Arthur came through for her. “Pearly, Miss Adams says she wants Mrs. Di Luca to have her way about the food at the reception.”
Pearly’s dark eyes widened in horror. “Yes, Miss Adams, she knows food very well. But her baking leaves much to be desired, and the wedding cake! You must have what you want for your wedding cake!”
“You want to speak to the bakery on my behalf?” Kellen asked.
“I want to make it. I studied for years under a master baker!” Pearly took Kellen’s hands and clutched them earnestly. “I will make you a cake that will be the talk of your friends for years to come.”
“My friends?” Kellen chuckled as she thought about the men and women she had served with in the military overseas and at home. They were coming, all of them arriving the day before, except Birdie who would be here tomorrow for fittings and female bonding. “As long as it’s eatable, my friends will be happy.”
“What about your enemies?” Arthur asked. “What do you want them saying about your cake?”
Kellen exploded in a flurry of irritation. “For sh...pete’s sake, I don’t care what my enemies say about my cake! Why should I care what anyone thinks about my wedding cake? That’s just ridiculous!”
Arthur cut his eyes toward Pearly Perry, who sat there with her head drooping like a lovely flower on a broken stem.
An alert and sorrowful Rae asked, “But, Mommy, what about Martin’s mother? Remember when you did the self-defense class and she was cranky because everybody in camp thought you were so cool? Even her little boy, skinny scaredy-cat Martin?”
Kellen viewed Rae’s reproachful expression and the barely hidden flash of triumph in her brown eyes. This was a conspiracy, and even her daughter played a part. “All right, Pearly. Do what you do best. But I don’t want to hear about it ahead of time. Surprise me. All I demand is purple frosting trim. Purple, not—”
“—blue with a lavender tint.” Arthur scribbled on his list. “You can trust Pearly to amaze and astonish.”
Pearly shook Kellen’s hand, then shook it again, then bowed, then scooted back to allow Claude McKeith to take her place. Over one of his shoulders, Takashi Tibodo bobbed and smiled. Over the other, Mateo Courtemanche offered her a cold bottle of water and a small gift-wrapped box.
Kellen accepted the offerings and opened the box. Inside she found a specialty from the winery and a favorite of hers: Southern cheese straws.
She laughed. She couldn’t help growing more and more amused; this whole under-the-shrubbery wedding conference had a humorous side she couldn’t deny. Before Claude could speak, she held up one hand. “Hire whoever you need, as much staff as you need, for service and cleanup.”
“No limits?” Claude asked.
“Make sure they’re bonded and credible, run them past Mr. Parliman’s security team to make sure their credentials are clean, and no reporters. We’re going to have a lot of wealthy famous people here and the Di Luca family would like to avoid thieves and publicity.” As she spoke, Kellen wasn’t really thinking of the Di Luca family’s privacy; she was considering how easy it would be for an assassin to slip in and take her out, and worse, if someone was so determined to kill her, a lot of people could get hurt or killed.
There had been enough of that already.
She thought she’d been tactful, but Claude winced as if she’d hit a nerve and drew back. “I’ll do my best, Miss Adams.”
Mateo said, “Everyone on Arthur’s staff is equipped to observe, supervise and care for the guests during this special occasion.” He looked at Arthur, who nodded silently, then looked at the ground.
A silence fell that was almost awkward, so Kellen asked, “Takashi, will you sing for us at the reception?”
“I would be honored. I’ll consult with Dan and we’ll come up with something to delight you and your guests.”
Warren Golokin appeared from nowhere, smiling and anxious to please. He unrolled a stiff sheet of 24-by-36-inch drawing paper with a site plan that included tents, tables, decorations and parking.
Kellen rolled it back up, pressed it into his hand, and said, “Do you realize how much I trust you? After seeing your talent, I know you’ll make this wedding a waltz without music.”
Warren teared up. “I won’t disappoint you.”
Kellen realized how exhausted she was when she teared up in response, and had to hug him. “I know you won’t.” She hadn’t been sleeping well; the worry about Rae’s safety and the assassin, the wedding and most of all, about the gray coma that hovered at the periphery of her mind.
Warren backed away, and Kellen asked Arthur, “Are we done now?”
Arthur made a whisking motion with his fingertips, and his cohorts disappeared the way they came. “Thank you, Miss Adams, I promise you you’ll have the wedding of your dreams, and everyone is so much happier knowing your desires in these matters.”
“Everyone is happier except my future mother-in-law,” Kellen said with some humor.
Rae said, “That’s not true!”
“What do you mean?” Kellen asked Rae and turned to Arthur. “What does she mean?”
Arthur gave Kellen one stricken glance and tried to flee.
Just like that, Kellen figured it out. She grabbed his sleeve and brought him to a halt. “This intervention was done on Verona’s behest.”
Arthur sat up very straight. “Absolutely not. Mrs. Di Luca was simply—”
Rae interrupted. “Grandma cried because you didn’t care about our wedding.”
“But I don’t...” Kellen came to a halt, dismayed and confused. “Cried? Why?”
With great precision, Arthur put his notebook and pen into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Mrs. Di Luca doesn’t wish for you to look back on this grand event with regret because it was not to your liking.”
