Wining and Dying

by Daryl Wood Gerber

“I wasn’t—” I halted. Admit it, Jenna, you were gawking at him. “Okay, I was staring because I was wondering—”

  “What you were doing on the Pier the other night?” Z.Z. demanded, as if reading my thoughts. She’d probably been dying to ask him the question throughout their meal. “On the night of Watercolors and Wine?”

  Egan fixed me with a withering look. “Was that what you were going to ask, Jenna?”

  “Give me the backpack.” Z.Z. held out her hand.

  “No, Mom,” Egan snarled and slung the backpack on the arm of his chair.

  “That man,” Z.Z. said, “in the raggedy clothes. He handed you something. You gave him money.”

  Egan heaved a sigh. “Yeah, we made an exchange.”

  “Of what?”

  “He’s homeless. I’ve been paying him to use his tent to sleep on the beach.”

  Z.Z. gasped. “You’re sleeping in a homeless man’s tent?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s clean. The guy is a germaphobe.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “It’s true. On the Pier, he was giving me disinfectant wipes to make sure I cleaned things down before returning the tent. Did you think I was buying drugs?” He huffed. “You know me better than that. At least, I thought you did.” He jabbed his chest with a finger. “Nothing bad goes into this body.”

  “What were you digging around in your backpack for just now?” she demanded.

  He lifted the pack and handed it to her. “Here. Be my guest. I was looking for my bottle of organic no-salt substitute. Seeing as Dad died of a heart attack, I figured I should cut back on my salt, starting like yesterday.”

  Jake guffawed. Z.Z. gave him the stink eye.

  “C’mon, Zeez,” Jake chided. “I spent many nights on the beach when I first arrived in Crystal Cove. You know my story. It’s not a big deal. It didn’t ruin me for life. Plus, it gave me a great appreciation for the finer things.”

  Egan turned his gaze on me again. “What did you think went down, Jenna?”

  “Like your mother, I was wondering if you were dealing drugs.”

  “No fricking way.”

  “And I was wondering,” I continued, “if you lied about seeing Keller to give yourself an alibi.”

  “Why would I need an alibi?”

  I held out a hand. “Did you have any dealings with Quade? Artistic dealings?”

  “Quade?” He arched an eyebrow.

  “The artist who died,” Z.Z. inserted.

  “I know who he was, Mom,” her son snapped. “No, I never had artistic dealings with him. Why would I?”

  “Because you want to become an artists representative,” I said.

  Egan placed his hands palms-down on the table. “Look, I haven’t approached any artists. I’m learning the ropes. I’d be a fool to take on clients before I was ready to direct their careers.”

  Jake tattooed the table. “That’s my boy. You’ve been listening.” He folded his hands and gazed lovingly at Z.Z. “Hon, I’ve been mentoring Egan on the side. I can assure you, he’s a good kid. He has promise.”

  “Also, Mom, FYI,” Egan said, “I’ve been thinking it would be more lucrative for me to go into something more stable, like managing all these festivals that come to town. What do you think?”

  Z.Z. said, her voice thick with emotion, “I think I could find a position for you.”

  “Egan,” I said, “I’m sorry for misjudging.”

  “S’all right,” he slurred. “And, for the record, I did see Keller. That’s no lie.”

  Chapter 22

  I scored the grilled cheese from Katie and was walking through the breezeway to the shop when I saw Sienna inside Beaders of Paradise near the window. She was hunched over a tray of beads, pawing through them. Clandestinely, she slipped her hand into her heavy leather tote bag. Was she stealing merchandise or was I reading into her movements? Given what Flora had revealed, I decided to find out. To protect Pepper’s business interests, I told myself.

  I set my to-go box on the snack table in the breezeway and made a U-turn. I exited through the café and breezed into the craft shop. Customers were browsing the racks filled with colorful twine, wire, and string while others were sorting through the spools of thread.

  Pepper, glowing with energy, her skin tone as rosy as the rose-colored beaded sweater she had on, was at the counter ringing up a customer. “Hello, Jenna,” she said. “Be right with you.”

