Death in Wine Country (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 5)

by Gemma Halliday

  "That's why I coded it pink and not red," Ava explained. Then she paused. "I'm sorry. I'm guessing things did not go well with Carrie this afternoon?"

  "As well as can be expected," I informed her. "Bert's attorney was able to get him out on bail. Though just how innocent he is remains a question." I quickly filled her in on his courthouse confession and my realization that Harper had been blackmailing not one but two victims. Or possibly even more.

  "Wow," Ava said when I was done. "I did not see that coming. I mean, I fully thought Bert was having an affair."

  "Me too," I admitted. "Though I'm honestly not sure if it's better or worse for Carrie."

  "Poor thing." I could hear the genuine compassion in Ava's voice. "Okay, now my closet crisis does seem a little petty."

  I grinned. "I'm sure you have something that will wow Nolan. What about that pink dress…the one with the spaghetti straps?"

  "You don't think it's too casual?" she asked, and I could hear rustling as she dug through her options.

  "I think it's very chic."

  "He's taking me to Single Thread before we go dancing."

  I did a low whistle. "Wow. First Silvio's, now Single Thread. He knows his fine dining." I shoved down my jealous appetite.

  "I know. Not really a casual chic kind of place."

  "What if you pair it with those drop earrings I saw you working on last week? Maybe a couple necklaces and the right pair of heels would amp it up?"

  I heard more rustling. "Okay, yeah. That might work. And it does show off just the right amount of cleavage."

  "Right amount for what?" I joked.

  "If you have to ask, you don't want to know," she teased back. "You know, it's kind of ironic."

  "That guys like cleavage?"

  "No!" Ava laughed. "I was thinking about Bert again. I mean, ironic that he was so into playing Lord of the Manor at the housewarming party—looking down his nose at us—when he was actually flat broke."

  I nodded to myself. "Well, isn't that always the way? People tend to point out in others the very things they hate most about themselves."

  Ava was quiet for a moment.

  "You still there?" I asked, hoping I hadn't lost my Bluetooth connection.

  "Yeah, just contemplating that and what it says about me. I called my landlord cheap today."

  I couldn't help but laugh. "Let's go with thrifty."

  "Sounds much better," she agreed. "Thanks. Hey, I gotta go, but I'll call you with deets later."

  "Have fun tonight!" I told her.

  "Trust me—I intend to," she assured me before hanging up.

  I grinned as the call dropped, thinking if Ava was thrifty, what did that make me? What was it I saw in others? Well, lately I saw potential murderers everywhere I looked—Bert, Tripp, Kellen.

  I tried to put that thought from my mind as I wound toward home.

  By the time I pulled up to the winery, the sun was just a dim red glow on the horizon. I noticed a few cars in our lot and felt hope surge that maybe we had a good tasting crowd that evening. I locked my Jeep and put on my best hostess face as I pushed through the winery's main doors to take stock of our tasting room.

  Jean Luc looked busy, with at least half a dozen people at the bar, swirling our reds in their glasses and sipping from small pourings of Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio. A few people in suits and pencil skirts had pushed two tables together, a couple of open bottles on them, clearly enjoying an after-work release. I was about to introduce myself to them and chat them up with the charming history of our little vineyard, when a patron at the bar caught my eye.

  Morgan Brice was hunched over the bar top on his stool, his eyes darting back and forth, his right hand twirling his wedding band around in a nervous twitch. When he spotted me, he popped up from his seat, abandoning his half full glass of white, and quickly closed the distance between us.

  "Emmy," he said urgently. "Your wine steward said you weren't here."

  I cringed, hoping he hadn't called Jean Luc a "wine steward" to his face. The Frenchman took the title of sommelier very seriously. "I just got in," I told him. "Was there something I could help you with?"

  "Kellen said you were at the house today," he said, his tone low and urgent.

  I nodded. "I was. I, uh, stopped by to offer my catering services for the memorial," I told him, going with my previous half-lie.

  "Kellen was quite agitated this afternoon," Morgan went on, his eyes darting left and right. "You didn't tell her, did you?"

  "Tell her…?"

