“Right. When she went back to the room to retrieve the glass, sometime between ten and eleven, he was still alive.” I thumped the steering wheel. “He stirred. Maybe he mumbled Naomi’s name. Destiny went wild. She wanted him dead. She remembered she had Keller’s burin and convinced herself she could do this. Quade was weak, nude, defenseless. She took the burin and stabbed him in the heart. Before she fled, she crumpled the art of Naomi’s daughter and left a corner of the note that had enticed Quade to drink from the wineglass. To frame Naomi.”
“Why not leave the whole note?”
“If she did, a handwriting expert would definitely be able to tell that Naomi hadn’t written it.”
“But the N was enough to prove that.”
“Destiny didn’t know that.”
“We should call Cinnamon,” Bailey said.
“You’re right. Even if she doesn’t want me to butt in, she’ll want to hear—”
My cell phone pinged. I had a message. I pressed the Message icon on my console. Siri said in her British-accented voice, “You have one new message from wedding planner, Harmony Bold. Would you like me to read it?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Spoke with Destiny Dacourt. She’s on board for helping you find a vineyard. If you meet at her office, she can show you a stack of brochures. Are you game?”
A black Mercedes sped up behind me and, despite the sharp turn ahead, cut around me and took the lead.
Bailey craned her neck and whistled. “Was that—”
“Hannah!”
Chapter 25
“Where’s she going in such a hurry?” Bailey asked.
“To Destiny’s. To warn her. She’s her friend. She doesn’t believe Destiny is guilty.”
I pressed the Voice icon on my steering wheel and said, “Siri, send a text message to Harmony Bold.”
Siri asked, “What do you want the message to say?”
“Harmony,” I dictated, “please call Destiny and ask if I can come over now. I’m eager to get this done.”
Siri repeated the message and, with no changes, sent it.
In seconds, my cell phone pinged. I had received a reply from Harmony. Siri, reading the message, said, “Destiny said, ‘Come on over!”’
Lightning flashed again. Thunder followed five seconds later.
“Slow down.” Bailey bare-knuckled the door handle as I took a turn too fast.
“Sorry.” I righted the steering wheel while tapping the brakes. The VW’s tires slewed slightly on the pavement. My pulse hiccupped. I pumped the brakes again and held firm to the steering wheel as I asked Siri to make a phone call. “Crystal Cove Precinct.”
“About time,” Bailey muttered.
The phone rang and then a woman said through the car’s speaker, “Crystal Cove Precinct. How may I direct your call?”
“Chief Pritchett, please. It’s Jenna Hart.”
“One moment.”
Cinnamon answered. “What now?”
“Was dog hair found in Quade’s cabana?”
She clicked her tongue but didn’t respond.
“Was the green-and-gold artisan wineglass checked for signs of arsenic?”
“What’s going on?” Cinnamon asked, an edge to her voice.
“Did you know that Destiny Dacourt’s mother was an antiques dealer and arsenic can be found in an antiques shop?”
“Jenna, I’ve begged you not to snoop.”
“I did not snoop. BTW, I believe the handblown wineglass that was found in the cabana may have been purchased by Destiny Dacourt. I’m on my way to her place right now.”
“Jenna, no!”
“Hannah Storm zoomed past me. I think she intends to warn Destiny. If I’m right and Hannah reveals anything to Destiny, Hannah could be in danger.”
“Crap,” Cinnamon said and ended the call.
“Jenna, what are you doing?” Bailey carped.
“If Hannah tells Destiny our theory, Destiny might hurt Hannah and bolt. She has nothing tying her to Crystal Cove. Her parents are dead. Quade is dead.”
Minutes later, I reached Destiny’s home, which also served as headquarters for Tripping with Destiny. I’d visited when I’d first moved to Crystal Cove and was handing out Cookbook Nook flyers to every business in town. Wine lovers, I’d imagined, liked cooking as much as the next person, and we stocked plenty of wine-themed cookbooks.
The car skidded as I turned right onto the gravel driveway.
“Hannah’s here,” Bailey whispered.
