"Have you found anything?" Ava called.
"Not yet. You?"
"Nothing. Well, nothing other than a lot of junk food and a dead roach."
"Gross." I dropped to my knees to search under the bed. "Hang on…" My light fell on a navy blue gym bag with a logo of the Links club on it. I pushed the empty bottle of Jack aside and tugged the bag toward me.
"What is it?" Ava asked, coming into the room behind me.
"Duffel bag." I showed it to her. "But Tripp doesn't strike me as one of the Links set," I said, pointing to the logo.
"Definitely not," Ava said. She crouched down beside me.
"It's heavy," I noted. I unzipped it, and Ava turned her light toward the contents.
A stack of twenty-dollar bills shone back at us.
Make that lots of stacks, all bundled together with rubber bands.
Ava gave a low whistle. "Whoa."
Whoa was right. I moved the top couple of stacks to reveal more beneath.
"How much do you think is in there?" Ava asked.
"A lot," I decided.
Ava grabbed a couple of bundles and started counting. "There's got to be thousands here. I'm guessing at least ten grand."
"What is Tripp doing with ten grand in cash under his bed?" I mused out loud.
"Blackmail payment?" Ava offered.
I nodded. "Could be."
"Which means Harper did pay him before she died."
I glanced down at the Links logo on the side of the bag again. If Tripp wasn't a member, that meant the bag belonged to whomever had paid him off. Harper lived in LA full time—if she belonged to any exclusive clubs, I would imagine they'd be in Beverly Hills, not Sonoma. And while I could well see the Bishops being wealthy enough to afford the membership fees to the Links, I also knew Napa had several equally exclusive golf courses, including the Links' sister club, the Napa Greens, so I had a hard time seeing them driving all the way to Sonoma to play a round and pick up a Links duffel.
However, there was one person I knew who did play at the Links. In fact, he'd supposedly been on his way there today, carrying a bag very much like the one I was staring at now.
"Ava, I'm not sure this money came from Harper," I said, an alternate theory forming.
Ava put down the stack of cash in her hand. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I saw Bert today with a bag just like this. What if it was this bag?"
Ava blinked at me. "Why would Bert be giving Tripp ten grand in cash?"
"Well, if Tripp was blackmailing Harper about the affair…maybe he blackmailed Bert too?"
Ava sucked in a breath. "Dang. What a naughty horse whisperer." Her eyes cut to the pile of cash again.
"It's possible Tripp tried to blackmail Harper first, it backfired, and he killed her, and then he went after Bert."
"Emmy," Ava said, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper.
"Or maybe this is a blackmail payment for something totally different," I said, another idea coming to me. "Maybe the police are right that Bert was the one who pushed Harper into Dante's pen, and Tripp saw it and decided to blackmail Bert over it."
"Emmy…"
"Or, worse yet, maybe Bert paid Tripp to kill Harper for him, and this is the blood money."
"Emmy!" Ava grabbed my arm and started to shake.
I blinked at her, jarred out of my thoughts. "What?"
"I just heard a vehicle."
My heart leapt into my throat. "A what?!"
"A truck. Outside. I think Tripp is home."
CHAPTER TEN
My heart missed a whole series of beats as I listened in the darkness. Sure enough, I heard an engine nearby, wheels crunching over the dirt road. Ava killed her flashlight and moved to the front window. She lifted the faded floral sheet just enough to see outside. "Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh?" I squeaked out.
"Blue pickup."
Uh-oh.
My fingers fumbled as I quickly zipped the bag back up and pushed it under the bed where I'd found it.
"Turn your light out!" Ava warned, her voice barely above a whisper.
I did as she asked, only my hand shook so badly that my phone slipped from my hands, dropping to the floor with a clatter as it landed under the bed next to the duffel bag.
Crap.
Ava leapt onto the mattress and stopped near the open window, ready to hoist herself out.
"Hurry up, Emmy," she warned, pulling herself up on the sill.
"I dropped my phone."
"What?"
"It's under the bed!"