  Sienna cut a look in my direction. She straightened and smiled at me, but the corners of her mouth twitched nervously. She held her tote tightly against her chest as if she was afraid I’d rip it from her.

  I walked to her. “They’re pretty beads, aren’t they? Are you a crafter?”

  “My niece is. Her birthday is coming up. I was contemplating what to get her.”

  Quick response. Maybe she was being truthful.

  “How did you like the art competition and wine tasting results?” I asked.

  “Nice.” She passed a hand over her hair. “Although I thought your work was better than Faith’s as well as Flora’s.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.”

  “Hers was much too pastel-y for my tastes.”

  “Speaking of Flora . . .” I let the name hang.

  “What about her?” Sienna’s innocent tone sounded forced.

  “She told me that you—”

  Sienna held up a hand. “Don’t go on, Jenna. I know what she says about me. And . . .” She glanced at Pepper and then back at me and hiccupped out a sigh. “It’s true. I’m a kleptomaniac. I can’t help myself. It’s funny, you know.” She let out a regretful laugh, clearly not believing any of this was funny. “I fear it’s a syndrome for the bored well-to-do.”

  “Did Quade know this about you?”

  “Why are you bringing him up again?”

  “Because, as I said at Intime the other night, you were mentioned in his black book. In fact, he put the initials HM next to your initials, STB. HM,” I repeated. “It means hush money, doesn’t it?”

  Sienna’s broad shoulders shuddered. She teetered and settled into a ladderback chair positioned to the right of the beads. “Oh, Jenna. I can’t believe he’s dead. Yes, I went there that night to talk to him because he was dunning me for money. The door was open”—she fanned the air—“and I saw him there, asleep. I didn’t want to talk to him when he was . . .” Her eyelids fluttered. “When he was nude and most likely drunk. It would have made me so uncomfortable, and he wouldn’t have covered up. He had no shame.” Her chin began to quiver. She pressed her lips together, as if working hard to gain control of her emotions. “I saw the dishes on the counter, as I told you—there was one clean wineglass but the rest were dirty and disgusting. So I decided to do a nice deed. I’d wash up and chat with him in the morning. But then—”

  “Hold on. There was a clean wineglass?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t mention that before.”

  “I didn’t think it was important. It was one of the handblown ones Hannah sells.”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “It had beautiful green-and-gold wavelike swirls.”

  Was I right? Had Quade drunk something that was laced with arsenic? “Was the glass drying upside down, as if it had been washed?”

  She nodded.

  Aha! It had been among the other cleaned dishes. That was why I hadn’t noticed it.

  “Sienna, did you smell—”

  “Jenna.” Pepper approached. “May I help you?”

  “Um, no, I saw Sienna through the window and wanted to . . .” I paused for a moment, trying to concoct a reply that wouldn’t make Pepper want to linger. “I wanted to ask her whether the inn might be available for a wedding event.”

  “What a shame. I heard you lost your venue.” Pepper tsked. She made a rolling motion with her hand. “Continue on. I have other customers.” She shuffled away.

  “Sienna, did you smell anything unusual in the cabana?” I asked.

>   “Like blood?” Her voice cracked. “No. I told you. I didn’t realize he was dead.”

  “Anything at all?”

  “Well, there were smells of oil and metal. He was working on a mixed-media piece. It was on the easel.”

  “Did you smell tar or a pungent men’s cologne?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She started to rise from the chair but couldn’t find her balance. She sat back down. “Listen, Jenna, the other night at Intime, you were right.”

  “About you paying Quade hush money?”

  “You might as well know. I’m pregnant. With Quade’s child. I was enamored with him. With his talent. When he showed me the slightest interest, I threw myself at him. I know I’m older than he was, but men being men . . .” She grunted. “He didn’t say no. We met on and off for a month. I didn’t know until two months later that I was with child. I’d taken all the precautions, and truly thought I was past child-bearing age, but . . .” She placed her palm on her abdomen. “I didn’t think he would be a good father, so I never told him, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “Your alibi. The police think it’s weak . . . Hold on. Then why were you paying him hush money?”

