"Sorry," Ashley told me, "but I try to hear from my ex-husband as little as possible." She sent me another wink.
"Understandable," I agreed. "We're set to start the demo in half an hour, and I'm just getting a little nervous."
"Don't be," Ashley assured me. "Trust me, if there is any chance of attention, Tyler will be here. He never misses an opportunity to preen for an adoring crowd." She ended the comment with sarcastic ha at her own joke.
"I hope so," I said, excusing myself to continue my search.
I stepped out the main entrance to the front of the winery, where large, centuries old oak trees created a canopy of shade over a small gravel parking lot and long, winding driveway. Our spot on a small hill overlooking the valley was tucked away enough from the main road to feel like a hidden oasis yet was still a short, pleasant drive from downtown Sonoma, which I hoped many foodies and enthusiasts were willing to make today.
I spotted Eddie standing next to the carved wooden sign touting our winery's name, adjusting his bowtie as he played greeter to guests as they trekked from our parking lot to the festival site.
"We're getting a fair crowd," he told me, smiling and waving at a young couple with a baby in a carrier.
"That's good news," I told him. "But the bad news is we're missing our star."
Eddie turned to me. "I thought I saw Gabby arrive earlier. She was with this delish little boy toy with dimples." He paused, quickly covering his mouth with a pudgy hand. "Oh, don't tell Curtis I said that. He's got a wicked jealous streak ever since I made the mistake of saying I thought Derek Hough looked hot on Dancing with the Stars ."
Despite my worried mood, I couldn't help a grin. "Your secret's safe with me. But I don't suppose you've seen our other star, Tyler Daniels?"
Eddie nodded. "As a matter of fact, I believe that's him arriving now."
I followed the line of his well manicured finger to see a man in his midforties stepping out of a Ferrari and running a hand through his trademark shock of red hair styled in an old fashioned pompadour. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt in a deceptively casual style and took a moment to survey the crowded lot before taking his mirrored aviator glasses off.
I felt relief flood me as I rushed forward to greet him.
"Mr. Daniels," I called.
His gaze turned my way, his blue eyes even brighter in person than they sparkled on TV.
"Emmy Oak," I introduced myself, approaching. "I'm the owner and coordinator of the festival. Thank you so much for being here."
"Let's make this quick, huh, doll," Tyler said, gaze going somewhere beyond me as if completely disinterested. "I'm not here to chitchat."
I cleared my throat, glossing over the whole "doll" thing. "Uh, right. Well, we're setting up for the first demo now, and it's about to start, so let me show you—"
"Yeah, we'll be postponing that."
"Excuse me?"
He shot me an annoyed look. "Do I look ready for a demo right now? Huh? Do I?"
"I-I'm not sure," I stammered. While I knew Tyler Daniels was known for his hotheaded persona on TV, I hadn't expected to bear the wrath of it before even making it out of the parking lot.
"Where can I put my trailer?" he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as he barked at me.
"T-trailer?" I asked. "I'm not sure I—"
But I didn't get to finish as he gestured to the tree lined driveway where a large RV was pulling up. Along the side of the trailer was a huge image of Tyler's face—white veneers grinning for the camera in a much more charming fashion than the scowl I was currently encountering—along with his famous catchphrase, Now we're cookin' with heat!
I blinked. "Oh. I didn't realize you planned to stay here."
Tyler threw his head back and laughed, though the tone was more mocking than humor. "Honey, you couldn't pay me to stay here. "
I tried really hard to keep a placid look on my face at the insult. Not that Tyler seemed to care what effect he had on little ol' me as he rambled on.
"I have a condo in town. Overlooking the river ," he added for emphasis, lest I should think he lived among the peasants who couldn't afford a water view. "This," he said, gesturing to the monument to his ego, "is just to give me somewhere to escape my fans."
I sighed. His own trailer. Of course.
"So," he continued. "Where can my crew set up?"
"Crew? You brought a camera crew too?"
Tyler shook his head, frowning at me. "No, this is my hair and makeup crew." He paused. "You didn't expect me to go on without my stylists?" He did a smirk that said I was so naïve in the ways of the televised and famous.
