Victim in the Vineyard

by Gemma Halliday

  What I couldn't tell was if anyone was actually stealing money to line his own pockets and cooking the books…or if Tyler was just a really terrible businessman.

  I stretched my arms above my head and blinked the strain out of my eyes. What I needed was someone who was an expert in these types of accounts. I paused a moment, wondering just how much I wanted to get my circle of trust involved in this, but as Jean Luc's nervous mustache twitched in my mind's eye, I made a split-second decision and picked up my phone.

  "Gene Schultz," the voice on the other end answered after the first ring had barely finished.

  "Hey, Gene. It's Emmy Oak."

  "Emmy, my favorite winery owner. How are you? How's the festival?"

  "Great," I lied.

  "Don't kid a kidder, kid," he shot back. "I've seen the news, you know."

  "Vicious lies."

  He made a noncommittal hmmm sound in his throat but let the comment go.

  "Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

  "Honey, I've been doing you favors all day. Your investors are not happy about the body in your vineyard, and I've been on damage control since dawn."

  While the winery was still family owned, in order to cover harvest cost and up our inventory, we'd had to take on a panel of investors who earned a small royalty on each bottle we sold. It cut into our profits, but for the moment, it was what was keeping our doors open. Which meant we sorely needed their backing.

  "How bad is it?" I hesitated to ask.

  He sighed. "Remains to be seen. I'd say we're at yellow, but it could easily veer into red again depending on what the morning news has to say."

  I felt a wave of nerves at that thought but shoved it aside. One crisis at a time.

  "So what's this favor?" Gene asked.

  "I need you to look at the books of this restaurant." I paused, wondering how much to divulge. "Tyler's Place."

  "The dead guy's restaurant?"

  I nodded at the empty room. "I spoke to his partner yesterday. We're, uh, looking at doing some business with them."

  "What sort of business?" Schultz asked. I could hear the skepticism in his voice.

  "They're thinking about serving our wines in their restaurant."

  "Exclusively yours?"

  "Uh, well, I don't know—"

  "In all four restaurants?"

  "Uh, sure…maybe?"

  "Well, that might be something," he agreed. "You said you had some financials for me to look at?"

  "Yes. I have copies of their receivables and payables."

  "They gave you these?"

  "Yesssss," I said, drawing out the lie in a much more tentative fashion than I'd intended.

  "That's very forthcoming of them."

  "Isn't it?" I put my hand up to my face to make sure my nose wasn't actually growing. "Anyway, I, uh, just wanted to make sure it all adds up."

  "Adds up?" Gene repeated. "You mean you suspect something isn't on the up-and-up with them?"

  I bit my lip. "Kind of. I…well, I just wanted to make sure their funds are being well-handled. You know, before we get into bed with them. Think you could look over it all for me?"

  "I think I better," Gene decided. "Email it over, and I'll see what I can tell you."

  I let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I'll send them over now."

  We said our goodbyes—with me promising to turn our reputation around for the investors and Gene promising that if I didn't, he'd be visiting shortly. I tried not to take that as a threat.

  I was just hitting send on the email with Tyler's accounts attached when a knock sounded at my door.

  "Come in," I replied automatically, eyes still on the screen as the little icon whisked my stolen goods away.

  "Hey, Emmy."

  My eyes shot up at the sound of the familiar voice to find Grant's broad frame filling my doorway. His dark hair looked like he'd run his hands through it one too many times that day, appearing tousled and more enticing than it should. His chin was dusted in a five o'clock shadow, even though the hour hadn't yet approached, and while his stance held the same intimidating authority it always did, I noticed his shoulders looked a little more rounded now, as if he'd gotten little sleep last night and it was catching up to him.

  I immediately shut my laptop, hoping the guilt I felt wasn't written on my face. What was the minimum penalty for cyber stealing and sending to your accountant?

  "Uh, hey yourself," I responded, quickly standing and walking around the desk to put some distance between myself and the guilty laptop.