  "About my visit to see you. That I—" He paused, leaning in and lowering his voice. "That I told you she'd met with Harper just before she died."

  Oh. That. "Kellen did mention having spoken to Harper. But your name never came up," I said truthfully.

  Morgan visibly sighed in relief. "Thank you. I mean, not that Kellen or I have anything to hide, but you know. I'm not sure she'd appreciate me…"

  Ratting her out behind her back?

  "…advocating on her behalf."

  I stifled a snort. "I understand."

  "It's just she seemed so agitated this afternoon. So upset. I-I just wanted to make sure it wasn't something I'd done."

  "Maybe the grief is just hitting her," I said. Or guilt. But I didn't think that thought would do anything to calm Morgan's nerves. "It must be overwhelming having to plan the memorial now as well."

  "No, Sandra's taking care of all that," Morgan said, shaking his head.

  "Oh. Kellen told me she let Sandra go this morning," I said, wondering if maybe matters of the household staff were beyond his purview.

  "What?" His head snapped up. "Why on earth would she do that?"

  I pursed my lips, suddenly feeling like I was in the middle of a domestic scene that was none of my business. "I-I'm not really sure. You should ask her. I think she mentioned something about Sandra stealing things…" I trailed off, hoping he'd let it go and go home to his wife.

  But instead of the indignation Kellen had displayed at being robbed by her staff, Morgan sucked in a gasp, his face going pale. "Oh no," he said on a long breath. "No, no, no, no." He suddenly looked unsteady on his feet.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, steering him toward an empty table and pulling a chair out for him.

  He fell into it with a less than graceful plop, his expression still looking like he'd seen a ghost. "No one was supposed to notice," he mumbled, more to himself than to me.

  "Notice what?" I asked gently, sitting beside him.

  He shook his head. "Poor Sandra. She doesn't deserve this."

  "Morgan," I said slowly, "what do you know about Sandra stealing from you?"

  He shook his head, seemingly coming out of his shocked stupor and turning to me. "She didn't steal anything."

  "But someone has," I said, watching his expression.

  He nodded slowly. "She'll divorce me. No one was supposed to notice," he repeated. "She wasn't supposed to notice. She'll divorce me for sure."

  "Divorce you?" I asked. "You mean Kellen?"

  He nodded again. "If she finds out, she'll divorce me. Then what will I do?" He blinked rapidly, staring into the space behind me.

  "Morgan, did you steal something?" I surmised.

  He closed his eyes and whimpered, as if I'd delivered him a physical blow.

  I put a hand on his arm. "Morgan?"

  "Yes." He finally opened his eyes to meet mine. "Yes, it was me. But it wasn't really stealing! I mean, the items I took. They would have been hers anyway. You know, when the Bishops passed. It would have been hers."

  "Hers? You mean, Kellen's?"

  He shook his head. "No. Harper's."

  Puzzle pieces finally began to click. "Harper asked you to take things from her parents' house."

  "She knew I didn't have any money of my own," he explained. "It was the only payment I could think to give her. And she knew exactly what the items were worth. Exactly what she wanted as payment."

  "Payment. Morgan, was Harper blackmailing
you?"

  He nodded slowly again. "I was weak," he said softly. "Too weak to resist her beauty. And she knew it. I never meant for it to happen!" He turned to me, as if pleading his case. "I love Kellen. Honestly I do. But Harper was just so…so beautiful. So seductive. So impossible to resist."

  "You slept with her?"

  "Yes." The word was choked out on a sob that he quickly covered with the back of his hand. "Kellen was at a charity gala, and Harper was in town for the weekend. She asked me to meet her for drinks. I know that I should have been stronger. I should have resisted. But…Harper knew just how to hit my weak spots."

  "When was this?" I asked.

  Morgan sniffed loudly. "I don't know. She was in town taking some sort of riding lessons for a role. Maybe three…four months ago."

  I felt my spine stiffen. "Three months ago?"

  Morgan nodded, seemingly oblivious to the significance of the timeline. "We both agreed it would be a mistake to tell Kellen, and I thought that would be the end of it."

  "But it wasn't?"

