Murders and Metaphors

by Amanda Flower

  I sat in the booth for a moment, going over in my head what had just happened. As an only child, I had always wished for a sister, but if my sisters would have ended up anything like Belinda or Michelle, I was grateful that I had been an only child.

  I slid out of the booth and was heading out of the café when something caught my eye. I turned and found private eye Joel Redding in the booth behind where Michelle and I had been sitting making notes in a small notebook.

  He smiled up at me. “Well, hello there.”

  “What are you doing here?” My tone was icy.

  He gestured at the paper cup of coffee in front of him on the table. “I stopped in for a cup of coffee. Is that a problem for you?”

  “No,” I said. “My problem is that you are following me and clearly listening in on private conversations. I want you to leave me alone.”

  He smiled pleasantly. “Miss Waverly, I’m going to be sticking to you like glue.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are my one-way ticket to the murderer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I made it back to the shop, and as I climbed out of my Mini, a gray sedan pulled into the space behind me. Through the snow, I saw P.I. Redding behind the wheel.

  I stomped over to his car. “Don’t even think of coming inside my shop. Got that?”

  He smiled. “Got it. You can keep me out of your shop, Violet Waverly, but you can’t keep me off a public street.”

  I marched away through the front gate and up the steps to the shop. I let the heavy antique door slam closed behind me.

  “Violet, what on earth are you doing coming in here like Godzilla storming Tokyo?” my grandmother scolded. She paused in her dusting of the sales counter and thwacked the feather duster against her hand.

  I frowned at her. “Thanks, Grandma Daisy. That’s what every woman wants—to be compared to Godzilla.”

  “Someone has ruffled your feathers.”

  At the mention of feathers, Faulkner jumped down from his spot on the tree and glided across the shop, landing on the sales counter with a click of his talons. Emerson bounded in from wherever he’d been hiding in the shop and jumped up on the stool behind the counter. At present, the animals weren’t eyeing each other, planning their next move. Grandmother, cat, and crow all had their eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to share my tale.

  I sighed. “Grandma, I’m so sorry for being snippy. That private investigator is following me again. He’s outside right now.”

  My grandmother moved to the window. “Is he the man in the gray car?”

  “Yes.” I removed my coat and hung it on the coat tree by the door.

  “He just waved at me. The nerve of that man.”

  “He is very nervy,” I said. “I don’t know what to do. He said he was going to follow my every move. How am I supposed to help Lacey with this guy following me all over the village?”

  “If the man is bothering you, call David, and he will get rid of him.”

  I frowned. “I’m not going call the police chief to protect me.” I bit the inside of my lip. I didn’t add that I was still emotionally reeling from Rainwater’s words the night before.

  Grandma Daisy knocked the end of her feather duster on the counter. “Well, maybe two can play at this game?”

  “What do you mean?” I leaned against the counter

  “If he’s so convinced that Lacey is the killer, lead him away from her. Give him other leads to follow while he is following you. The more rabbit holes you have him follow down, the more frustrated he will become. Maybe he will give up.”

  “That’s a good idea. I had another thought too. He was hired to prove that Sebastian is innocent of the murder. Maybe if I can prove Sebastian innocent, that would be enough to get rid of Redding.”

  “Do you think that Sebastian is guilty?”

  I shook my head. “There is no way to tell right now. He has the best motive.” I went on to tell my grandmother about the life insurance policy.

  She whistled. “Do you know what the amount is?”

  I shook my head. “I was lucky to learn about the policy at all. The police chief was being tight-lipped about it.”

  “What other suspects do you have?”

  “This time, my list is full of suspects.”

  My grandmother gestured to tell me to get on with making my list.

  “Okay.” I ticked the suspects off on my fingers. “There’s the fiancé, Sebastian Knight. He’s jealous of Belinda’s success. He is a sommelier too, but not as successful as she is. We saw them together if only briefly. She treated him more like a lackey than the man she was going to marry, and we can’t forget the life insurance policy that he took out on her.”

  “I like him for the killer,” Grandma Daisy said. “It’s clean and easy and makes the most sense.” The feather duster slashed like a swashbuckler. “Oh! And he’s a double ringer. Money and love. It’s the logical conclusion.”

  “Conclusions that make the most sense are not always the right answer.” I didn’t know what disturbed me more: the parrying duster or her obvious joy in discussing a murderer.

  I went on to my next suspect. “Then we have Miles Rathbone of Bone and Hearth Vineyards. Belinda wrote a terrible review of his winery and stopped his wine from having any traction in the market, so much so that he had to pull it from the shelves. Renee found the review for me. It was scathing. But that’s not all.” I paused. “It turns out Rathbone and Belinda were married.”

  “What?” Grandma Daisy yelped, and Falkner cawed in protest.

  I went on to tell her what Renee had discovered. Then I said, “And don’t forget wine critic Jake Zule said that he was there the night of the book signing. Jake Zule is a suspect in his own right because he now has Belinda’s writing gig. Perhaps he is thinking that he can take her place in wine society.”

  “They are both good options, especially the ex-husband, but my money is still on the fiancé.”