  “My alibi is weak. It’s bogus.” Her face flushed pink. “Let me start at the beginning. The owner of Sterling’s—Edith McNary—was staying at the inn for her niece’s wedding party a month ago, and she left her keys in full view in her room. I took them, made a copy of the one for the jewelry store, and that night—the night Quade died—I slipped out of the inn, went down the hill, and stole a necklace. The necklace my friend was admiring at Intime.” Sadness suffused her face. “As I said, I’m not proud of my affliction.”

  “You made a copy of Mrs. McNary’s key?” I asked, wondering if Sienna would have been able to make copies of other keys, like Keller’s garage key. She had access to all the rooms at the inn.

  “Yes. And I knew the security code at Sterling’s. Purposely, I’d visited the shop often when Edith was opening.”

  “The security cameras at Sterling’s would have caught you on—”

  “They were down that night. I knew they were. They’d been down for a week. Edith has complained more times than I can count about the faulty craftsmanship. But I swear, that’s where I was.”

  Lowering my voice, I said, “You need help.”

  “I know.”

  “And you need to come clean with Chief Pritchett. Now.”

  Tears leaked from her eyes.

  • • •

  The afternoon passed without incident, but I couldn’t get the chat with Sienna out of my mind. Did I believe her? Had she gone that night to steal the necklace? Had the security cameras truly been down at the same time the security cameras on her property were glitching? What were the odds? So many possibilities were in play. I hoped she would go to the precinct and confess everything. How would I know if she did? I didn’t dare text Cinnamon for fear I’d incur her wrath for intruding. Again. Could I help it if people liked to open up to me?

  At six, stewing over Sienna’s confession, I finalized receipts, grabbed Tigger, and hurried home to change for the family dinner. After feeding Rook and the cat, I swung by the grocery store. I’d agreed to bring sourdough bread.

  My father’s place was a one-story Mediterranean set high in the hills with a beautiful view of the ocean. My mother had decorated it in ocean tones, but Lola had added her own touches, including dozens of framed pictures of Brianna. Proud grandma.

  “Something smells great,” Rhett said from the armchair near the fireplace.

  “Sure does,” I said. We’d arrived within minutes of each other. His second-in-command was overseeing Intime for the evening. “Aunt Vera’s up first.”

  My aunt was making one of her favorite appetizers. The aroma of shrimp sautéed with lemon and herbs wafted into the living room. My mouth was watering already. For the entrée, Lola was cooking up fried fish tenders, a Pelican Brief specialty. Katie was putting together dessert, and I couldn’t wait to taste it. She’d been practicing for the past few weeks to get this one right—individual chocolate coffee bombes with gold foil. It was a famous chef’s recipe.

  “Who’s ready for more wine?” Bailey asked.

  “I am.” My father raised his glass.

  Bailey crossed to him with a bottle and poured. “Here you go.” With Tito out of town, and Brianna out with Tina for an extra-long walk on the Pier because Tina had missed seeing all the watercolors, my pal was flying solo.

  “This is delicious,” Dad said. “With bright cherry notes and floral scents as well as a hint of citrus.”

  “Oho!” I teased. “Who’s been memorizing what the vintners have been saying this week?” My father liked wine, but he preferred a good scotch.

  “I might even detect the aroma of tobacco, or is it tar?” he jested.

  I shuddered, flashing on the crime scene. On Quade. Dead. The image made my insides snarl. Needing fresh air, I rose and passed through the opening between the sliding glass doors to the balcony. Holding on to the railing, I inhaled deeply.

  Rhett emerged from the living room and slung an arm around my back. “You okay?” He had donned a cable-knit sweater, which felt good against my bare arms. “Want your shawl?”

  I’d worn a sleeveless aqua blue sheath and sandals because I’d been running hot all day, but the night had cooled substantially. I caressed his hand. “You’re all I need.”

  “Did you wear that perfume for me?” he asked, nuzzling my neck.

  “You know I did.” I tilted my chin up for a kiss. He obliged.

  “What’s going on?” He turned me toward him.

  “Why can’t I leave well enough alone?”

  He arched an eyebrow in a wickedly sexy way. “Are you talking about your insatiable curiosity? Your thirst to know the truth? Your desire to solve a crime before the police?”