I heard the truck motor die, followed by the sound of a vehicle door opening. It slammed shut, and footsteps crunched on the gravel.
"Emmy, let's go," Ava begged.
"You go." I shoved my car keys at her. "Go to the Jeep. I'll be right behind you." I had no idea if I would be right behind her, but there was no point in both of us getting caught.
In the dim light I could see her bite her lip. "I can't leave you."
"I'll catch up," I promised. "Now go!"
Reluctantly, she did. I didn't wait to watch her shimmy out the window, instead diving under the bed and reaching for my phone.
My fingers curled around it just as the sound of the door handle turning rattled the silence. I heard it open, the screen smacking against the side of the mobile home, then boots smashed against the vinyl flooring.
I pushed myself under the mattress as far as I could get and prayed that Tripp wouldn't see me.
"Sorry," Tripp said, presumably into his phone, as I could only see one set of boots. "I have no idea what they plan to do with Dante." There was a pause, then, "I told you, Mrs. Cross, it's up to Animal Control."
Mrs. Cross. He was talking to Carrie.
"No, I don't know if they'll release him." Tripp sounded irritated as he flipped on a light.
From my position I watched him kick off his dusty boots before moving to the refrigerator. A can cracked, the hissing of gas escaping the open lid muffling his voice as he said something else into the phone. I heard gulping as he listened to Carrie's answer, then he told her, "Look, I'll call them tomorrow, but there's no promises they'll even talk to me. That's the best I can do." I could only guess what she said on the other end, but a beat later he mumbled a goodbye and then threw the phone onto the table.
Then there was silence.
My stomach cramped with fear as I wondered how the heck I was getting out of this. I watched Tripp's boots walk toward me. Then he dropped himself onto the bed, the mattress squashing above my head. I willed myself not to move, not to breathe, not to make any sound. My heart hammered in my chest so hard, I was sure he could hear it.
From the tinkering of metal and the rustle of clothing, I figured Tripp was undoing his belt. He stood, and his jeans dropped to his ankles.
Oh no. I closed my eyes, praying the next thing I saw was not little Mr. Tripp au naturel.
Thankfully, a heavy pounding on the trailer's front door came to my rescue before he could go the full Monty on me. His jeans went back up, and he stood, padding on bare feet to answer it.
"Hi, there," I heard a voice say.
Not just any voice.
Ava's.
I could have cried with relief as I listened to her bust out her flirtiest self. "Gosh, I hope I'm not bothering you?"
Tripp obviously hadn't been expecting to see a blonde bohemian bombshell on his front steps, as he stumbled over his first words.
"Uh, n-no," he managed.
I shimmied forward, the dust bunnies under the bed begging me to sneeze.
"I'm in a bit of a jam, and I was hoping you might be able to help me?" Ava asked.
"Help you with what?"
"I'm having a little car trouble. Silly, really, but I just don't know the first thing about these machines." She was laying the Damsel in Distress on thick—Ava owned a vintage 1970s Pontiac GTO that she kept in mint condition, and I'd venture to say knew more about cars than many mechanics.
But Tr
ipp was eating it up. I heard him ask, "Sure. What kinda trouble?"
"I'm not really sure. See, I was going to visit my uncle down the road a bit, and it just sort of started sounding funny. Turns out my uncle's not home, but I saw you drive by in that pickup, and thought, well, now there must be a cowboy who knows about cars."
"Uh-huh," came his answer.
"Would you mind terribly taking a look for me? You know, if I wouldn't be imposing too much?"
I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could guess that she was batting her baby blues, because Tripp responded almost immediately.
"Yeah, I guess I could take a look." I heard more footsteps, then the slam of the front door.
I took that as my cue, and I slid out from under the bed. I quickly shoved myself through the window feet first, this time gravity helping my hips make it past the frame as I hit the dirt with a thud.
I picked myself up and carefully peeked around the side of the trailer.
At the road, Ava had the hood to my Jeep popped open, leaning over to peer at the engine as she chatted to Tripp. While Tripp peered at her backside in her tight skinny jeans.
