Luckily, learning to speak Emmy mumble was one of the few skills Eddie had acquired. "I don't know. She's just called 'Unnamed source close to the business partners.'"
"Partners?" I lifted my head to glance at the evil tablet again. "You mean Tyler and Mark Black?"
Eddie nodded and pointed to the section.
I looked over his shoulder and read the line out loud. " A source close to the business partners alleges that Black and Daniels argued quite frequently over money matters at the restaurant. " I paused. "Well, that much we knew." Though I wondered who the source was as I read on. " The close source said, 'You didn't hear it from me, but Tyler Daniels accused his partner of…embezzlement."
"Embezzlement!" Ava said. "Whoa. Talk about your motive for murder."
I shook my head. "Remember, this is Bradley Wu we're talking about. See that dot, dot, dot?" I stabbed my finger at the spot in the article. "That could say anything. Like 'accused his partner of nothing like embezzlement.'"
Ava shrugged. "Good point. Hard to say what the source actually heard."
"Or who she might be," Eddie added.
I read back over the line again. While I was 90% sure Bradley was tweaking the words for his own sensationalism, I also recognized one phrase as likely authentic. You didn't hear it from me. Mostly because I had heard it from her the night before: Mandy, the hostess at Tyler's Place.
"Actually, that one I might know," I said, filling them in on the conversations I'd had at the restaurant, both with Mandy and Mark Black.
When I was done, Ava's eyes were shining with a look that instantly made me nervous. "We definitely need to talk to this Mandy again," she decided.
"And say what?" I said hesitantly.
"Look, if this source is Mandy, and if Mark was embezzling and if Tyler found out about it and Mandy overheard him confront Mark, that's a huge reason to want Tyler out of the picture."
"It's also a lot of ifs."
"So, let's go talk to Mandy and eliminate a couple of them."
I paused, looking from Eddie to Conchita. "Think you two can manage the festival for an hour or so?"
Conchita nodded " Sí, sí . We have everything covered. Go."
Eddie nodded in agreement, glancing down at the article again. "Jean Luc needs you," he decided. Very kind of him, considering the fact that Jean Luc did, on a regular basis, yell at Eddie and call him incompetent. In Jean Luc's defense, Eddie was incompetent, but as he was demonstrating now, he also had a heart of gold, which was worth just as much to me at the moment.
I turned to Ava. "Okay, you win. Where do we start?"
* * *
Turns out a first name and place of employment were not a lot to go on when it came to tracking down a person. Our first try was the Tyler's Place website, but the only name listed was—no surprise—Tyler Daniels. Then Ava tried typing in Mandy employed at Tyler's Place into a search engine. Luck must have been with us, as we got a hit on the LinkedIn website. Unfortunately, as we clicked through to LinkedIn, luck took another long hike, and we realize we had not one hit but thirty-five.
I groaned. "How could there be this many Mandys who work at Tyler's restaurants?"
Ava shrugged. "He does have four locations."
"Yeah, that's still like nine Mandys at each one!"
"Not all of these look like they're active," Ava said, clicking on the first one—an Amanda Cline who lived in Illinois. She was listed as working as a server at Tyler's Place in Chicago two years ago. Last active date on the LinkedIn site was one year and nine months ago.
"Okay, so our Mandy is not Amanda Cline," I cleverly deduced as Ava switched back to the list. "Who's next?"
"Armando 'Mandy' Rodriguez. Dishwasher at the Los Angeles restaurant." Ava paused. "This might not be so hard to weed through after all."
She was right. After clicking through each name on the list of thirty-five, we finally narrowed our search down to two Mandys—Amanda Brooks and Mandy McIntire, both listed as hostesses at Tyler's Place and both living in Sonoma. After some quality time with our friend Google, we found a social media page for Mandy McIntire, where all of her recent posts had to do with her being eight months pregnant with twins. Amanda Brooks was our Mandy.
And, after a couple of quick white pages searches, we had an address just south of Sonoma Valley High School.