The Mercedes was parked next to Destiny’s oversized Jeep. Hannah wasn’t in her car. She had to be inside the house. The front door hung open.
I parked beside the Mercedes and climbed out of the VW. Seconds later, Destiny’s Labrador retriever bounded from the house. I bent to give his nose a rub and inhaled. Yep, he smelled like tar-scented shampoo.
“Pinot, sit!” Destiny exited the house while primping the collar of her khaki uniform. The dog obeyed. “Good timing, Jenna. I just arrived. Welcome.” She smiled but the warmth didn’t reach her eyes.
Bailey exited the car tentatively.
“We were nearby when I got a message from Harmony,” I said. “You have some brochures to show me?”
“I do.” Destiny fetched a hefty waxed-canvas knapsack from the rear seat of her Jeep and slung it over her shoulder. I noticed the square shape of the two buckles that fastened the knapsack’s top. Was that what she’d used to whack Naomi and herself? She retrieved a box with a Parker Printers label on it and kicked the door closed with her foot. “That Harmony. She sure is on top of things. No moss grows under her feet. Let’s get inside before the next storm hits us. Follow me. Hannah’s here. How about we all have tea?”
“Sure.”
Though the two-story home maintained the same white exterior and red-tiled roof so many establishments in town did, that was where the resemblance ended. It was shaded by gigantic oaks, and, by design, none of the surrounding bushes were groomed. Destiny had wanted a natural look. I recalled Z.Z. telling me once that if Destiny could have bucked city ordinances, she would have made the building look like an Italian farmhouse. One of the customers at the shop who had taken Destiny’s all-day tour said that Destiny had set up a grape stomping vat made of oak slats in the backyard. I didn’t know if she’d hosted a stomping party to date.
The interior of the home, which lacked a foyer, was an open floor plan that reminded me of the lobby of a romantic Italian hotel, complete with wood beams, heavy furniture covered with elegant brocades, multiple Persian rug runners, a burbling marble fountain, and numerous sculptures. There were nooks for reading, and art hung on all the walls. A winding staircase with a wrought-iron baluster resembling grape leaves led to the second floor.
As Destiny forcefully closed the door, Pinot tore through an archway into the kitchen beyond. Within seconds, I heard him lapping water.
“Hannah, look who’s here!” Destiny crooned.
Hannah emerged from the kitchen and offered a weak smile. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” I said, keeping my eye on Destiny.
She strode to the massive desk in the adjoining office and set down the Parker Printers box. Beyond the desk stood a hefty stack of moving boxes. To the right of the boxes I glimpsed a painting on an easel and stifled a gasp. It was a sixteen-by-twenty acrylic of what I could only describe as an angry ocean with lots of blue upon blue and swipes of black and gray—Naomi’s missing painting.
Loath to have Destiny catch me gawking, I strolled deeper into the grand room. Bailey followed.
Hannah approached. “The moment you left, Destiny phoned me and told me she was giving up the business and leaving town. The festival was a bust. She barely made a dime.”
“Given these surroundings, it doesn’t look like she needs to work at all.”
I paused beside one of the tables to study a statue. On my previous visit, I’d come and gone in less than two minutes. I hadn’t had a chance to explore. The statue was
an abstract metal work with what I presumed was a torso and slender legs. Looking closer, I saw the DS signature and inhaled sharply. Was it a David Smith forgery? Bailey peered where I was looking.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Destiny, carrying her knapsack over one shoulder, drew alongside us and touched the leg of the statue. “Quade gave it to me before . . .” Her eyes misted over. She swiped a tear as it dripped down her cheek. “Before we broke up.”
“Destiny,” I said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s a forgery.”
“No.” She blinked.
“Yes, Quade was copying Smith’s work and selling it to unsuspecting buyers.”
“No,” she murmured. “He wouldn’t. He wasn’t like that. He . . .” She shook off the concern and turned to us, face composed. “Tea?”
Without waiting for an answer, she headed to the kitchen. We followed. Like the grand room, the kitchen was done in Italianate style—ecru cabinets trimmed with brown, golden speckled granite countertops, and Travertine tile floors lined with more Persian rug runners. Below the oversized center island were shelves filled with cookbooks and a honeycomb wine rack. An array of colored vases, bottles, and glasses stood in the bay window by the sink.
