idea what the police are doing down at the corral, but there's been someone here all night."
"They're probably still gathering evidence." This wasn't the first time I'd seen Grant in action, and I knew he was thorough.
"Evidence of what? I mean, it's clear what happened."
"What do you think happened?" I asked softly. I was curious about her assessment of her friend's mental state, but I didn't want to upset her further.
Carrie licked her lips. "Well, Harper must have wandered down there by mistake, right? I mean, maybe she didn't realize how wild Dante was. Or maybe she just walked into his pen by accident."
I nodded. I'd gone over those possibilities too.
"I just can't believe she's gone," Carrie said, her voice sounding small. "This time yesterday I was showing her the guest room. She was so full of life."
I had no words, so I just continued to hold her hand.
"Do you know what I'm most worried about now?" she finally said.
"What's that?"
"Dante. Animal Control removed him from the property, and I have no idea where they've have taken him or what they're going to do to him. I mean, they wouldn't…" She trailed off, licking her lips again. "Like, put him down or something, would they?"
I shrugged. Honestly, I had no idea.
"Dante didn't mean to hurt Harper," Carrie pressed. "He would have just been scared. This is a new home for him, and he didn't know any of us. For Harper to have wandered into his corral in the middle of the night, he would have been petrified. It wasn't his fault, and he doesn't deserve to die for acting on instinct."
I hurriedly grabbed a box of tissues from the corner of the room as Carrie once again threatened tears.
"Carrie, where's Bert?" I asked, hoping for some backup to comfort her.
She shrugged, sniffing into a tissue. "I think he and Nolan went down to the corral. He wanted to make sure that the police weren't damaging any property." She took a long sip of her coffee, which seemed to calm her—though whether it was the warmth or the alcohol, I wasn't sure. "Bert's taking all of this pretty hard," she told me.
"Oh?" I tried to keep my voice neutral even as my mind flipped back to seeing him slip upstairs with Harper at the party.
Carrie nodded. "He feels responsible. You know, it happening at our party and all."
"Were they close?" I asked in what I hoped was a casual voice. "Bert and Harper?"
Carrie shrugged. "I mean, they were friendly."
My suspicion was that they were very friendly, but now was not the time to lay that on my friend. "Did they spend a lot of time together?" I asked, trying to sound offhand about it. "I mean, just the two of them?"
A small frown marred Carrie's pretty face, but she just shrugged again. "Some. I mean, Bert said he was giving Harper some advice on some investments. But other than that, I don't think they had a lot in common. Except me."
"Did Bert give out advice to a lot of people…or just Harper?" I asked, feeling like I was treading in touchy territory.
"I-I'm not really sure. Bert's so good with money. I don't know what I would do without him. I mean, all those balance sheets and legal jargon could be Pig Latin for all I understand them." She paused. "But Harper seemed happy with what he was doing for her."
Hmmm. I'd bet she was. Bert was a good-looking guy. I could see lots of women being happy with what he could do for them.
I was about to ask more, when the man in question walked through the back door. He was dressed in a pair of casual jeans and a flannel shirt, but something about the attire felt as if he were playing the role of a rugged country man more than being one. His sandy hair was just a little too styled and his clean-shaven face a little too smooth. Though, as with Carrie, I could see the effects of a sleepless night in his eyes—puffy dark circles rimming them.
"It's crazy out there," Bert muttered. Then he paused, his gaze going to me. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize you weren't alone."
"I just wanted to stop by to check in on Carrie," I explained.
"Right." He gave me a dismissive nod before turning to his wife, pulling her in close for a hug and kissing the top of her head. "How are you, darling?"
"Much better after Emmy made me coffee."
She held up her cup, and Bert sniffed at it. "Scotch?"
"And plenty of it." Carrie lifted the cup in a salute.
"Sounds delightful. Uh, Emmy, you wouldn't mind making another, would you?"
I got the distinct feeling Bert saw me more as "the help" than the friend Carrie had introduced me as the previous night.
But instead of voicing those thoughts, I gave him a forced smile and the benefit of the doubt. A woman had died on his property the night before. A friend even. Grief didn't always allow the best version of ourselves to come forward.
"Happy to," I told him.