“I won’t! I honestly don’t care!” Why wouldn’t anyone believe her?
Large feet in size twelve white running shoes came to a halt just outside the shrubbery where Kellen had fruitlessly tried to hide. Max leaned over far enough to look at the small group beneath the leafed canopy. “Arthur! Rae! Go on, I’ll talk to Kellen.”
49
Arthur Waldberg didn’t scramble away; he had too much dignity for that. But he crawled briskly back the way he came.
Rae lingered until her father gestured. Then she crawled out muttering, “Just when it’s getting good.”
Max knelt down, one knee on the grass, and looked at Kellen. “You look hot.”
“I am.”
“I know where we can be alone.”
She smiled with a come-hither look. “I don’t think going there is going to make me less hot.”
He wiggled his finger in rebuke. “We’re going to the blending shed.”
She knew what the blending shed was—that place filled with different grape varietals in various stages of fermentation where the vintner mixed the flavors to create a wine that indulged the palate. But she’d never been there, and she didn’t know if she wanted to go. “Why there?”
“I’m creating another wine.”
She squinted at him.
“All right, so it probably will be lousy. But it’s quiet and cool in there, and we can talk.”
She crawled out. She slapped the leaves and bark off the front of her shirt and shorts.
He lovingly dusted the bark mulch off her bottom, taking care that not a speck remained.
“Are you done yet?”
“Almost.” He ran his hands down her legs, then straightened and grinned.
“You’re nothing but a great big boy.”
“I know.” He slid his arm around her waist. “I can’t wait to show you how big.”
She sighed as if he was a trial and smiled because she enjoyed him so much, and he cherished her so dearly. Maybe tomorrow she would die from the bullet in her brain
or a new bullet from an assassin, but today, she was with Max.
He led her toward the far buildings that marked the boundary between the rows and rows of vines, heavy with grapes, and the expanse of lawn, house, tasting room and bed-and-breakfast. “Here and now, do you sense a threat? Anyone at the winery who seems...out of place? Someone we employ?”
She understood him perfectly. “You’re talking about Arthur Waldberg and his cohorts.”
“Yes.” Max seemed relieved that they agreed on this. “Their credentials were impeccable, but they were all so desperately eager to please, so oddly obsequious.”
“They really want these jobs. And why? They’re fabulous at what they do. They could work anywhere. Anywhere in the world.”
Isolated by their distance from the bustle and the clamor, only the barn, one hundred years old and painted a traditional red, and the blending shed, a metal-sided cellar dug into the ground then built up over two stories to accommodate great tall casks, remained apart from the wedding bustle. “Arthur keeps calling them young,” Max said. “Young? The youngest is, I’d say, in his late thirties.”
“When you’re Arthur’s age, people in their thirties are young.” But she knew Max had a point.
Max used his key to open the door and ushered her down the steps and inside.
Kellen took a deep breath. The scent of fermenting wine, heady, musky, now familiar, perfumed the cool air.
Huge barrels lined either side of the tall space. A wooden sign hung on each metal spigot stating the grape varietal within. Two long narrow tables were placed end to end down the center of the space, and clean glasses rested upside down on a crowded plastic drying rack. Plastic buckets, blue, orange and white, sat beneath each spigot to catch any overflow.
The lights were off.
Max left them off, and his voice grew hushed. “Did Arthur ever answer my question about where these people were from?”
“No. Yes. Sort of. I think what you wanted to know was where he knew them from, because they all seem similar. They’re from different countries, different backgrounds, yet they seem as if they’ve lived in the same place for a long time.”
The blending shed was tranquil: no relatives, no winery guests, no staff, no children. No voices. Kellen could feel herself taking shape again, becoming comfortable in her own skin, content with the day and the company.
“They’re so bright-eyed, as if they’re seeing the world for the first time, and nervous, which isn’t terribly unusual. When I meet new employees, they frequently need to be put at ease. They don’t know what I’m like, whether they need to be worried for their livelihoods or if I’m one of those guys with wandering hands.” He viewed her, his brown eyes serious and stern. “Just for the record, the only place my hands will wander is all over you.”
“That works for me.” She had never had a doubt. She had met enough of the sleazy guys in the military to recognize that Max was not one of them.
“Arthur’s people feel more...desperate, I guess is the word. I couldn’t figure them out.” For all that Max didn’t have her gift for analysis, he still worked to understand people. “In light of what happened to you up in those mountains, I find everything about them slightly disturbing.”
“Then we’re agreed. They feel off, out of place, as if they’re hiding secrets we can’t afford to ignore. It can’t be Arthur himself. He wasn’t in the woods with us. He couldn’t have been and accomplished what he’s accomplished here.” She ran through the Rolodex of characters in her mind. “His people don’t seem ruthless—maybe Mateo Courtemanche—but I think every one of them is willing to do anything that Arthur asks, no matter how heinous. If, in a few short weeks, Arthur can reorganize this entire winery and plan a wedding, he’s capable of plotting an assassination.”