  "I didn't mean to interrupt…" Grant trailed off, gesturing to my desk.

  "Nope!" I responded a little more emphatically than I meant to. "Not interrupting a thing. Not one single thing." I shot him a big smile with teeth and everything.

  "Okaaaay," Grant said, drawing out the word. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that the CSIs are done with Tyler's trailer. We're releasing it." Grant took a step forward, and suddenly the space between us shrank, his presence taking up all the air in the room.

  I instinctively took a step back, coming up against the edge of my desk. I tried to lean against it casually, as if his presence had no effect on me, even while my heart was pumping hard enough I swore I felt it banging against my ribs. I told myself it was guilt and not Grant's woodsy aftershave. (Hey, I was on a roll with the lies today. What was one more?)

  "They locked everything up," Grant said, handing me a couple of keys on a metal ring. "I trust you can get these to the appropriate party?"

  I nodded. "Don't suppose you found anything interesting in the trailer?"

  Grant smiled but shook his head. "No comment."

  I shrugged. "Can't blame a girl for trying. So the crime scene tape is gone, then?"

  "CSI took it down when they left," he said.

  "Good. I think it was scaring away customers."

  The corner of his mouth quirked upward. "You think that's what's scaring off customers. It's not the fact that you're the 'deadliest little winery' in Sonoma?"

  I felt very mature about the fact that I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

  "All publicity is good publicity," I countered, repeating the hollow line Bradley Wu had fed me earlier that day.

  Grant cocked his head to the side, studying me as if trying to figure out if I really believed that. "I hope so," he finally said.

  "You do?"

  He nodded slowly. "You know I don't want anything to happen to this place."

  I swallowed, the sudden switch from Cop to Actually Caring Human taking me off guard. "Well, thank you," I responded.

  "Look," Grant said, breaking eye contact to run a hand through his hair as I suspected he'd been doing. "I'm not any happier about all of this than you are. But I've got to go by the book on this."

  "Seriously? Who are you, Sergeant Friday?"

  This time he actually let out a small laugh. "Point taken. Man, you don't let anything slide, do you, Oak?"

  The way his warm chuckle floated over me, almost leaving a physical chill behind, I was ready to let just about anything he said slide.

  But I was too much of a strong woman to let him know that.

  "No. Not much," I told him, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He took a step forward, his eyes going back to mine and his voice going lower. "Good. I like that about you."

  I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry at the way the gold flecks in his eyes were smiling mischievously down at me. Had the big bad cop just said he liked me?

  "You do?" I asked again.

  Grant nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he took another step forward. So close I could reach out and touch him.

  I licked my lips. "Like, you like-like me or just like me? Or is this more of a general like, like you kind of like the way—"

  Grant cut me off with a crooked grin and a deep low whisper of, "Shut up, Emmy."

  Then I watched in slow motion as he leaned in, that slow, sexy grin moving toward
me. My eyes tracked the movement of his lips as they moved toward mine. I almost went cross-eyed as they came closer and closer, finally skimming my bottom lip ever so softly.

  Someone sighed out loud, and I had a bad feeling it was me, as he kissed me—softly, slowly, and so warmly I felt my body tingling in all sorts of places that hadn't tingled in months. Possibly even years, but who was counting?

  My entire being melted into a puddle of pure hormones for a wonderful two seconds.

  Then, just as surprisingly as it started, it was over—much too fast. My lips suddenly felt cold and abandoned where his mouth had just been as he pulled away. I must have closed my eyes against the onslaught of sensations at some point, as I found myself slowly blinking them open now as if coming out of a dream.

  A really nice one.

  When I found my focus, Grant had stepped back, an arm's length away again, those delightful lips curling into a half smile as he watched my face.

  "Have a nice night, Emmy," he said, his voice husky and deep as he opened my office door and stepped out.

