I was about to ask Ava to drive me home and do all three of the prescribed items, as well as maybe have a glass of calming Pinot to go with it, when a familiar face walked in the open front door.
Grant.
I closed my eyes and said a silent curse to the gods of police radios.
I watched him have a brief word with the EMT who met him at the door. Then he quickly crossed the room to my side.
"You okay?" he asked. While the lines of his jaw were tense, the softness in his voice was tender and warm enough to make the tentative grip on my composure slip.
I nodded, sniffing back tears that begged to be shed. "I'm fine. Just a bump on the head. Official diagnosis," I said, trying at humor to keep those tears at bay.
Though, it was lost on him, his face not even hinting at a smile. "What happened?" he demanded.
"I, uh, hit the floor."
"After someone hit her!" Ava piped up, still sitting on the sofa beside me.
Grant's eyes cut to Ava for just a moment, before homing in on me again. "Is that true?"
"Uh…sorta." Something about the intensity in his eyes had me feeling like I was on trial here instead of being the victim.
He sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring with the effort, before he turned to Ava again. "Would you mind waiting in the kitchen?"
Ava gave me questioning look. I sent her a nod. I was pretty sure I could handle Bad Cop alone.
Maybe.
Ava gave my hand a quick squeeze before swishing her long, elegant skirt back toward the kitchen, where Nolan was chatting with the uniformed officer.
Grant took her place, though even seated he towered over me enough to be intimidating. "So who hit you?" he asked, his voice tight.
I shrugged. "I wish I knew," I said. Then I launched into my narrative for the third time that evening, covering the high points of having seen someone in Harper's room, gone inside to investigate, and been knocked unconscious.
Grant kept a perfect poker face the entire time, any emotion he might have felt carefully hidden, save for the hazel flecks in his eyes that seemed to pick up their frenzied pace the more I talked. They were practically flashing with fire by the time I ended with waking to find Ava and Nolan hovering over me.
"And you didn't see anyone?" he asked again.
I shook my head. "No. I only caught a glimpse of a shadow when I turned around. And it was dark."
"How did you get in the house?"
I paused, that question catching me off guard. "I…I just came in the back door."
"It was unlocked?"
"Yeah. I suppose it was. You think the intruder got in that way too?"
Grant drew in a long breath, clearly more comfortable asking the questions than answering them. "The responding officer on the scene said it looked like the lock had been tampered with."
"So someone did break in," I said, more to myself than Grant.
He nodded. "Unfortunately, the security system here leaves something to be desired."
"Carrie is going to upgrade it," I said automatically, remembering our first conversation. Which seemed like eons ago now, not the scant 48 hours it had actually been.
"She should. What with the publicity she's gotten lately, this place was a burglary waiting to happen."
That pulled me out of my own thoughts. "Burglary? Wait—you don't think this was a random break-in, do you?"
"Can you give me any reason to believe it wasn't?" The tone in his voice was almost a challenge.
I could give him several, but all felt like they begged an explanation that I feared could veer into self-incrimination territory.
"I think someone was going through Harper's things," I finally said.
His eyes flickered to the stairs. "We're waiting on CSI to go through the guest room again."
Which was some comfort. If whoever had been looking through her room had left any fingerprints behind, I knew Grant's team would find them.
"It would be too coincidental for this to be random," I continued.
Grant's eyes gave nothing away as to if he believed that or was chalking this up to a local cat burglar. "Coincidences happen."
"Her jewelry was out on her dresser," I said. "And her Hermes bag is still there."
His blank look told me the designer label was lost on him.
"It's worth forty grand, even used," I informed him. "If someone was burglarizing the place, don't you think they would have taken it?"
"Maybe you scared him off."
"Maybe he was trying to scare me off by whacking me on the head," I countered.
Which, in hindsight, might not have been the smartest argument, as at the mention of head whacking, his jaw tensed, his eyes narrowed, and I could see his breath coming faster. "And that scares me," he said, his voice tight again.
Emotion backed up in my throat at the admission of fear from Bad Cop. I sniffled it back, trying to be strong. "I'm fine," I managed to get out.
He nodded, though his eyes said he didn't believe that much more than I did. Finally he scrubbed a hand over his face and rose from the sofa. "Let's get you home," he said.
I let him grab my hand and help me up, feeling almost steady on my feet, even if the sudden change in elevation cause my stomach to go queasy again. "Ava said she could drive me home," I told him.
But he shook his head. "Sorry. Tonight, you're all mine."
My stomach flipped for a whole new reason, making me lightheaded.
Oh boy.
* * *
I blamed it on the bump on the head that the entire ride back to Oak Valley Vineyards I was picturing visions of Grant's firm chest and soft lips keeping me company all night. If I'd been thinking clearly, I'd have realized that Grant's offer had less to do with heat and more to do with a possible concussion. And Grant was way too much of a gentleman to take advantage of an injured woman.
Much to my dismay.
As soon as he'd walked me to my cottage, he'd insisted on sleeping in my guest room. I wasn't sure who he trusted the least—me or him. In the end, I hadn't protested when he'd settled me into my own bedroom with a couple painkillers and left me alone.