I said a silent thank-you to my bestie and quickly dashed around the other side of the trailer, moving as quietly and quickly as I could to the right, into a grove of spindly trees. Using the foliage as cover, I moved parallel to the dirt road, practically running through the brush until I rounded a bend and could no longer see the trailer, Ava, or Tripp.
I crossed back to the road and continued walking as I pulled my phone out to text Ava.
I'm out. Down the road.
I planted myself on a tree stump a few yards farther down and waited for my ride. I almost felt bad leaving Ava up there with Tripp, but I decided if I didn't see her in five minutes, I'd go back and rescue my rescuer.
Luckily, four minutes later, my red Jeep came bumping down the road, Ava at the wheel. She pulled over in a cloud of dust, and I quickly let myself into the passenger seat.
"That was a close one, huh?" she asked, her eyes shining again with her Charlie's Angels look. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was enjoying this.
"Too close," I agreed. "But thank you for the distraction. That was brilliant."
"Hey, what are sidekicks for?" She grinned at me. "Though, with the way that guy was looking at my booty, I feel like a need a shower."
I looked down at my "dressed up" dust covered blouse and used-to-be-white capris. She wasn't the only one.
* * *
I dropped Ava back off at Silver Girl, and while I was eager for that shower, I was more eager for something else: to find out exactly why Bert's duffel bag was filled with at least ten grand in cash in Tripp Jones's trailer. Bert had eluded my questions once today, but this time I wasn't going to let him get away with that. Either he came clean to me, or I'd be coming clean to Grant. As much as I didn't want to see Bert in custody for Carrie's sake, it was looking more and more like he was mixed up in something bad. Maybe even something that had led to Harper's death. And if he wanted me to keep protecting him, I wanted the truth.
I wound up the driveway to Carrie's vacation getaway and pulled to a stop in the same spot near the front door that I'd occupied earlier that morning. Before I could talk myself out of it, I killed the motor of my Jeep, and paused only a moment to dust some of the earth off my clothes before I made my way toward the door.
I rapped sharply on the wood and nervously tapped my foot on the porch as I took a series of shallow breaths, waiting to confront Bert. Again.
Only as the door opened, it wasn't the man of the house who answered this time, but Nolan Becker.
"Emmy. Nice to see you again," he said, showing off a row of white teeth in a welcoming smile.
"Hi, Nolan." He was dressed in a pressed shirt in a deep blue that brought out his eyes, paired with black pants and Italian leather shoes that I could almost see my reflection in. He was freshly shaven and smelled divine.
I felt like Pig-Pen standing next to him and involuntarily took a step back in case I smelled like it too.
"Are you looking for Carrie?" he asked. To his credit, his eyes only flickered momentarily to my dirty clothes.
"Actually, I was hoping to have a quick chat with Bert."
"Oh." Surprise showed in his eyes, but he quickly covered it. "Uh, well, he's not home, I'm afraid."
While I'd gone there determined for answers, I'd be lying if I didn't say some relief relaxed into my shoulders at not having to deal with that confrontation. "Did he say where he was going?" I asked.
Nolan leaned on the doorframe. "He and Carrie drove into town to talk to a lawyer."
I felt my stomach clench. "Why? Did anything happen? Have the police been back?"
But Nolan shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Carrie said it was just in case. I think she's…well, she's worried the police might come back to question Bert again."
So was I. Then again, they might have ample reason to.
"Nolan, Bert said he was meeting you at the Links this morning," I said, watching his reaction carefully.
He nodded. "Yeah. We played a round. Had a couple of drinks. Why?"
Well, at least that much of Bert's story had been true. "What time was this?"
A small frown marred Nolan's face. "Tee off was a little after nine, I guess. Bert was a couple minutes late, but they still fit us in."
"Did he have a duffel bag with him? One with the Links logo on it?"
The frown deepened, proof Nolan's forehead was Botox free. "Well, not on the green, of course. But I think maybe I saw one in the locker room." He paused, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps straining the fabric of his shirt. "Why? What's this about, Emmy?"