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  In lieu of a cold shower, I closed up my office and went outside, not really sure where I was going but knowing I needed some air to clear my head. And my hormones. While Grant and I had flirted with dating, a kiss was the last thing I'd expected from him that day. Maybe ever, to be honest. Grant was tough, unreadable, and didn't do emotion as far as I could tell. Truth was, up until today I wasn't sure I'd even want to be kissed by him, the complication feeling like a little too much in my already overcomplicated life. But now? All I could think about was wanting to be kissed by him.

  I tried to shake that unhealthy thought off and inhaled deeply the mingling scents of the dinner fare being cooked and served in the remaining few booths on the grounds. While the curry competed with the Thai spices and unmistakable woodsy tang of barbeque grilling to a caramel sweetness, the entire effect was a pleasant one, conjuring up images of county fairs and family picnics and good friends coming together over good food. It served to ground me back in reality as I walked among enticing aromas.

  I spotted Gabby sipping from a glass of Chardonnay at the edge of the festival grounds, seated on a low stone wall that bordered the pathway to the tasting room. I was about to approach to ask how her demo had gone earlier, when she tipped her head back to take a sip, and I saw that her cheeks were wet. Gabby was crying.

  I paused, unsure whether I should intrude, but it appeared she'd already seen me. She swallowed, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  "Gabby?" I asked softly, approaching her.

  She sniffed loudly, turning her head away from me as she wiped under her eyes for traces of running mascara. "What?" she said, her voice brusque and annoyed. As per usual.

  "I, uh, wanted to see how the demo went. The gnocchi? Everything go okay?"

  She sniffed again, finally turning her head so I could see her face full on. Her eyeliner was smudged, creating faint dark circles under her eyes that made her look tired and probably close to what her actual age was. Her foundation had streaked with her tears, leaving the tone of her skin looking uneven and betraying the fine lines that her expert makeup job had covered.

  "It was fine," she said quickly.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, feeling the first wave of sympathy for the women I'd experienced yet.

  "Do I look okay?" she shot back, heavy on the sarcasm.

  Some of my sympathy waned at her argumentative tone, but I bit my tongue. "You look like you've been crying," I pointed out. I paused, remembering the scene I'd witnessed earlier that day. "Does this have anything to do with Alec?"

  She let out a deflated breath on a sob but quickly swallowed it back up, shutting her mouth tightly. "How did you know?"

  I shrugged. "Just a guess. Things felt…tense between you two today."

  "Tense is one way to put it," she muttered. "Childish jerk is another."

  "Alec?"

  She shook her head so hard that her hair fell out of its clip on one side. "Tyler freaking Daniels. Would you believe he's still screwing me over even in death? That—" She continued in Italian, and while I didn't speak the language, I got the gist as she finished with a snarl and spit in the dirt at her feet.

  "What did he do?" I asked.

  "Whatever he could to make my life miserable. Well, look at me now. Do I look miserable enough for you?" she asked, looking up to the sky. "Huh, do I? You two-faced son of a—" And off she went with more cursing in the most romantic language on earth.

  Through her tirade I thought back to the allegation Ashley had made, reading into the body language Tyler'd had with Gabby on their show. While this woman didn't look like she was mourning the loss of a lover, I had to ask…

  "Gabby, what was your relationship with Tyler?"

  "Tyler was a snake," she spat out, tears starting to send more makeup running south. "What more do you want me to say?"

  "Were you sleeping with the snake?"

  She scoffed and shot me an incredulous look. "Wh-where on earth did you hear that nasty rumor?"

  I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. Is it true?"

  She pursed her lips together, and I had the feeling she was about to deny it. But instead the tears won over and she broke down, shoulders sagging with defeat. "God, why even try to deny it any longer?"

  Score one for Ashley the ex-wife. "So you were having an affair with Tyler."

  Another scoff escaped her. "Affair sounds so dramatic. Yes, we were sleeping together, okay? Look, he was charming." She paused. "Or could be when he wanted to."