As I busied myself at the coffee machine, Bert sat at the island alongside Carrie.
"What are the police doing down there?" she asked him, her voice shaky, as if part of her didn't want to know.
"Last I saw, they were talking to Tripp."
"Tripp?" Carrie asked. "Why? Did he see something last night?"
"I don't know, babe," he told her on a sigh. "I think they're being thorough."
"Did they say anything about Dante?" she asked.
I glanced over my shoulder to catch Bert's response. Honestly, I was of the same mind as Carrie—I hated to see the creature put down over this. Sure, it was clear he was a dangerous wild animal. But it wasn't as if he'd gotten out and hurt someone. Harper had been in his pen.
"No," Bert answered. "Animal Control said they just had an order to secure the animal for now."
"Well, that's good," Carrie said, forced optimism in her voice. "I mean, maybe they just need to make sure he's okay, right?"
"I really don't know, sweetheart," Bert said again.
"Did you see how many reporters are out there now?" Carrie asked, changing the subject.
Bert nodded. "Vultures." He glanced my way. "How's the coffee coming?"
My forced smile was faltering. "Just about done," I managed, adding a generous helping of Scotch into his cup before I slid it toward him.
"It just doesn't seem real," Carrie said, shaking her head again. "I mean, what was Harper doing down there anyway?"
I'd been wondering the same thing. "Harper didn't say anything to either of you about going to see Dante last night, did she?"
Carrie shook her head. Bert did the same.
"And you didn't hear anything?" I asked.
Again Carrie shook in the negative.
"But we wouldn't have, then, would we?" Bert reasoned. "With the music and the party going."
Grant had said that Harper likely died around midnight—about an hour before I'd found her. I tried to think back to just how lively the party had still been at that time. "When did people start leaving the party?" I asked.
Carrie frowned. "Well, I guess it varied. I mean I think Eric, from the network, was the first to leave, right?" She turned to Bert for confirmation, who gave her a quick nod. "A few early birds trickled out after him. But I think it didn't really start to thin out until, maybe twelve-thirty or so?"
Bert nodded. "At least then." He paused, looking at me. "Why?"
I shrugged. "I guess I was just wondering if anyone might have seen Harper going outside."
"I didn't notice," Carrie admitted. "Then again, I was at the front door saying goodbye to a lot of people. A
nd you"—she turned to Bert—"you were…"
"Around. Probably grabbing more wine." He gave her a wry smile.
Carrie shook her head. "Well, the police talked to everyone last night. I'm sure if someone saw something, they told that detective about it."
"I'm sure they did." Bert drained his cup and set it on the counter with a loud clink. "Well, if you ladies will excuse me, I have some transactions I need to attend to before the market opens in Tokyo."
"Of course," Carrie agreed, though the look in her eyes said she didn't relish the thought of being left alone.
Bert must have seen it too, as he added, "I'll be in the den if you need me."
She sent him a grateful smile, and he kissed her on the top of the head again before exiting the room.
Once he was gone, Carrie swished the dregs of her coffee in its cup, looking so sad and small that she kicked up maternal instincts in me that I didn't know I had.
"You sure you're going to be okay?" I asked.
She nodded into her cup. Then she sucked in a big fortifying breath of air before lifting her eyes to meet mine. "I have to go see Harper's family." She sent me a grimace. "Offering them my condolences is the least I can do."
"You sure you're up for that today?"
She shrugged. "Are any of us? I mean, her parents must be devastated."
"You said they lived in Napa?"
She nodded. "They have a place near the country club. I stayed there with Harper once when we did a wine tasting weekend." Her eyes took on a sad, faraway look as she relived the memory.
"I could go with you," I offered. While the last thing I wanted to do was face a grieving family I'd never met before, I couldn't stand how shattered Carrie looked. There was nothing any of us could do for Harper, but at least I could be there for my friend.
"Oh, would you?" she breathed.
I nodded. "I'd be happy to," I agreed, grabbing Bert's empty mug and placing it in the sink.
"I honestly don't even know them well," Carrie went on. "They were out of town when Harper and I were there last time, but I know their names are Alistair and Katherine, and Harper has an older sister who lives with them as well—"
Death in Wine Country (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 5) Page 4