  “It’s not a race,” I argued.

  “Oka-ay,” he said, dragging out the word. “Your desire to solve a crime just in case they don’t?” He cupped my elbow. “It’s because you are who you are. You care about your friends. About Crystal Cove. You want life to go back to normal.”

  “Whatever that is,” I grumbled.

  “It’s your former husband’s fault,” he said. “Leaving you with a mystery that haunted you for years.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “You crave answers. You yearn for balance. It’s made you doggedly tenacious.” He smoothed the side of my hair. “It’s one of the main reasons I love you. And I know you still have your suspicions about Naomi. You’d like her to be innocent.”

  “I would, plus I’d love to put this behind us so I could focus on next week’s Cinco de Mayo festival and our wedding plans and you. Not necessarily in that order.”

  “Let’s trust that Cinnamon is putting in the work.”

  “She is.” I wished I knew what else she might have discovered.

  Katie waltzed onto the balcony with a glass of chardonnay in hand, her apron splattered with brown—chocolate, I figured—and chips of gold foil. It reminded me of one of Keller’s mixed-media paintings. “Am I interrupting?”

  “No, of course not.” I swiveled.

  “I’ll be inside.” Rhett hooked his thumb. “Your father and I need to finish a conversation about the best lures for deep sea fishing, the Green Machine or the cedar plug.”

  “Definitely the Green Machine.” I winked. To Katie I said, “Keller couldn’t make it?”

  “No, he’s helping his mother at Taste of Heaven. The Art of Dessert event is tonight. Lots of bakers are in attendance. I heard the customers are lined up nearly to the statue of the dolphins.”

  I whistled.

  She worked her lip between her teeth. “Can we talk?”

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s Eleanor, actually. I’m not sure she likes me.”

  “What?” I squawked and instantly lowered my voice. Katie was serious. “Don’t be silly. Number one,
nobody doesn’t like you, and number two, Keller’s mother loves everyone.”

  “She doesn’t hug me. Ever. Not only when I’m a mess, like now, but ever!” Katie folded her arms.

  “Have you asked her why? It’s not like you’re breakable.”

  “As if. She could barely break a toothpick.”

  “Maybe”—I clasped my friend’s arm—“it’s because you remind her of her younger sister. Eleanor lost her years ago.”

  Katie’s mouth turned down. “I had no idea.”

  “Like you, Kitty had a headful of curls and a big belly laugh. Come to think of it, her name even sounds like yours.”

  “Keller never talks about her. In fact, I’ve never seen a picture.”

  I heaved a sigh. “My aunt said she was Eleanor’s best friend and an excellent pastry chef. The two of them were like this.” I crossed my fingers. “When she jumped—”

  Katie gasped. “She committed suicide?”

  “No, let me finish. Sheesh!” I released her arm. “When she jumped in front of a truck to save a child, it was one of the most heroic things she could have ever done. The child survived, but she didn’t. With both of their parents dead, Eleanor had the hardest time forgiving Kitty for leaving her.”

  Katie pressed a hand to her chest. “I get it now. She doesn’t want to get attached to me. That makes perfect sense. Thank you. I’ll be patient.”

  She retreated into the house, and I turned back to drink in the lights of the town below as a new thought invaded my mind. Had Quade felt like Eleanor, not wanting to get attached to anyone because his mother had given him up for adoption? Did Naomi feel that way because she’d gone through a bad marriage? Did Sienna and so many others in our community remain single because it was easier than to risk falling in love and suffer the pain of rejection? It had taken me quite a while before I’d let myself trust that Rhett wouldn’t up and leave me.

  I drew in a deep breath and returned inside. The chopped shrimp on baguette toasts were nearly half eaten. “Hey, I want one!” I cried.

  Rhett patted the couch. He’d saved a spot for me. I sat and descended upon the platter. Each bite was better than the one before. I loved shrimp anything.

  The conversation revolved around the success of the festival and the happy faces of tourists and locals. Bailey had found a new wine to enjoy, and Katie said that even Keller was impressed by the scope of artistry—everything from mixed media, to wood-crafting, to ironworks, and miniatures.