I thought back to the way he'd transformed in seconds flat when I'd confronted him about the lawsuit. "If I had to guess, it's not all that long," I told her.
"Well, I suppose it's possible he was angry enough." Ava shrugged, rearranging a couple of amethyst earrings set in sterling silver on the black tray at the front of her table. "But, you know, if Gabby can't provide Alec with an alibi, that means Alec can't provide her with one either."
"So your money's on Gabby as the killer?"
"Depends on how badly she wanted to keep those photos of her and Tyler private."
I picked up a pendant shaped like a tree, turning it over in my hands as I thought about that. "She seemed pretty upset about it all when I talked to her."
"But she is something of an actress," Ava countered.
I nodded. "I guess if she can fake warmth on stage, she could fake tears for me."
"So, what if she was telling you the truth—that Alec really didn't find out about the affair until after Tyler died. What if the clue that tipped him off about it was something in Gabby's mannerism after Tyler's death? Like, somehow he guessed she killed Tyler and why?"
I thought back to the argument I'd witnessed between the two. "Alec did seem to be accusing Gabby of something."
"Right!" Ava said, stabbing her finger in the air at me. "What if it had nothing to do with the affair and everything to do with her killing Tyler?"
I was turning that theory over in my head when my phone buzzed with a text. I quickly glanced at the readout, seeing Gene Schultz's name pop up. I swiped my phone screen on to read his message.
Got info on the accounts you sent. Call me.
My pulse immediately picked up as I read the words.
It must have shown on my face, as Ava leaned over my shoulder. "What? Who is it from?"
"It's Schultz. I think he may have found something in Tyler's Place's books," I explained as I hit the call button and put him on speaker. It only rang once before his voice picked up.
"Gene Schultz," he answered.
"It's Emmy. I got your text."
"Hey, kid. Listen, I know you're gung-ho about this partnership with the restaurant, but after looking at the paperwork you sent over, I'd have to advise against it."
"Oh?" I asked.
One of Ava's eyebrows went into her bangs, and her lips broke into a grin.
"Yeah. Listen, something shady is going on with these guys, and I'd steer clear."
Bingo. "What kind of something shady?" I asked. "Like…say, embezzlement?"
Gene paused on the other end. "How did you know that?"
Uh-oh. I shot Ava a help me look. But she just shrugged and did a palms-up thing.
"Uh, I kinda just got a vibe from them," I said, hoping I sounded vague enough that he didn't press it.
"Well, I'd say trust your vibes in the future, kid. Yeah, it looks like one of the partners was skimming funds. It took some doing to find it, but there are a lot of lines that are just ghosts."
"Ghosts?" I asked.
"Fakes. Entries in the books that don't actually correlate to any payments being made to real companies. For example"—I heard some papers rustling on his desk—"Personal Services Corporation."
"That sounds generic. What is it?"
"No clue. As far as I can tell, it doesn't exist. But the AP shows the business having paid them over fifty thousand dollars last year."
I felt an eyebrow rise, mirroring Ava's expression. "And there's no record of this actual payment?"
"Well, there are withdrawals for that amount but no record of the funds going to that company—no canceled checks, no account transfers, nada. And no record of the company anywhere except in the account ledger. No contracts or mentions of services rendered. Nothing I can see."
"Fifty thousand is a good chunk of money," I mused, though I wasn't sure it was quite enough for a man to kill his partner over.
"Sure, but it's not the only ghost I've found."
Now he had my attention. "How many others?"
"Maybe half a dozen. And that's just what I've found sitting with these books for an afternoon. I have a feeling if I dug deeper, I might scare up even more."
"So we could be talking hundreds of thousands?"
"Or even millions, over time. Hard to say how long this has been going on."
Ava did a low whistle beside me. Millions. Now that was definitely a motivating number.
"Would you say you have definite proof of embezzling?" I asked, thinking of how to slip this info to Grant.