Since it was turning out to be a beautiful day, at least as far as the weather was concerned, we decided to take Ava's GTO convertible. With sunglasses on and ponytails flapping behind us, I'm sure we looked to all the world like two blondes without a care. Good thing they couldn't read my mind and hear that every thought running through it had to do with murder.
The address our search gave us was an older townhouse complex. Ava parked semi-legally in front of the garage for number 17B, and I rang the bell of the small corner unit. At first I feared Mandy wasn't at home, as I heard the chime echoing inside but no movement to accompany it. I waited a good thirty seconds before ringing again as Ava chewed on a fingernail beside me. I was about to give up when I finally heard shuffling footsteps on the other side and the sound of a lock being unlatched.
The door opened, and a sleepy-looking Mandy stared out at us. "Yeah?" she said, stifling a yawn. She was in a pair of pink pajama pants bearing a Victoria's Secret logo and a white tank top, and her hair was sticking out a wild angle on one side.
"Sorry to wake you," I said automatically.
"'S okay." She blinked at me. "What do you want?"
"I'm Emmy Oak. I own Oak Valley Vineyards."
She gave me a blank stare. "Do I know you?"
"Uh, not really. I was in the restaurant last night."
"Yeah, a lot of people were," she said.
"Right. Well, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions…"
"Wait, you're not a reporter, are you?" She narrowed her eyes at us and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because that last one totally misquoted me."
I opened my mouth to reassure her that we were not reporters, but before I could get a word out, Ava beat me to it.
"Yes! We are reporters."
I shut my mouth with a click and shot her a look. "We are?"
"Yes." Ava nodded enthusiastically. "We're with the, uh, Sonoma Truth Tellers ."
Mandy cocked her head to the side. "I've never heard of that paper."
"We're mainly digital," Ava said, waving that minor detail off. "But, what we do is get to the real truth behind the sensation. We like to set the record straight. And when we read Bradley Wu's piece this morning, we just knew it wasn't the whole, unedited truth."
Well, at least that much was true.
And it seemed to have the desired effect, as Mandy's defensive posture relaxed.
"Seriously! That guy can totally twist someone's words," she said. Then she seemed to stop herself, realizing she might be giving away her anonymity. "I mean, so I heard."
"Any chance we could come in and ask you a few questions?" I jumped in.
Mandy thought about it for a second. "Okay, but as long as you promise you won't print anything that isn't 100% the way I say it."
"Cross my heart," I told her. Which was an easy promise to make, considering we weren't planning to print anything at all.
Mandy stepped back, allowing us both entry into the townhouse. The living room/dining room combo was small but homey, furnished with a loveseat and armchair situated to face a TV above a gas fireplace. Beyond that, I could see an eat-in kitchen and a stairway that led up to what I assumed were bedrooms. Mandy plopped herself down on the armchair, crossing her bare feet up under her, and Ava and I sat on the sofa.
"So, what did you want to know?" Mandy asked.
"Well," I said, "for starters, I'd love to know what you actually said to Bradley Wu that was misquoted."
Mandy's face colored. "Why do you think it was me who talked to Wu?"
"Just a hunch." I gave her a reassuring smile. "But it was you, wasn't it?"
She let out a long brea
th. "Okay, fine. Yeah, I talked to the guy. He came in last night—after you," she said, gesturing to me. "At first I didn't even know he was a reporter. He just wanted to know all about Tyler. I thought maybe he was a super fan or something. But then what do I see this morning? My words all misquoted in print. Ugh!"
I knew the feeling.
"The article mentioned you overheard an argument?" I asked.
Mandy nodded. "Dude, Mark and Tyler argued every time Tyler was in town. Most of them went pretty much the same. Mark yelling that Tyler was spending too much, and Tyler asking Mark whose name was on the sign."
"So Tyler didn't accuse Mark of embezzlement?" I asked.
Mandy shook her head, her bed head flopping around her ears. "No. Tyler accused Mark of being a—" She paused. "Can you quote swear words?"
Ava shook her head. "We're a family paper."