  "And he wanted to with you."

  She nodded. "At first. The chemistry between us was real on the show—that's part of what made it so good. The audience can feel when you're faking it, you know?"

  I wasn't sure about that, as I'd seen her faking warmth on stage several times this week, and the audience had seemed to enjoy it. But I didn't interrupt, instead nodding my understanding as she continued.

  "What can I say—Tyler was hot. All that energy and confidence. I fell for it."

  "Did Tyler feel the same way?" I asked.

  She barked out a self-deprecating laugh. "I thought he did, but it turns out he was a better actor than I gave him credit for."

  "How so?"

  "Look, he played me, alright? He was only sleeping with me to boost his precious ratings." She paused. "They were slipping, you know."

  "Oh?" I said, feigning ignorance even though I'd heard that particular rumor as well.

  She nodded. "Every shtick gets stale eventually. And Tyler knew the network wasn't happy."

  "But he had an ironclad contract, right?"

  She shot me a look. "How did you know about that?"

  "I, uh, read the trades," I mumbled. "But it's true the network couldn't fire Tyler, right?"

  "No," she admitted. "But they could move him. Give someone else more lucrative his timeslot and bury him in the midafternoons."

  "So he decided he needed publicity," I mused. I paused, still not quite getting it. "But if your affair was secret…?"

  "Yeah, that's the rub. I thought it was our little secret. But then Tyler told me he planned to leak the affair to the press. What could be more enticing than the two co-hosts entangled in a romantic relationship, right? The bastardo said he even had photos of us. Photos! He'd been taking pictures of me the entire time we were together."

  "And he planned to give them to the press."

  She nodded. "I begged him not to. I mean, I could only imagine what that would do to Alec."

  "He didn't know about the affair?"

  She moved to shake her head but paused. "At least he didn't then." She let out a shaky sigh, and I could see real emotion behind her eyes. "I-I don't know anymore. Maybe he's guessed by now."

  I watched her reaction carefully as I asked, "Gabby, is there any chance Alec found out about the two of you before Tyler died?"

  Her eyes shot up to meet mine. "W
hat are you implying?"

  I did an innocent, palms-up thing. "Nothing! I just wondered if Alec might have confronted Tyler."

  "And killed him, you mean?" She shook her head. "No, Alec is not like that. He's kind. Gentle."

  At least one side of him was. I'd see him turn the charm on and off just as easily as she did. I knew Gabby had seen it too, from the scene I'd witnessed in the oak grove. I wondered if she was in denial or covering for him.

  "Gabby, you said you were getting something to eat when Tyler was killed. Do you know where Alec was?"

  She bit her lip, red flecks of her lipstick coming off on her teeth. "No," she said quietly.

  Which meant Alec Post had no alibi.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "So you think maybe Alec killed Tyler not over the lawsuit but because he was sleeping with Gabby?" Ava asked, her eyes shining almost as brightly as the large crystal pendant she was wearing around her neck on a silver chain.

  After my conversation with the emotional Gabriela Genova, I'd gone straight to the Silver Girl booth and filled Ava in on all the gory details, including Tyler's plan to leak the affair to the press for his own gain. Ava had gasped and ohmigod ed at all the appropriate parts, and when I'd finished, she'd hit on the same conclusion I had.

  "I think it's possible," I decided.

  "But, you know, it's not like they were married or anything," Ava mused, scrunching up her nose as she stared out at the hilltops.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, Alec and Gabby were just dating. I mean, there weren't any kids or house or shared finances at stake. No real vow of monogamy. And, not to be a pessimist, but it wouldn't be the first time a girl cheated on her boyfriend."

  "So, you're thinking Gabby cheating on Alec with Tyler wasn't enough to push Alec to homicide."

  Ava shrugged. "I dunno. I guess it all depends on how short Alec's fuse is."