But Gene answered in the negative. "Sorry, but I'm no forensic accountant. This is just my impression based on what I'm seeing here. These ghost entries show up every two months, but it would take a lot more to prove the cash was going someplace other than where it was supposed to."
Which was a bit of a downer, but something else he said suddenly clicked.
"Wait, did you say every two months?"
Ava shot me a questioning look, but I ignored it, focusing on Schultz's answer.
"Yeah." I heard more rustling on the other end. "Almost exactly. Why?"
"Nothing," I lied.
"Well, like I said, kid, I'd steer clear of this deal if I were you. Too much risk involved that you can't afford to take right now, you know?"
"Thanks," I told him before I said good-bye and hung up.
My mind buzzed, puzzle pieces rearranging themselves as the tidbit of new info sunk in.
"What?" Ava asked, still giving that same questioning look as I put my phone back into my pocket. "What am I missing?"
"When David and I were at Tyler's Place, Mark Black said Tyler visited the restaurant every two months like clockwork."
I could see the mental gears working behind Ava's eyes as she digested that info too. "Wait, so you think that Tyler was the one making these entries?"
I nodded. "If Mark had been cooking the books, he had all the time in the world to do it. But if the entries only showed up when Tyler was in town…"
"That means the partner embezzling funds from Tyler's Place was not Mark Black. It was Tyler."
I nodded. "That puts a whole new spin on things."
"Spin? It puts a Tilt-A-Whirl on it," Ava said, chewing her bottom lip.
" If it's true," I said. "Like Schultz said, while the ghost entries are a red flag, we're taking a leap saying Tyler made up the companies and took the money for himself. I mean, where would he put it?"
Ava shrugged. "Offshore accounts? Switzerland? Bonds?" She paused. "Sorry, I'm not rich enough to have these kinds of problems. My savings are in a coffee can."
I was suddenly jealous. I didn't even have a coffee can.
But I could think of one person who did know about the problems of the wealthy and devious.
David Allen.
"Feel like hitting up a friend for a drink?" I asked Ava.
She sent me questioning look again but shrugged. "Sure. We've been chatting nearly half an hour, and not a single customer has hit the booth."
I tried to shove down the wave of desperation on my bank account's behalf at that comment and pulled my phone out again, swiping through my contacts until I found his name.
It rang five times and was about to go to voice mail when David finally picked up. "Ems, my love, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
I swallowed annoyance at the my love part. I was not his, and whatever tolerance we had for each other was a far cry from love . But, since I was calling to ask him a favor, I let it go.
"Ava and I wanted to pick your brain about something. You busy?"
"Just grabbing a couple of games at the club," David said. The club was the Links golf club just outside of town, and the games I knew meant card sharking the members as they indulged in their whiskey after rounds.
"Mind if we swing by for a few minutes?" I asked.
He was quiet for a beat, then: "You know I'm always thirsty for your company, Ems."
I was never sure if David Allen was specifically trying to get a rise
out of me or if it was just his default mode to make people in general uncomfortable. But I decided to take advantage of the offer this time.
"We'll be there in twenty," I promised him as I hung up.
* * *
The Links club was an exclusive golf club at the base of the rolling hills that spanned several acres of pristine green courses, had a well-appointed clubhouse used for all manner of high society functions, and boasted several bars, both indoor and outdoor, where the handshakes and secret endorsements that made the upper crust run were made. Ava and I had visited the club on a few occasions in the past, though neither of us quite fit the criteria for membership—namely a fat bank account.
We valeted my Jeep and passed through the glass front doors that whispered opened automatically at our approach. The lobby was cool and serene, with quiet flute music being piped in through hidden speakers aimed at instantly melting members' stress away as they entered their home away from home. A long walnut reception counter sat against one wall, where we gave our names to the clerk on duty as guests of David Allen and were directed to the lounge where the clerk said David was expecting us.