“Damn it!” Max slapped the table with his palm. “I didn’t want to suspect them. I like them. They’re efficient. With Arthur and his people here I can take time to—” He caught himself like he didn’t mean to say so much.
“Take time to what?” What was Max doing he didn’t want her to know?
“Make love to my bride.”
She checked out the sturdiness of the first long table, then lifted herself up on it. “That’s not what you were going to say.”
“Damn it,” he said more softly. Then, “I thought with all the guests arriving, someone would try to slip into the winery with them and we’d have another attempt that would reveal—”
“Max!” She gathered her thoughts. “Are you saying you’ve been using our wedding to trap an assassin?”
“Unsuccessfully!”
“And me as an unsuspecting target?”
“I’ve been watching over you!”
She stared at him in astonishment. “I’m flabbergasted. That’s so...so...”
“Diabolical and heartless?” He winced.
“Brilliant! I wish I’d thought of it.” He made her breathless with his daring. “I also wish you’d told me what you were doing so I could watch, too.”
He gathered her into his arms and laughed loudly enough that outside, four of the Di Luca relatives who were touring the grounds frowned and hurried away.
She leaned her forehead against his chest. “This is nice, being here with you, a little like being in the mountains, when the sun is coming up, the light kisses the air, and the trees talk among themselves.”
“Talking trees?” Max rested his cheek against her head. “Have you been reading Lord of the Rings again?”
“When I need to relax, it’s my go-to book.”
“It always was, even before you were shot.” Max let her go and wandered to the first steel vat. He took two glasses, opened the spigot to vent a small stream of fermenting wine into the bucket, then poured a little into the glasses and handed her one. “What do you taste?”
She sniffed the burgundy-colored liquid, took a small sip, sloshed it in her mouth and spit it into the spittoon. Diplomatically, she said, “It’s not wine yet.”
“That’s the challenge, mixing it with the idea of what it will taste like in a year, two years...” He tasted and spit and sighed. “It’s mine. It’s going to be lousy, like all the rest.”
She grinned at him. “You don’t have to be good at everything, you know.”
“But I’m Italian!”
“No. You’re American.” She pointed at the two giant oak casks closest to the door, and the two wooden buckets set under the spigots. “Those are quaint. What’s with the wooden buckets?”
“They add atmosphere. When we bring tourists in on tour, they like the pretend ambience.”
“I agree. I like pretend ambiance, too.”
Out of the blue, he said, “I spoke with Nils Brooks.”
Kellen sat up straight on the table. She hadn’t seen that coming, not with the way Max felt about Nils. “About Rae and the head?”
“No, about you and the assassins.”
“Oh. Good idea. He does have connections with the FBI and other agencies.” So Max had overcome his distrust for Nils to delve for information to protect her. “What did you say?”
“I told him about the attempts on your life.”
“And he said he wasn’t surprised that someone wanted to kill me.”
“No, he didn’t say that at all. He seemed...displeased.” Max looked like he did when he tasted his lousy wine. “He feels a connection with you.”
“Max, he and I didn’t have sex.”
“I know. He would be less peeved if you had.” Max came over and sat on the table next to her. “I asked him if he knew without a doubt that Mara Philippi was still in prison. He said yes, in isolation in a maximum security prison, and when I pressed him, he made arrangements to show me the live feed in her cell.”
“She’s there?”
“She’s there. I saw her. She looked up at the camera and grinn
ed, as if she saw me.”
Kellen looked at him, horror still twined in the memory of Mara and her masquerade, her cruelties and her greed. “Do you think she knew that you were there?”
“She shouldn’t. How could she? But she is a seriously disturbed woman and much too pleased with herself for someone who has been stripped of her power and is living behind bars.”
“It could be her, trying to kill me using her sycophants.” No use in thinking that because they had defeated Mara once, they could defeat her again. She was powerful, manipulative, with an IQ off the charts. More important, she had no conscience and a psychopath’s disregard to any feelings but her own. If she wanted something and someone stood in her way, torture and murder were logical ways to remove that person. In the war zones, Kellen had met coldhearted killers, but none frightened her more than Mara Philippi. “She thinks she would be justified to kill me in the bloodiest and most painful way possible.”
Max agreed. “I thought that, too, so I asked Brooks if there was any way she was directing her old smuggling operation and/or a vengeful attack on you from within the prison.”
“And?”
“He said emphatically no. Then even without my insistence, he said he’d look into the possibility. You know what that means, right?”
“What?”
“She disturbed him enough to get him off his ass.” Max had that tone in his voice, that curl in his lip that he reserved for Nils Brooks. “Right before I came and got you out of the bushes where you were holding a pre-wedding conference—”
“Not on purpose.”
“—Nils broke into the prison computer and phoned with another no. To all intents and purposes, she’s been effectively neutered.”
“That leaves us with nothing. Not that it matters.” Kellen tried to smile. “Since our return from the mountains we’ve been busy, everything’s been peaceful and—Can’t we be hopeful that maybe the violence was about stealing the Triple Goddess?”
“Hopeful. But let’s not stand on the track and wonder what that bright light is.”
“No,” Kellen said slowly. “But in truth, my attention has been directed elsewhere.”
What Doesn't Kill Her Page 27