"Okay, well then, he accused Mark of being a big 'poo-poo' head." She did air quotes, indicating the part that might not have originally been family friendly.
"So there was never any talk of embezzlement?" I asked, feeling my hopes sink.
"Oh, sure there was."
"Oh?" Hope perked back up.
"Yeah, but it was just talk. I mean, I heard Tyler say that thing about Mark then Mark said something back about Tyler being an egotistical—" She paused, stopping herself just in time. "Egotistical 'other word for a donkey.' Then Tyler said something about missing money, and Mark said embezzlement was ridiculous."
"Then what?" I asked, feeling on the metaphorical edge of my seat.
But Mandy shrugged. "Then one of the dishwashers walked by, and I didn't want him to see me hanging around Mark's office."
"So what was this missing money?" Ava asked.
"Search me. I don't even know if any money was missing. I mean, like I said, Mark said it was ridiculous."
Which didn't mean it wasn't true.
"Hey, you aren't going to use my name on this, are you?" Mandy asked. "I mean, I'm not sure my boss will like me talking to the press, even if it is to set the record straight."
I shook my head. "I promise your name won't end up in print anywhere."
* * *
"So it is actually possible that Tyler accused Mark of embezzling," Ava noted as we got back into her car.
"Tyler just said 'missing money,'" I reminded her. "It's also possible that Tyler found ten bucks missing from the bar register. 'Missing money' is a pretty broad term."
"But Mark did say the word embezzling," Ava countered.
"Yeah, as in it was ridiculous."
"Which is exactly what an embezzler would say!" Ava said, eyes shining as she pulled out of the townhouse complex.
"You are almost as bad as Bradley Wu," I told her.
"Ouch." She shot me a look of mock hurt. "Low blow, girl."
I laughed. "Okay, fine. For the sake of argument, let's say there was money missing."
"You said Mark admitted that they were in bad financial shape, but what if it wasn't really because Tyler was overspending but because Mark was skimming funds?"
"Tyler finds out and confronts Mark," I said, picking up her narrative.
"And Mark kills Tyler to keep it quiet. And," Ava added, "conveniently points the finger at Tyler as the reason their funds are running low. Tyler's not around to dispute it, and it would be easy enough for Mark to juggle the books to make it look like Tyler had wasted the money away."
"What isn't as easy is proving any of this is true," I pointed out. "All we have is 'you didn't hear it from me' Mandy and a lot of guesswork."
"If only we could get a look at Tyler's Place's books," Ava said, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, her eyes getting a faraway look in them.
"Oh no," I said.
She blinked innocently at me. "What?"
"I know that look. It's your Charlie's Angels look."
"What's wrong with Charlie's Angels ?"
"Nothing, but whenever you get that look, you're imagining us being badass crime fighters."
She grinned. "Admit it—you're kind of imagining it too."
"I'm imagining us getting arrested."
She scoffed. "What for?"
"For whatever scheme you're cooking up."
Ava waved me off with a laugh. "Look, I'm just saying, if we could get a look at the books, we could tell if Mark was cooking them to cover his embezzlement. That's all."
"And we would get a look at his private financial papers, how…?" I asked, waiting for the punch line.
She shrugged. "We could break into the restaurant when it's closed."
"That's it." I stabbed a finger her way. "That's what's wrong with the Charlie's Angels look."
Ava shook her head at me. "You're no fun."
"It's called being a law-abiding citizen. Wait—did you just roll your eyes at me?"
"Nervous twitch," Ava covered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the time we got back to the winery, the festival was in full swing. Or, as full a swing as I feared we could expect. If it was possible, even fewer guests were milling around today, and if I had to guess, press outnumbered them two to one. Ava quickly went to open her Silver Girl booth, and I went in search of Hector. All the empty booths from vendors who had not returned were starting to get depressing. If he could pull them down before we reopened again tomorrow, maybe our last day wouldn't look like I was serving appetizers in a ghost town.