  “And we can’t forget Lacey’s younger sisters. Michelle works at the college and found me today. She and Belinda had a falling out when Belinda stopped giving money to Michelle and her husband to help raise their young daughters. Michelle is clearly envious of the younger Perkins girl, Adele, who has a studio in the bird neighborhood.”

  “How can she afford to have studio space there? It’s the most expensive part of the village.”

  “Belinda.”

  “Ah,” Grandma Daisy said. “I have never approved of the tactic of buying someone else’s affection.”

  I walked around the counter and picked up Emerson. The tuxie let me cradle him in my arms. He seemed to sense I needed some fluffy comfort at the moment. “It could be any one of them, and the shop is not exactly being direct as to who I should be looking at the closest.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting a few suspects?” My grandmother studied me.

  I tucked Emerson under my chin and felt his strong purr against my throat. “Not that I know of.”

  “What about the Mortons?” she asked in a low voice. “Nathan even?”

  I stared at her. “Grandma Daisy, you can’t think that Nathan did this? Or anyone in that family. Look at the bad press it has brought their winery.”

  “The Mortons were at the signing. You can’t count them out,” she said, repeating Renee’s sentiment from earlier.

  I hated to admit that my Grandma Daisy just might be right. Perhaps one of the Mortons had followed Belinda into the vineyard; maybe they’d argued over Belinda’s outburst. Hmmm.

  “Have you talked to any of them?”

  “Only Grant.” I frowned.

  “When was that?”

  “Last night. He brought over a bottle of ice wine to apologize for how the family had treated me.”

  Grandma Daisy pressed her lips together. “I don’t trust that man.”

  “Neither do I,” I said, thinking of how he’d spoken to Sadie about her writing. “But Grant is far too self-involved to murder anyone. All the M
ortons are. They wouldn’t want to hurt their business like that. The business comes first.”

  “Maybe that’s where you need to start leading Redding astray then. Lead him back to Morton Vineyards if it’s so obviously the wrong direction. He will think you’re onto something or he will become so frustrated that he will leave you alone.”

  “When should I do this?” I asked as I set Emerson on the counter.

  “Now, girl. There’s no time to waste.”

  I grimaced. I was tired and looking forward to a quiet evening in the shop, but Grandma Daisy was right: I had to get Redding off my back as soon as possible. “I don’t think the Mortons are involved, but at least it will throw him off Lacey.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Just don’t make it easy for him. Then he will become suspicious.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  I grinned. “I won’t. Grandma Daisy, you’ve given me a great idea. I know how to take it from here.”

  She waved her duster like a wand. “That’s what fairy grandmothers are for, my dear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I wanted Joel Redding to follow me to Morton Vineyards, but I didn’t want him to think that I wanted him to do that. I knew if he did, he would realize I was leading him on a wild-goose chase, so I left the bookshop on foot. I dashed across the street and between Midcentury Vintage and its next-door neighbor.

  As I disappeared between the two buildings, I heard a car door slam shut. I knew it was Redding following me. Instead of going straight, I ran around the back side of Sadie’s shop, around the side of the building, and back onto River Road.

  Then I sprinted to my Mini Cooper and jumped in.

  As I drove down the street and turned left on the road to follow the river, I saw Redding come around the side of the building. Clearly, he had followed my tracks in the snow. He threw up his hands as my car went around the curve.

  I wasn’t sure that Redding would be able to find me after that, but I basked in the moment of outmaneuvering the P.I.

  I followed River Road past the town hall, the Riverwalk, and the livery until it led out of the village to the wooded countryside. After two miles, the woods opened up and the wine country unfolded in front of me. There were rows of frozen grapevines on either side of the road.

  After a few turns, I came upon the long driveway that led to the Mortons’ white-framed winery and home. The late-afternoon sun reflected off the blanket of snow on the acre in front of the house. Snow balanced precariously on thin limbs of trees, and there was a thin coat of snow on the long drive that had fallen just that morning. I didn’t park in front of the house; instead I parked in the guest parking lot, just like I had the night of the signing. I chose a parking place that could be seen from the road so that Redding would spot my car if he happened by. Today the lot was empty.

  Sure enough, I saw a gray sedan roll slowly by the end of the Mortons’ drive. I knew it was Redding. I climbed out of my car, certain that Redding would see my car from the street and come back.

  I walked around the back of the winery to the servants’ entrance. The ice sculptures that I had seen in the garden near the entrance to the vineyard were gone. I wondered if Mrs. Morton had ordered them destroyed after the disastrous book signing.

  Now that I was at the winery, I wasn’t sure what I should do. I couldn’t very well knock on the door. Mrs. Morton had made it clear that she didn’t want me anywhere near her business or family. At the same time, I couldn’t let this opportunity to see the crime scene again pass. This might be my only chance. It was unlikely that Rainwater and his officers had missed any evidence from the scene. Rainwater was a thorough cop, and I knew he would have been back to the scene several times to reevaluate the scene. Even so, that didn’t mean I couldn’t take a second look too.