  "No. No it wasn't." He sighed deeply, twisting his wedding band again. "When Harper found out she was being written out of her TV show, she came to me. She said she needed money. I told her I didn't have any—she knew that! She knew Kellen and I live by her parents' generosity."

  "But they'd cut her off."

  "They had. Unfair of them, if you ask me. But no one ever does," he mumbled.

  "So Harper asked you to steal from them?"

  "It was just going to be little things," he repeated. "And really, they should have been Harper's anyway. It wasn't really stealing. A small painting here, a rare book there. I swear I didn't even think anyone would miss them!" he pleaded again.

  "Or that Sandra would be blamed," I added.

  His pallor went sickly pale again. "No. No, she doesn't deserve that." He sighed deeply. "Please don't say anything to Kellen," he said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I-I'd like to tell her myself."

  "Of course," I agreed. Honestly, the last thing I wanted to do was be the bearer of that news. Though, I wondered just how clean Morgan planned to come with his wife—about the missing items or about the affair that had prompted their need as well?

  "Thank you," he said, rising from his seat. "I think I should go home now."

  "Can I ask you one more thing?" I asked as I walked him to the door. "Did Harper send you a text the night she died? Asking for more?"

  Morgan frowned. "No. I mean, yes, Harper did text me sometimes. She…" He licked his lips, choosing his words. "She was very specific about her requests. But the last time I heard from her was days ago."

  "You're sure?" I pressed. If Harper hadn't been extorting money from Morgan that night, and she hadn't texted her threats to Bert, that meant there was still another blackmail victim out there.

  "Positive," he said. Then he mumbled a halfhearted goodbye before he shuffled to a sleek black Mercedes that perfectly represented the lifestyle his in-laws had provided him.

  I stood in the doorway of the winery, watching his taillights glide down the oak lined drive, wondering just how desperately Morgan Brice wanted to keep that lifestyle. Desperately enough to lie to his wife and steal from her family, that much was clear.

  His affair with Harper fit the timeline for being her baby daddy. What if Harper realized she wasn't going to be able to keep quiet about Morgan's moment of weakness forever? Would Morgan have taken matters into his own hands?

  As much as I could almost feel his desperation, I had a hard time picturing the sniveling kept man killing the woman he clearly was still enamored of.

  But if Kellen had found out Harper had been sleeping with her husband—if Harper had possibly even told her the truth about her unborn child's paternity—I could well see Kellen coldly and calculatingly getting rid of the sister she'd always resented without breaking a manicured nail over it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  After seeing Morgan off, I made the rounds of the guests in the tasting room—introducing myself, making sure everyone's glass was full, and offering to have Jean Luc arrange for cases to be delivered should they wish to take advantage of our on-site discounts. By the time I'd hit everyone, I could feel the exhaustion of the day setting in and my stomach starting to growl protest of missing lunch.

  Luckily, as I made my way down the hall to the kitchen, the delicious scents of garlic and rosemary beckoned to me, promising that Conchita had something delightful up her sleeves.

  Only as I walked into the kitchen, I realized I was not the intended recipient of the heavenly scents.

  Grant sat at the counter, Conchita busy fussing over him.

  Again.

  "Good evening, Emmy!" She carefully placed a plate of her Simple Salmon with Sherry Potatoes in front of him. An uncorked bottle of Pinot Noir stood beside it, allowing it to breathe.

  "You know, if you keep feeding him like this, he's going to keep showing up," I joked.

  "Oh, now wouldn't that be a pity." Conchita gave me a knowing wink.

  Grant grinned. "I, uh, just stopped by for a moment, but Conchita insisted I stay for dinner."

  "I'll bet she did," I mumbled, shooting her a look.

  Luckily—or possibly by design—her back was to me as she pulled some rolls from the oven.

  "How could I say no?" Grant shrugged, looking anything but innocent.

  "He couldn't." Conchita set the rolls on a plate and shoved it toward him. "It would have been rude. And our detective is not rude."

  "Our detective?" I asked.

  She wisely chose to ignore me. "Now, I have a cheesecake in the refrigerator for dessert, and I'm sure you can take care of the wine." She nodded at me while removing her apron. "I must go. Jeopardy! is about to start."