I finally found him in our wine cellar—or The Cave as my grandma Emmeline had dubbed it years ago. As a kid I'd loved to play there, the cool, underground cavern a welcomed place to escape from the summer heat. As an adult, I knew it held our greatest assets—our stock in trade aged to perfection. In fact, I'd recently sold a couple of the older bottles at auction to raise funds needed for our harvest this year. Something I'd hoped we wouldn't need to do.
"Hey, kid," Hector greeted me. He sent me a smile through the weather worn wrinkles that comprised his face. Hector had been a fixture at Oak Valley ever since my father's time, having come on as a teen and practically growing up in the vineyard. He'd taught me everything I knew about the vines, and I'd even been the flower girl at his wedding to Conchita, which had taken place years ago right here at the winery. My parents had looked at them as family, and Hector had been the first one to alert me that something hadn't seemed right with my mom. I hadn't wanted to believe it then, but, as always, he'd been right. He also often made the weekly trips with me to visit her in the home in Napa where she spent her days trapped in memories that had become her jumbled reality.
I shook that thought off, focusing on the more immediate problems of the day.
"Hi, Hector," I returned his greeting.
"Just grabbing a few more bottles for Jean Luc. The guests are thirsty today."
I raised an eyebrow. "Guests or reporters?"
Hector gave me sympathetic smile. "I saw the article too. Chin up, kid. This will pass."
"Thanks," I told him, meaning it. "Let's just hope it doesn't bulldoze us down as it does."
He laughed, the chuckle deep and rumbling. "We've been through tougher things than this."
"Not a lot tougher," I countered.
But his smile didn't falter. "We'll be fine. Just think of all the reporters who are getting hooked on Oak Valley wines." He gave me a wink.
"There's always a silver lining, huh?" Despite the fact I only half believed that, I couldn't help an answering smile tugging at my mouth. "I wanted to talk to you about the empty booths up in the festival grounds."
"I noticed. There are quite a few, aren't there?"
"Unfortunately. Any chance you could pull some down before we open tomorrow? I'm afraid they're not sending the right message."
He nodded. "I'll get Charlie and José to help me when we close."
I sent him a grateful smile. "Thanks. At least we can try to finish with a bang."
Hector wagged a finger at me as he hauled a case of Zinfandel onto his shoulder. "A bang is what started all th
is trouble in the first place."
Wasn't that the truth.
I thanked him and closed the cellar doors behind us as he took his case toward the tasting room. I was just about to follow him, when something caught my eye a few paces down the stone pathway.
Gabriela Genova and Alec Post, just off the pathway, partially hidden by a grove of oak trees. Not that the pair were an odd sight, but I noticed Gabby was waving her arms wildly, her words coming out rapid-fire. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the body language was clear—the couple was arguing.
I did an angel-shoulder-devil-shoulder thing as I watched Alec fire some response back, his usually handsome features contorted with anger. He was Mr. Hyde Alec at the moment.
I really shouldn't eavesdrop. Whatever they were arguing about was clearly none of my business. However, if it had anything to do with Tyler's death and could help Jean Luc's case…
Devil shoulder won, as I tip-toed off the stone pathway, going the long way around the grove of trees to come up on the other side of the couple. A stone wall sat just beside the grove, making for excellent cover as I caught the tail end of Gabby's response.
"…totally overreacting!"
" I'm overreacting?" Alec shot back. "You're the one getting all hot and defensive."
Defensive? That was an interesting word. Innocent people didn't usually need to defend themselves.
Gabby's response was loud, immediate, and half in Italian. I tried to think back to my high school Spanish classes for some help, but I could only pick up a few words.
"…lies!…with someone so stupido …believe me… muerto …"
I froze. Muerto I knew. It meant dead. Was she talking about Tyler?
I inched forward, trying to peek around the wall to see her face, but my foot must have landed on a stick, as a loud crack sounded through the air.
Okay, maybe loud was relative, but to someone crouching in the dirt trying to eavesdrop unseen, it felt like a herd of elephants.
And Gabby must have noticed it too, as her Italian tirade stopped. "What was that?" she asked.
"Don't change the subject," came Alec's curt reply.
Victim in the Vineyard Page 8