"No. Of course not," I covered. I quickly surveyed the packed lot for anywhere to put the fifty-foot monstrosity. "Um, why don't you have them pull it around the back? We have some space where deliveries unload behind the kitchen."
For a moment I thought he was going to protest the back door placement, the frown deepening, but finally he must have realized space was at a premium, as he just barked out a quick, "Fine." Then he spun and stalked to the RV.
I let out a breath, having diffused the second diva of the day, and asked Eddie to direct the RV around the back of the building as I took over his greeter duties.
* * *
It took Tyler at least half an hour to have hair and makeup release him in the same white T-shirt and jeans, looking almost exactly the way he went into the trailer. Then he required an extra half hour to go over the recipe they'd be demonstrating with Gabby, who complained the entire time about how her makeup was melting in the moisture from the humidifier that Ava had miraculously found. By the time the cooking demo started, we were a good hour behind, but Tyler pulled on a welcoming smile, loud and booming voice, and jovial, humorous banter that had the crowd applauding and oohing and ahhing at his culinary creations. Gabby's warm laughter floated down to us as she seared the chicken on the grill, and as Tyler tossed a handful of red pepper flakes at the dish and yelled his catchphrase, the audience cheered with delight. For all the headaches, the two stars were consummate professionals on the stage, doing exactly what I had hoped they would to entertain and entice the crowd. I felt my nerves dissipating as the murmurs of approval rang all around me.
Once the demo was over, the crowd applauded heartily before dispersing to enjoy more tasty bites and sip the afternoon away. Tyler retired to his trailer, and Alec was able to convince Gabby to step inside the tasting room to get out of the "wretched outdoors."
The rest of the afternoon went off without a hitch, a couple of local bands taking the stage to play mellow country and then soft jazz as the crowd continued to grow. Tyler emerged from his trailer and camped out in our tasting room, drinking Pinot Noir like it was going out of style. Which I didn't mind in the least—if I was lucky, he'd order a couple of cases. If I was really lucky, he might start serving it in his restaurant chain. Ava sold several silver pieces to patrons, a couple of booths were so popular they ran out of food, and even Gabby seemed to enjoy herself, dancing with Alec as the jazz band encouraged amorous couples to gather in front of the stage.
By the time the sun was starting to set, we were ready for our second demo of the night—a final dessert dish to pair with our Zinfandel before the guests made their way home.
The sky was turning a dusky pink, the moon appearing just above the horizon in a pale crescent glow, as I spied Gabby taking the stage. I could see her gesturing her arms wildly at Alec, a frown on her beautiful features. I steeled myself against whatever she had to complain about this time as I approached.
"Gabby," I said, pasting a smile on my face. "The last demo was absolutely fabulous. The crowd loved it."
She blinked at me a moment as if trying to remember who I was before recognition set in. "Well, it should be. Tyler made us rehearse it enough. As if I don't know how to cook chicken breast." She snorted.
"Uh, where is Tyler?" I hated to ask.
Gabby put both hands on her ample hips. " That is just what I'd like to
know. I swear if that man makes me stand out in the elements waiting again while he preens for an hour, I'll—"
"Maybe you could check his trailer?" Alec cut in, addressing me before Gabby could finish that threat.
"Thanks. On my way," I told him, quickly exiting the stage and leaving him to soothe the savage ego.
I crossed the meadow, coming around the back of the main winery buildings, and spotted the trailer parked under a large tree that just skimmed the roof. A couple of guys with spiky, bleached hair and lots of piercings stood outside of it, smoking cigarettes.
"Is Tyler in there?" I asked who I assumed were his glam squad.
The taller of the two shook his head. "Haven't seen him. We were waiting to freshen up his makeup, but he hasn't showed."
I felt a frown form, praying my star hadn't lost track of time in the tasting room. Just for good measure, I knocked on the trailer door, but it was answered by a slim girl in a hairdresser's apron, who informed me Tyler was not inside. She hadn't seen him since after the last demo.