  As she bustled from the room, Grant gave me a sheepish look. "I have a feeling she's setting us up."

  I had a feeling he was right.

  I answered him with a grin. "Is it working?"

  He chuckled. "Quite possibly. The night is young."

  Oh boy.

  I cleared my throat, pouring us each a glass of Pinot before sitting on the empty stool beside him.

  "So, you just stopped by, huh?" I asked.

  He picked up his fork, stabbing into the salmon with it. "I did. Wanted to check in on you after last night."

  My hand immediately went to the bump on my head. "Thanks. But I'm good."

  "You sure?" he asked. Then he surprised me by reaching his fingers out and gently brushing the hair away at my temple. "It looks like the bruising is worse."

  I licked my suddenly dry lips. "Uh, yeah. It looks worse than it is."

  His fingers lingered in my hair a moment longer before he finally nodded and pulled them away. "That's good." He paused then added. "You're vibrating."

  "What?" I asked, hormones making my brain hazy.

  He nodded toward my back pocket. "I think I heard your phone vibrating."

  I blinked, realizing he was right. I pulled my phone out, glancing at the readout only long enough to see it was David Allen again before swiping to ignore.

  "Sorry," I mumbled. I picked up my glass, sipping to cover the heat still surging through my body at his touch.

  "So, how was your day?" Grant asked, stabbing another bite of fish.

  "Busy, thanks to you."

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you." I swiveled on my stool to face him. "You arrested Bert."

  "Ah." He nodded. "You heard about that."

  "You could say that." I dug my fork into the salmon and took a bite. The subtle, refreshing flavor of the fish blanketed my tongue, and I took a beat to savor it before resuming conversation. "You really think Bert killed Harper?"

  "I really think the evidence points that way."

  "That was a careful answer."

  Grant's mouth curved up in a half smile. "Look, it's not my job to pass judgment on guilt or innocence. That's for a jury. My job is to collect enough evidence to facilitate an arrest."

/>   "Which you did."

  He nodded, turning back to his meal.

  "Bert mentioned something about financial records being introduced as evidence. Was he talking about his or Harper's?" I asked, wondering just how much Grant knew about Harper's extortion racket.

  "I can't comment on that," he said around a bite.

  "The discrepancies you talked about in Harper's bank accounts," I said, hoping to bait him. "They're because she was blackmailing people for money. Like Bert."

  Grant took a beat before he nodded. "I know."

  "Did you know he wasn't the only one?"

  His dark eyes cut to mine, and while his expression was neutral, I'd swear the little hazel flecks in them kicked up a notch. "Is that so?"

  I paused, wondering if I was hurting Bert or helping by sharing what I knew. But at this point, anything in Harper's life that created a shadow on someone else could only be a positive thing, right?

  "There was her brother-in-law, Morgan Brice, too. And someone else."

  "Someone else?" he asked, his expression giving nothing away as to how much of this was news to him and how much he already knew.

  I nodded. "I-I'm not sure who. But I saw a message on her phone from one of her victims. And it wasn't Bert or Morgan."

  Grant's eyes narrowed. "On her phone," he repeated.

  "Yes, but not the one you have."

  "Clearly." The hazel flecks kicked into high gear again, suddenly making me feel guilty even though I was perfectly innocent. Well, at least in this case.

  "It was a disposable phone. We saw it on the surveillance footage." I told him how we'd found the video and seen the text that Harper had gotten on the phone that Carrie swore was not her regular iPhone. "Which is why nothing showed up on the phone your guys were processing," I finished.

  He nodded, taking it all in. "Why didn't you tell me all of this?"

  "I'm telling you now," I pointed out.

  He shot me a look.

  "Okay, okay," I said, throwing my hands up in surrender. "I should have told you about the burner phone as soon as we realized it. But it's not like you can do anything to trace it anyway."

  "That's not entirely true," he corrected. "It won't be registered to an owner, but every phone has a serial number attached to it, and there are records kept by its service provider. If Harper used a credit card to purchase it or bought it somewhere with security surveillance where we can see her purchase, then we can find the number associated with the phone and access those records."