To be honest, I probably wouldn't have known what to do with him that night anyway. Okay, that was a total lie. I had a feeling no woman would ever be at a loss for what to do with a body like Grant's. But the circumstances were less than ideal, and a soft pillow and a good night's sleep were all my brain was cut out for that evening.
The soft pillow came as soon as I shut off the lights and lay my head down. The good night's sleep was more elusive, unfortunately. I wasn't sure if it was Grant's nearness, the thousands of questions buzzing through my head surrounding Harper's death, or the fog of the goose egg coupled with painkillers, but I spent the better part of the night tossing and turning.
Just before dawn, I gave up and silently padded down the stairs, hoping a cup of hot tea would help.
I didn't need a light as moonlight flooded in through the open windows. The sounds of the early morning rustled the trees as an owl hooted his hello, and my bare feet quietly tapped the floorboards. I paused at the bottom of the stairs and found Grant curled up on my worn leather sofa, an empty water glass on the coffee table in front of him. I couldn't help a grin. Apparently he'd had trouble sleeping as well.
Though, he was in perfect repose now, his features relaxed, the usual creases in his brow gone as he dozed upright beneath the afghan my grandmother had crocheted for me. The stubble dusting his face was pronounced, his hair was messed, and he was snoring lightly. He'd discarded his linen shirt, a thin cotton tee alone covering his chest, which rose and fell at a peaceful rate. His gun glinted in the moonlight as it sat on the side table next to the sofa.
It felt good to have him in my house, and watching him sleep felt intimate. Like I was getting a glimpse into the man that he rarely showed the world. I didn't want to leave.
Instead, I curled up into the large chair opposite him and lay my head on the armrest. I smiled i
n the early morning light and allowed sleep to finally consume me.
* * *
I woke with the sun streaming in. The blanket that had covered Grant was now tucked around me, and his gun was gone from the table.
I sat up and listened for him, but the house was quiet. I did, however, detect an aroma of coffee coming from the small adjacent kitchen. Tossing the blanket off, I walked the few feet from my "cozy" living room to my "cozy" kitchen to find my one appliance—a stainless steel coffee machine—percolating with liquid heaven. A novelty mug that read Too early for wine? sat on the counter beside the machine, and next to it was a sticky note.
I thought you might need this.
PS: It's creepy to watch someone sleep.
I grinned to myself before sticking the note on my fridge.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As an attempt to distract from the lump on the side of my head, I dressed in a cheery yellow sundress, hoping the color would rub off on my mood. I paired it with some silver Grecian sandals and upped my usual makeup routine, going heavy on the eyeliner. After carefully blow-drying my hair, I felt almost human again. I was just adding a spritz of my favorite perfume as a finishing touch, when my phone buzzed with a text from Ava.
In the big kitchen with Eddie. I have croissants from the Chocolate Bar.
My mouth watered. The Chocolate Bar was a shop owned by my friend Leah, who had a flair for baked goods and a love of chocolate that rivaled my own emotional attachment to bacon. I was about to shoot back a text asking if there was coffee too, when another one buzzed in from her.
And lattes from the Half Calf.
I chuckled out loud. She knew me so well.
Locking the door to my cottage behind me, I made my way down the short stone walkway to the main winery buildings and entered the kitchen through the back door.
Ava stood at the counter, her back to me, in a pair of jeans with flower embroidery up the legs and a loose blouse in a pale blue color. Her head was bowed, deep in conversation with Eddie—who in contrast to Ava's subtle chic look was wearing the world's loudest Hawaiian shirt I'd ever seen in shades of fuchsia and orange that suddenly made my head start to hurt again. Beside him, Conchita nibbled on a croissant, eyes pinging from Eddie to Ava as they whispered amongst themselves.
"Good morning," I said, breaking the three apart.
Eddie looked up first, his eyes narrowing as he took me in. "Oh, honey, you look horrible."
I rolled my eyes. "Gee, thanks." I looked down. "I thought this dress was nice."
"It is," he assured me. "But you've got steamer trunks under those eyes. Girl, were you up all night?"
"One can only hope," Conchita added. "Her detective spent the night."
Eddie gasped, hands going to his mouth in a dramatic gesture.
"He's not my detective." At least, not yet. "And he spent the night in the guest room," I informed them.
"Well, that sucks," Ava said, sipping from a paper cup with the Half Calf's logo on it. She stepped forward and handed me another one.
"It's fine," I assured her. "In fact, it was kind of nice." I felt warmth rushing through me at the memory of watching Grant sleep.
"You're blushing." Eddie grinned at me. "You sure he spent the whole night in the guest room?"
"Yes!" I answered. Well, mostly.
"Bummer." Eddie shrugged.
"Come sit," Conchita insisted, leading me over to an empty barstool. "Ava told us everything. How's your head?"
"Better," I said. Which was the truth. The pain had subsided to a dull ache.
"Good," Eddie said, nodding. "Then we want the deets."