After making rounds to the tasting room, the dining pavilion, and backtracking through the festival grounds again, I came up empty. I glanced at my phone, noting the time. Ten minutes until our demo was to start. I bit my lip. I wasn't sure guests would stick around if Tyler was an hour late with the final event like he'd been with the first.
I was about to give up and tell Gabby to go ahead solo, when a flash of movement in the vineyard to the left of the meadow caught my eye. The sun was falling lower now, and the landscape was growing dusky, casting shadows among the vines.
"Tyler?" I called out.
While no one answered, I thought I saw another flash of something, just beyond the first row of grapevines.
I followed it, jogging toward the vines, though as I peeked down the row, I saw nothing. I walked a few more paces, going one row over, hoping Tyler had snuck away to memorize lines or take a quiet moment apart from the crowds before his performance.
"Tyler?" I called again. "Tyler, we're about to start the demo."
Nothing but the breeze answered me. I could hear the dull roar of the crowd still, but it sounded far away. The stillness of the vineyard was almost eerie as the light quickly faded, darkness seeming to wrap around me from all angles.
I stepped one more row over.
And then I saw it.
White T-shirt, jeans, and a now-tussled mess of red hair that sat atop a face whose expression was frozen in shock, bright blue eyes staring unblinking up at the night sky.
Tyler Daniels.
And judging by the lifeless stare and pool of blood growing around his still body, he would not be doing any more cooking demonstrations.
Ever again.
CHAPTER TWO
I heard a long, gut-wrenching scream that in hindsight was most certainly mine. Then I felt my legs turn and flee, as if they had a mind of their own and it was telling them in no uncertain terms to run—run as far away from the gruesome scene as possible. I vaguely remembered stumbling back toward the festival grounds and falling into Ava's arms, incoherently babbling about dead bodies and blood.
So much blood.
She'd had the good sense to call 9-1-1 then pour me a glass of Zin and sit me in a chair in a quiet corner as she instructed Jean Luc to calmly start ushering guests out before the police arrived and the festival turned into a crime scene.
It felt like hours before the faint sound of sirens approached, but in reality it was probably more like minutes. As the last festival stragglers unsteadily awaited their Ubers, the sky was suddenly bathed in the red and blue lights of local law enforcement arriving en mass. Uniformed officers swarmed the scene. Ava directed several toward the south vineyard as one young officer in a rumpled uniform and glasses asked for my version of events, electronic tablet open to take notes.
I took deep breaths, trying to calm my thoughts into something at least mildly coherent. I slowly relayed my movements that evening, from looking for our wayward star to finding him very much unable to greet his public. As I replayed the scene, the hairs on my forearms stood at attention and my eyes shut as if they were trying to stop the disturbing image from gushing in.
"Emmy?" I opened them to find a plainclothes detective had joined the young officer.
He was tall, over six feet, and had broad shoulders, dark hair that lay several days past needing a cut along the nape of his neck, and deep brown eyes with small golden flecks that were now staring back at me with a note of concern.
Detective Christopher Grant, Violent Crimes Investigations Unit of the Sonoma County Sheriff's Office.
I'd first encountered Grant a few months ago when we'd had an unfortunate incident in our wine cellar. He'd struck me then as thorough, stoic, and harboring maybe just a little danger beneath the surface. Since then I'd seen some softness peek through that hard shell, and possibly even a little flirtatiousness. The last time I'd seen him was on what was to be our first date, at Ashton's restaurant downtown. Only, we'd just ordered the appetizers when a home invasion had occurred in Petaluma, and Grant had had to cut the evening short. We'd been promising to get together again ever since, neither of our busy schedules quite matching up enough to make it happen.
"I guess all it takes is a dead body to get a second date," I said, trying at humor to cover the fear still making my hands shake even as I held them together in my lap.
The corner of Grant's mouth lifted ever so slightly as he crouched down to meet me eye to eye. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and deep and feeling more intimate than a detective usually got with his witnesses.
I sighed. "I will be."