I pursed my lips, hesitant to share my theory with Bert's friend. It seemed that however the gym bag of cash had ended up in Tripp's trailer, at least Bert hadn't delivered it that morning. But that didn't mean he hadn't handed off another logo duffel to the cowboy at some earlier date.
"Just curious," I finally settled on.
But the frown didn't leave Nolan's face. "Does this have something to do with Harper's death?"
"Maybe," I hedged. "Did Harper ever talk to you about being in some sort of trouble?"
Nolan shook his head, eyes going to a spot over my head, as if thinking back. "No. What sort of trouble?"
"Maybe financial trouble?" I said, dancing around the subject the best I could without tipping my hand.
But Nolan laughed. "Well, if Harper was hard up for cash, she hardly dressed the part. I think she had an open account at every boutique on Rodeo Drive." He shifted, gaze coming back to meet mine. "You're asking an awful lot of odd questions, Emmy."
I let out a breath. "I know. I…I have reason to believe Harper was being threatened." I watched his reaction. "That she was possibly even being blackmailed by someone."
"Blackmail?" Nolan's eyebrows went up toward his hair.
I nodded.
"Over what?"
"Honestly? I'm not 100% certain yet." Which was the truth. Granted, I had a pretty good guess it had something to do with Bert.
But if Nolan had any knowledge of it or if Harper had confided in him, he didn't show it, instead just shaking his head, as if subconsciously denying such a thing could be true. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.
I nodded. "Pretty sure. She never mentioned anything to you?"
"This is the first I'm hearing of it."
"She never said she was in trouble?" I pressed. "Or…mentioned anything about Bert?"
"Bert?" He shook his head harder. "You don't think Bert had anything to do with this, do you?"
I blew out a breath. "I don't know. I hope not, for Carrie's sake." Again, true, if not a full disclosure.
"Look, Bert's a good guy," Nolan said, conviction behind his voice. "He loves Carrie, and I don't know what kind of mess Harper might have gotten herself into, but I'm sure it had nothing to do with Bert."
While I wasn't quite as sure, I nodded anyw
ay, feeling like I'd pushed the bounds of their friendships far enough. "Right," I agreed. "I'm sure Bert is a great guy."
Having established that, the frown on Nolan's face finally smoothed some, his usually charming countenance returning.
"Anyway, I'll let Bert and Carrie know you stopped by, but I've actually got to get ready."
"Ready for what?" If you asked me, he already looked ready for a magazine shoot.
He shot me a grin. "I'm taking your friend Ava to Silvio's tonight."
I felt some of my own tension ease at his charming smile. "That's right. She told me about that. It sounds like fun," I said, meaning it. And possibly feeling just the slightest bit envious—at least of the meal Ava was about to have. "I won't keep you. Enjoy your dinner with Ava," I called as I walked back to my car.
Nolan sent me a smile and waved before disappearing back inside the house.
As I got into my Jeep, I sent off a quick text to Carrie. Heard you were talking to a lawyer. Hope you're okay. Call if you need anything.
Part of me felt guilty that I was practically helping Grant build a case against her husband rather than helping point the finger away. The least I could do was be supportive as a friend. Especially if things started to look worse for Bert.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As soon as I got home, I indulged in the longest shower known to womankind, washing off not only the physical dirt from my body, but the icky internal feeling at having been in Tripp's trailer. I also tried to wash off the guilt of seemingly digging Bert a deeper hole rather than throwing a lifeline to get him out, but that was a little hard to shake.
As much as I wanted to believe Bert, I couldn't come up with a scenario where he was the innocent doting husband everyone thought he was. For one, he'd clearly lied to Carrie about making investments for Harper. Grant had found no trace of those. But while he wasn't investing for her, he had been close to her. I'd witnessed that myself. What was it Harper had said as she'd led Bert away upstairs? You wouldn't want your darling wife to come looking for us. As much as Bert had protested that what I'd seen "wasn't what I thought," I was having a hard time picturing it as anything other than an affair.
Death in Wine Country (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 5) Page 12