I hesitated. Between Eddie's flair for the dramatic and Conchita's mother hen complex, I wasn't sure how many details were wise. On the other hand, if I left those details to their imaginations, I feared how far they'd run. Since Ava had already filled in the broad strokes, I went with the lesser of two evils, and I told the entire story once again, relaying everything that had happened the night before—from Grant's revelation about Harper being pregnant, to my trip to Carrie's house, to the attack from the intruder.
"Oh, girl, you are so lucky Ava and Nolan came home when they did!" Eddie exclaimed
"That's what I said," Ava chimed in. "If Nolan hadn't invited me back to the house for a glass of wine, who knows what might have happened."
I shuddered, not wanting to think about that. "Sorry I ruined your nightcap with Nolan."
She waved me off. "Don't be silly. It's not your fault. Besides, Nolan said he's making it up to me tonight. He's taking me dancing downtown." She waggled her eyebrows up and down, as if dancing was a code word for something much more intimate.
"You know," Conchita said, her face puckered in thought, "if Bert was with Carrie last night, he couldn't have been the one to hit you over the head, mija."
"That's right!" Eddie agreed. He turned to me. "Which means Bert really is innocent."
"Of hitting me," I amended. "That doesn't mean he didn't kill Harper."
"If Bert was the one to get her pregnant," Conchita mused, "it does give him a motive to want her gone before Carrie found out."
"If it was his," Ava added.
"But the murder and the intruder can't be unrelated," Eddie reasoned. "That would be way too much of a coincidence."
I shook my head. "No, you're right. I'm sure it all has to do with Harper." I paused. "But that doesn't mean they still weren't two different people."
"So who do you think hit you?" Ava asked, grabbing a croissant.
I sipped my latte, thinking about that. "I guess my money is on Tripp. He seems the most likely person to go bashing people around on the head. And I did see him at Carrie's once before when he thought no one was there—burning Harper's clothes."
Ava nodded. "So, you think Bert gets Harper pregnant, and Tripp finds out about it. He tries to blackmail Harper, but she refuses, and he kills her. Then he decides to blackmail Bert instead—"
"Which explains the money we found in his trailer," I added.
"—and he burns Harper's clothes because there was something about them that was his blackmail leverage, and he doesn't want to get caught now."
I nodded. "It all adds up."
"So why was he in Harper's room?" Conchita asked, eyes going back and forth between us again.
"Looking for more leverage?" Eddie offered.
I thought about that for a beat. "Then why destroy the leverage he had in the first place?"
"Good point," Eddie conceded.
We sipped our coffees in silence, realizing it did not all add up after all.
"You know, what about that sister?" Conchita finally said.
We all turned to look at her.
"Kellen?" I offered.
She nodded. "Maybe she killed Harper because she found out about the pregnancy."
"Just because she didn't want to be an aunt?" Eddie asked, shaking his head.
"No, but Kellen said Harper was always embarrassing the family. Maybe getting pregnant with a married man's child was the last straw."
"I don't know. I mean, a child out of wedlock is hardly the stuff of scandals," Ava said. "We're not living in the eighteen hundreds."
"Maybe we're not, but you should see the Bishops' place," I said, picturing the myriad of antiques. "Anyway, Kellen said her parents were scandalized by their daughter acting on a soap opera. If that's bad, living the way Harper sounds like she was would be even worse."
"Bad enough to kill?" Ava asked. I could tell she was still unconvinced. Then again, she'd yet to meet the ultra-blue-blooded Kellen Bishop-Brice.
"This all assumes that Kellen knew about Harper's pregnancy," Eddie pointed out. "If Harper was trying to keep it secret at the party, it's possible she didn't tell her sister."
"It's possible," I agreed. "But Kellen did sneak away to see her sister in private just before she died. And her husband said she was upset when she got home."
"You think it was because Harper told her about the pr
egnancy?" Eddie asked.
"I think we should definitely find out," Ava decided.
* * *
The gates at the Bishop estate were open today as I approached, so we skipped the intercom and drove directly up the winding driveway to the faux French château.
"Wow," Ava whispered beside me as she took in the expanse of green lawn, blooming foliage, and sculpted topiaries that sprawled on either side of us. "This place is serious money."
"Wait till you see inside," I told her, parking again near the towering fountain.
As I beeped my Jeep locked, my phone buzzed with a text. I quickly glanced at the readout. David Allen's number came up along with a short message.
Heard you had some excitement last night. You okay?
"Grant?" Ava asked hopefully.
I shook my head. "No. David Allen. Apparently he heard about the intruder at Carrie's."
Ava gave me a sheepish smile. "Yeah, sorry. That might have been my fault. I kinda told him this morning."
I gave her a raised eyebrow. "You talked to David this morning?"
She nodded. "Sure. We talk all the time. Mostly about you," she added with a wink.
"That's disconcerting," I mumbled as we approached the front door and I shoved my phone back into my purse.
My knock was answered by a different woman than I'd encountered on my previous visit. This one was younger and had a fair complexion and jet black hair, though she was dressed in the same old style maid's uniform in crisp black and white.
"May I help you?" she asked politely.
"I was hoping we could speak with Kellen," I said.
Death in Wine Country (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 5) Page 15