He gave me a long look like he was only half convinced, but he nodded. "Good." He stood back up and pulled another chair over to sit beside me. "Can you tell me what happened?"
I took a deep breath, willing myself to relive the whole thing again. "There's not a lot to tell," I said honestly. "Tyler was missing. Then I found him." I paused, swallowing down the image. "Dead in the vineyard. There was a lot of blood." My voice must have betrayed the host of emotions still coursing through me, as Grant put a protective hand on my back. While it was a small gesture, the warmth felt like a beacon of safety.
"How well did you know Tyler?" Grant asked.
"I didn't. I mean, I just met him today. Jean Luc secured him for the event."
"So Jean Luc knew Tyler?"
I nodded. "I think he used to work for him. Years ago in one of his restaurants. Back when Tyler was first starting out on TV."
"Right. Tyler was some sort of celebrity?"
I let out a small laugh. "I take it you don't watch the Cooking Network?"
He shook his head. "Enlighten me."
"Well, Tyler's been the star of the network for a few years. He's had several shows— Kitchen Battle , On the Chopping Block , Tasty Treats with Tyler ."
"So this guy was a big deal," he surmised.
"In the foodie world, yeah. His most recent is Eat Up , a daily morning show he co-hosts with Gabby."
"That would be Gabriela Genova?" he asked, pulling his notebook out to consult it. Unlike the other officers, Grant still used old school paper. I could see his hastily scratched notes covering the page he flipped to.
"Yes. She and Tyler had a fun banter on the show. I think that's what people tuned in for even more than the recipes."
"And she was here with Tyler today?"
I nodded again. "They did a chicken demonstration together earlier. They were supposed to do a cake presentation tonight and a barbeque thing tomorrow." I bit my lip as it sunk in that those plans were as dead as my MC. No Tyler meant no demos, no presentations, no celebrity draw. Though, I was pretty sure the press would be swarming in droves. I closed my eyes again, thinking of the salacious headline I was sure Bradley Wu was typing up right now. He had a flair for the dramatic, and little was more dramatic than a victim in the vineyard.
"When was the last time you saw Tyler?" Grant asked.
I opened my ey
es to find him scribbling down more notes. "I-I'm not really sure. Maybe seven. Eight? He was in the tasting room."
"And you went looking for him when?"
"About an hour later. He was supposed to do another demo soon, and Gabby was afraid he'd be late again, which is when I went looking for him and…" I trailed off, not wanting to go over the rest again.
"Did you see Jean Luc then?"
"What?" I snapped my thought away from Tyler Daniels' dead body and back to present.
"Jean Luc. Did you see him while you were looking for Daniels?"
"I-I don't think so. Why do you ask?" I scanned Grant's expression for any indication of his thoughts, but he had his stony Cop Face on now, all of the previous concern replaced by a blank look that gave away nothing.
"Did you look for Tyler in the tasting room?"
"Yes," I hedged.
"And Jean Luc was there?"
I pursed my lips, thinking back. "No, I didn't see him here. But he was probably in the cellar, grabbing more bottles for tomorrow."
"Did you see him in the cellar?" Grant pressed.
I shook my head slowly. "No, but, I didn't specifically go there either."
"When was the last time you saw Jean Luc at the bar?"
"Maybe eight thirty? It was getting dark, and we'd started pouring the Zinfandel to pair with Tyler's dessert."
"Eight thirty." Grant made a note in his book.
"Whose alibi are you looking for?" I asked point-blank. "Jean Luc's or mine?"
Grant's eyes flickered up to mine. "Did you kill Tyler?"
"No!" I scoffed.
The corner of Grant's mouth ticked up a notch. "I didn't think so."
"But you think Jean Luc did?" I asked, reading between the lines.
Grant drew in a deep breath through his nose, nostril flaring. "Jean Luc and Tyler had a history together."
"The foodie community is small—lots of us have histories together," I countered. "Jean Luc worked for Tyler. But that was a long time ago."
"It was his idea to have Tyler MC this event?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes. Tyler was a big draw. Local boy done good and all." I paused again. "Why?"
Victim in the Vineyard Page 2