Our heels clicked loudly on the polished marble floor as we made our way down a short hall before entering a large, comfortable room overlooking the green that was brimming with happy hour activity. Several older men in slacks and polo shirts with paunches that extended well beyond their belt lines guffawed at bawdy jokes over whiskey glasses, while slim, Botoxed women in short, sporty athletic skirts and slimming sundresses sipped Chardonnay and champagne from elegant glasses while tittering quietly amongst themselves. The one incongruent figure in the mix was the tall, slim guy in dark jeans, a black button down shirt rolled at the sleeves, and too long hair pulled up today into a small man-bun at the nape of his neck. He waved a small glass of amber liquid in our direction when he spotted us, hailing us to join him at a table near the windows.
"Lovelies," he said, standing in a gentlemanly manner as we approached.
"David," Ava responded.
"Thanks for meeting us," I told him.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked, signaling a server to our table as Ava and I sat in the empty chairs.
"I'd love a rosé," Ava decided.
I shrugged. Well, if he was buying… "Make that two."
David put in our order before turning back to us. "So, what is it you wanted to pick my disgustingly large brain about?" he asked with a smile, draping an arm casually over the back of my chair.
I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the overly intimate gesture. "Well, we have a question about where to put money."
"Dear Aunt Sally suddenly leave someone an inheritance?" he asked, raising one questioning eyebrow.
I shook my head. "Not our money."
"Tyler Daniels'," Ava supplied.
David's other eyebrow rose, and he turned to me. "You're still looking into his death?"
I bit my lip, not really sure I wanted to commit to that statement. "Jean Luc is still a suspect, and I'd like it if the police had somewhere else to look."
"Hmm." David sipped at his drink, eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. "I'm not sure I like you two girls running around unchaperoned."
"Give me a break," I told him. "We're not going to a high school dance."
David's mouth quirked up, showing off a dimple in his right cheek that I'd never noticed before. "Just trying to keep my Emmy out of trouble. Not sure my poor heart can handle another incident like last time."
My stomach clenched at his words. I knew he was referring to a recent incident where he'd come to my rescue just in the nick of time. While I'd appreciated the heck out of his timing in that moment, it wasn't a scenario I wanted to repeat.
"We women can keep ourselves out of trouble, thank you very much," Ava supplied for me.
David waved her off, still grinning. "No need to go all Ginsberg on me, honey."
Ava narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. If David hadn't just bought us both drinks, I had a feeling he would have gotten an earful.
"We're making a few discrete inquiries," I assured him. "That's all."
David turned his gaze toward mine again, his eyes assessing. "And you're inquiring of me where Tyler Daniels put money?"
I nodded. "We have a suspicion that he may have been embezzling cash from Tyler's Place," I said, filling him on everything I'd learned from Schultz as our drinks arrived.
When I finished, David was frowning. "So Tyler wasn't just overspending like his business partner told us."
Ava shook her head. "While it looks too coincidental that these ghost entries show up every time Tyler is in town, what we don't have is proof."
"So, you're thinking follow the money?" he asked.
"That's right," I jumped in. "Where did he put the money that he pulled from the business accounts." I paused. "So, if you were going to hide a bunch of stolen money—"
David turned to me, eyebrows going toward his hairline in mock innocence, as if I were accusing him of something.
"I said if ."
He grinned.
"—where would you put it?"
He cocked his head to the side and looked out at the green, eyes focusing on a guy in plaid pants trying to dislodge his ball from a sand trap. "Well, offshore accounts are always an old-school go-to. Cayman Islands, Switzerland, Belize."
"I thought of those," Ava said, looking pretty happy with herself.
"But, like I said, that's kind of old-school. I mean, the IRS has been on to that trick for decades."
"You mean they're not secure anymore?" I asked.
"I didn't say that," David hedged. "There are still places where your account info is protected, and it would be pretty difficult for the Feds—or anyone else for that matter—to find it unless they had some inkling where to look."
"But…" I said, feeling it coming on.
"But Tyler Daniels was a celebrity. And if he really was cooking his own books to hide stolen cash, well, I'd say he might fear being under scrutiny."