  Before I had made up my mind, the back door of the winery opened and Grant Morton stepped outside. He wore a winter coat and scarf. His mother was a step behind him, but she wasn’t wearing a coat over her twinset sweater and slacks. She was, however, wearing a sour expression. Grant’s back was to me, and Mrs. Morton looked too angry to see anything other than the subject of her anger, which happened to be her son.

  Not taking any chances, I squelched a yelp that threatened to bubble up in the back of my throat. And ducked around the latticework archway that led into the vineyard. A large bush hid me from view, but I risked it to peek around the side.

  “You never listen to a word I say,” Mrs. Morton said to her son. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you.”

  “It was Nathan’s idea to have the book signing at the winery, not mine!”

  “Yes, but you were the one who chose that store.”

  “Charming Books is the only bookshop in the village. Who else were we going to have sell the books?”

  “We should have done it ourselves. Charming Books never should have been involved.”

  “Do you think the Waverlys killed her?” Grant asked.

  I stifled a grasp. I had never thought for a moment that Grandma Daisy and I were suspects in the murder.

  “No, but you know how seeing Violet confuses you brother. He needs to remain focused on his political career and on the winery. He can’t keep setting his eyes on Violet Waverly, who never was and never will be good enough for him. Can you imagine that girl as a governor’s wife?”

  Even though I no longer loved Nathan, her words stung. As a teenager, I had thought that I didn’t measure up in Mrs. Morton’s view as a worthy partner for her son, and now I knew that was true.

  “Governor? My, you think Nathan can do anything, don’t you?”

  “You ruined your hopes of politics when you were caught in that fraud scheme last summer. That will always come back to haunt you.”

  “So, nothing I’ve done in all this time at the winery has improved my image in your eyes, has it?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Mrs. Morton snapped.

  But Grant and I both knew that, in a way, she had.

  “I don’t have time for this.” Hurt laced Grant’s voice. “I’m going to be late for the winemakers’ guild meeting.”

  “I don’t know why you’re even going. Nathan will be there. He will represent out winery.”

  “Because he’s the perfect son,” Grant said bitterly. “I already know this, Mother.” He spun on his heel, and I ducked behind the bush, holding my breath.

  I heard footsteps moving away toward the front of the large house, and the back door to the winery slammed closed.

  I crouched in my spot for a few seconds more and then slowly stood up. I poked my head around the side of the bush again. Mrs. Morton and Grant were gone. I gave a sigh of relief.

  I turned back to the vineyard. In the light of day, the vines were pretty in a dead, frozen sort of way. Thin nets had been placed over all the vines to protect the frozen grapes from birds. The frozen grapes glinted and twinkled in the sunlight like polished marbles.

  Bending down low, hoping the grapes would hide me, I crept to where I had found Belinda’s dead body. The spot wasn’t hard to find. There was crime scene tape around the area. There was a dark-red mark on the snow. I swallowed, knowing that the stain must be blood. I stepped closer to the red mark and leaned over the crime scene tape for a better look. I shivered and stood up.

  Standing there, I realized that Grandma Daisy was right. The Mortons could very well have committed this murder. It had happened only a few steps from their back door. They’d had the opportunity. I knew firsthand that there were members of the family angry enough to commit the crime. They’d had the means. However, I kept coming back to the fact that killing Belinda made their lives more difficult. The motive was what I was missing. The murder brought bad press down on the winery and tarnished their reputation. For the Mortons, all four of them, reputation was everything. I just could not believe that they would do something so detrimental to their own business. I could see them hurting someone else’s business with no p
roblem.

  “I wish I could say I’m surprised to find you trespassing back here, but then I would be lying,” a male voice said behind me.

  I jumped and spun around. “Grant! How did you find me?”

  He laughed. “Vi, your car is in the middle of the parking lot, plain as day. Anyone could have found you here.”

  I should have thought about the Mortons seeing my car as well as Redding.

  “Two kinds of people come back to the scene of the crime: the guilty and the nosy. Which one are you, Vi?” Grant studied me.

  “I’m not guilty,” I said.

  “But you are nosy, too nosy for your own good.”

  “I prefer inquisitive.” I stepped back from the crime scene tape.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I just wanted to come back to the scene to see if it would stir any memories that might tell us who killed Belinda.”

  He laughed. “You solved a murder or two and now see yourself as a professional.”

  “I’m not a professional, but Lacey is my friend. I want to help her.”

  “I can understand that. You were always such a loyal friend to Colleen, weren’t you?”

  I frowned. Why did he insist on bringing up Colleen?

  “If you are looking for Nathan, he’s not here. He’s off doing mayoral things.” He said this with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Nathan is the heir to this throne.” He gestured broadly at the vineyard. “But he doesn’t have to put in the day-to-day work to earn it. It must be nice to be the heir.”

  “This is your home too,” I said.

  He smiled. “I’m doing my best to prove that to my parents and to my brother.”

  “Your parents have always wanted you to take over this business.”

  “Theoretically,” he muttered. He eyed me. “Were you going to knock on the door to announce your visit this afternoon, or did you plan just to snoop around the vineyard like a thief? You’re a braver person than me to risk Camille Morton’s wrath.”