“How do you like your tea?” Destiny asked. “Cream? Sugar?” She dumped her knapsack on the island between a knife block and a pile of magazines. “Pinot, pillow,” she ordered.
The dog snuffled and nestled on a big tawny dog pillow near the rectangular farm-style kitchen table.
“Just sugar,” I said. One of the buckles on the knapsack I’d spotted looked like it was bent. Might there be a smidge of Naomi’s or Destiny’s blood on it?
Deftly, Destiny set a tea kettle on the stove to boil and suggested we sit at the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I took a seat.
Bailey perched on the chair opposite me and leaned forward on both elbows. “She knows. We should leave.”
“She doesn’t know. Relax. Hannah, sit.”
She sat beside Bailey and whispered, “Destiny didn’t do it, Jenna.”
“Did you ask her?”
“No, but—”
“How can she afford this place?” Bailey asked, perusing the kitchen.
“Her father passed away,” I said. “I imagine she inherited everything. Hannah, didn’t you say he was wealthy?”
“Well-to-do.”
“Does it make sense that she wants to leave town because she’s not making enough on the tours?”
Destiny returned right as the tea kettle whistled. She placed a file folder marked with my name onto the table and tended to the tea. “Jenna, there are brochures for a number of vineyards I think you should consider. My favorite is the topmost, Vast Horizons.”
“The small-batch winery we visited on the Pier the other night?”
“The same. It’s so lovely. Top of the mountain.”
I opened the folder and perused the first brochure, which featured the main house of Vast Horizons.
“Three hundred and sixty-degree views,” Destiny added.
“Oh, no, isn’t that where Cinnamon Pritchett and Bucky Winston got married?”
Destiny cocked her head. “I don’t know, is it?”
“It was this grand estate with a barn at the top of the hill with pinholes in it to let the light through. It was magical. Not far from Monterey.”
Hannah flicked her hand. “Vast Horizons is not at all the same. It’s less than thirty minutes from here. It’s a small vineyard, more like mine in scope. The views are of the ocean and the mountains, not unlike our view from the roof terrace.”
Destiny gazed at me. “Hannah, didn’t you show them the terrace when they were there earlier?”
“It was raining too hard, besides, the winery hasn’t hosted a wedding in over ten years, so I don’t think we could meet the timeline.”
Destiny said, “I heard the three of you had a good chat.”
Hannah remained stoic, her hands woven together. What had she told Destiny?
“Show me the next brochure,” Bailey said.
I did. It featured a ranch-style main house with multiple images of grapes about to burst.
Destiny opened a cupboard and removed a colorful Raffaellesco teapot and four matching cups and saucers. “What did you all talk about, by the way?”
“We went there to discuss”—I gazed at Bailey, who mimed lifting a wineglass and then indicated her wedding ring—“purchasing a set of handblown wineglasses for an engagement gift for a friend. I’d hoped Hannah hadn’t returned them all to the artisan.” I pointed to the collection of glass items displayed in the bay window by the kitchen sink. “I see you have one.”
Destiny stared at it and back at me.
I rose and crossed to the sink. “May I see it?”
“Sure.” Destiny poured hot water from the kettle into the teapot.
I gripped the glass by the stem. “It’s a lovely shade of green and gold. I like the raindrop design. Did the designer make others with this kind of pattern?”
“Not this pattern, but others in the same shades,” Destiny said
“Pretty.” I set it back on the sill. “Did most people buy single glasses, Hannah?”
“Most did, but a few, like you, bought two or three.”
Where in the heck was Cinnamon?
I said, “Some of the other glass pieces on your shelf look vintage, Destiny. Your mother was an antiques dealer, wasn’t she?”
“She was.”
“Did she give you that beautiful perfume bottle necklace you’re wearing?”
“Good guess. Yes, on my tenth birthday.” She set a trivet on a blue lacquered tray and set the teapot on top. “A year before she died.”