"So, the offshore accounts are a no-go?" Ava looked disappointed.
I patted her arm. Hey, at least she was still one coffee can ahead of me in the financial know-how department.
David shrugged in answer to her question, swirling the contents of his glass. "It's still possible but not where I'd sink my ill-gotten gains." He paused, giving me a mischievous grin again. " If I had any."
"So spill—where would you hide them?"
"I'd probably buy cryptocurrency."
I frowned. "Like Bitcoin?"
"Bitcoin is probably the best known one, yes. But there are others. It's all online, no real paper trail of money in and out of accounts, no physical cash to try to hide. Accessible from anywhere and very liquid." He paused again. "Or so I've heard."
I sat back in my chair, sipping my rosé as I thought that over.
"So, if Tyler Daniels converted the funds into cryptocurrency somewhere, how would we find it?" Ava asked.
"That's the beauty," David said, sitting forward. "Unless Tyler kept some sort of records of the transaction, you wouldn't. It's all handled on the currency's site under anonymous account numbers."
"Which means we're back at square one," Ava said, taking a rather generous sip from her drink.
David shrugged, leaning back against his chair again. "Sorry, ladies, that's the extent of my devious brain."
CHAPTER TWELVE
"So now what?" Ava asked as we waited on the valet to bring my Jeep around. I noticed a Tesla and a Porsche Cayenne had already line-jumped me. Apparently my Wrangler didn't rate. Or maybe the valet had an inkling how small his tip would be by my lack of a designer purse.
"Now," I answered, checking the time on my phone, "we need to get back to the festival before we lose the happy hour crowd."
Ava raised an eyebrow my way. " Crowd ? I see you're working on that optimism thing again."
I couldn't help a laugh. "Leave me my delusions."
"O
kay, how about this—I think we're both deluded if we decide Tyler Daniels stealing money from his own business didn't have anything to do with his death."
" If he was stealing money," I said. "So far all we have are coincidence and theory."
"So let's find out," Ava pressed. "Let's ask someone who knew for sure."
I shot her a look. "Mark Black, you mean?"
Ava nodded. "He must have known. If he really was the brain behind the business, the ghost entries couldn't have been fooling him for long."
I thought about that as the valet finally appeared in my red Wrangler. I handed him a tip that barely registered on his radar, and Ava and I both climbed inside, buckling our seat belts before I pulled away from the curb.
"You have a point," I told Ava finally.
"I do?"
"Mark Black definitely knows more than he was saying. At the very least, the argument he had with Tyler about 'missing money' means he had some idea what was going on."
Ava nodded. "Maybe that 'ridiculous embezzlement' line went something like, 'your embezzlement is ridiculous,'" Ava guessed.
I had to admit, it didn't feel like a terrible guess. "You know, yesterday I did promise to bring some sample bottles of our wines to Mark," I said, thinking out loud.
"That's our in!" Ava said, stabbing a finger clad in a polished silver ring at me.
I bit my lip. While I agreed with her, the enthusiasm in her eyes had me rethinking David's offer of a chaperon.
"Don't suppose you have a few bottles stashed in your trunk?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No. And I want to get a good sampling of our different offerings." I paused. "You know, on the off chance he's not a killer and does want to do business with us."
"Right. Okay, you grab a case of wine, I'll check in on the festival and make sure all is hunky-dory, and then we meet back in the parking lot in an hour. For Operation Interrogation."
I cringed. "How about Operation Subtle Discussion?"
"Po-tay-toe, Po-taw-toe—wait, did you just roll your eyes at me?"
"Nervous twitch," I told her.
* * *
By the time we got back to Oak Valley Vineyards, happy hour was in full force and the delicious scents of cumin and chilis wafted toward me from the kitchen as Conchita made her spice-crusted tilapia to serve to the upcoming dinner crowd. I stopped in for only a minute to sample the flaky fish before making my way to the tasting room to see how Jean Luc was faring.
Victim in the Vineyard Page 12