“Hannah mentioned”—I acknowledged her with a nod—“that your mother perished in a horrible accident. I’m so sorry.”
“My father drove her to it. He called her crazy. In public. Told her she was no good for me.” Destiny added the cups and saucers and a companion sugar bowl to the tray. “She wasn’t”—she brought the tea service to the kitchen table—“crazy. She was a delicate, precious soul. She had a lot of ups and downs, but Dad grew tired of taking care of her. She left that day when he ordered her to. On foot. We found her days later in the woods. She’d slipped and fallen down a steep incline. At least that’s the story my father told me. Slipped and fallen,” she repeated.
“You didn’t believe him?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “He was the adult. I was a kid. What could I say? I remember him tucking me in that night, begging me not to grow up and be like her, ordering me to become strong and vital. So that’s what I did.” She raised her chin. “I became an all-around athlete. When I nearly made it to the pros as a beach volleyball player, he was ecstatic. But then I hurt myself—I took a spike to the head, suffering a mild concussion, and I shattered my ankle, making it impossible for me to play at the level I once had—and suddenly I was worthless in his eyes. Insignificant. Disgusting. He deserved . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Hannah sucked back a sob.
“What did he deserve?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Destiny murmured.
Possibilities zinged through my mind. Had she killed him? To punish him for abusing her mother?
“How did he die?” I asked.
“Heart attack,” Hannah said. “I told you, Jenna.”
Bailey mouthed, Where is Cinnamon?
Beats me, I mouthed back.
Destiny filled the four cups with water, fetched a tea caddy stuffed with a variety of teas, and returned to the table. She took a seat at the head of the table.
Bailey looked green at the gills and didn’t reach for a cup. Did she think Destiny might poison us? Hannah was scowling, probably wishing she could boot me out and protect her friend. I chose a Darjeeling tea bag, and after seeing Destiny lace her tea with sugar, followed suit.
Destiny sipped her tea but didn’t set the cup back on the saucer. “Quade”—she gazed at
the liquid—“loved tea.”
Thankful for the lead-in, I said, “Why did you and he break up?”
“He didn’t love me.”
“He must have at one time. You’d talked about marriage.”
“Talking about marriage is easy. Committing to marriage? That’s the hard part.” Destiny took another sip of tea.
Pinot rose from his bed and waddled to me. He pressed his chin between my legs. “Hey, boy.” I rubbed his snout and inhaled. “Gee, he smells exactly like our dog. Do you use anti-seborrheic shampoo?”
Bailey kicked me under the table.
“Sure do,” Destiny said. The dog returned to his pillow. “He gets itchy skin. What kind of dog do you have?”
“Also a lab. His name is Rook. And we have a cat.”
“Tigger,” Hannah said.
Destiny nodded. “I’ve seen him at the Cookbook Nook. He’s a ginger, right, Jenna? I love his kitty condo.”
“My father made that for him.”
“Your father sounds nice. Lucky you.” The corners of her mouth pulled into a frown.
“You know what’s interesting?” I said, determined to keep getting answers while Cinnamon took her sweet time. “I smelled something like the dog’s shampoo at the crime scene.”
“Jenna!” Bailey rose to her feet, hands defiantly on her hips. “You know you’re not supposed to share details like that.”
I glimpsed her. Her green pallor was gone. She wasn’t upset with me. She was backing me up with attitude. You rock, Bailey!
“C’mon, girlfriend. It’s Destiny!” I stabbed the table with my finger, playing along. “We can let her in on a few details. After all, she was attacked.”
“Not by the killer,” Bailey argued.
“We don’t know that.”
Keeping up the ruse, Bailey glowered at me and sat down, but she pushed her chair away from the table, giving herself room if she needed to rise quickly.
I said, “At first I presumed the scent had come from a cologne of some kind. Christopher George wears a leathery cologne.”
“Who?” Destiny asked.
“Christopher Michael George, a self-help guru from Silicon Valley. Naomi’s husband. Actually, estranged husband. She ran away from him a couple of years ago. He wasn’t happy about that and tracked her down.”
Wining and Dying Page 23
