Blood for Wine

by Warren C Easley

  “No, Jim!” I screamed. “Don’t make things worse. Put him down.”

  Jim looked back at me, his eyes filled with rage and grief.

  “Don’t do it. We have to get Sylvia out of here.”

  Jim’s head swiveled back to the raging Pacific. He thrust Eddie even closer to the edge, and his captive’s screams went up an octave. A wave smashed into the rocks, driving up a geyser of spray that rained down on them, and for a moment, I feared they’d both gone over the edge. An eternity passed before they reappeared.

  Jim spun around and dropped Eddie like a bag of dirt. I scooped up my Glock and raced to Sylvia’s side. She was conscious but bleeding from a wound in her stomach. I removed my slicker and sweater, then peeled off my tee shirt and placed it against the wound. “Can you hold this?” I asked Sylvia. She nodded with closed eyes and clutched her hands around the wadded shirt.

  “Jim,” I said, “pick her up and carry her out of here. I’ll take care of Eddie. Go. As fast as you can. I’ll call 911.”

  Jim picked his niece up effortlessly and started back toward the sand dune. I held the Glock on Eddie while I put my slicker back on and then summoned an ambulance to meet us in the pub’s parking lot. I didn’t reveal that there had been a shooting. I knew that would draw the cops and immediately complicate matters. I wanted answers from Eddie first. I figured I deserved them.

  My turn to wag the gun. “Go,” I said. “I’ll be right behind you.” I really didn’t need the weapon. Eddie’s shoulders were slumped, and his head was down. A beaten man. He turned to me, his eyes streaming tears down a face. “She’s the only thing I ever loved. Will she make it?”

  “You better hope so. Get going.” Once underway, I said, “Why did you have Amis killed?”

  He grunted and turned to me, his eyes blank discs, his voice barely audible. “This whole mess was his fault. When we became friends, we understood each other almost immediately. We both take what we want. We were drinking one night after he invested a chunk of money with Tilikum. He drank too much and told me he was going to take Stone Gate Farm. He didn’t tell me how, but said I’d be impressed if I knew. That same night he also told me Lori was going to leave Jim, and that she hated him. That planted a seed in my mind about Le Petit Truc. Cornerstone was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, and when they finally folded it dawned on me what I might have to do.”

  “So Tilikum’s going under?”

  He stumbled then caught his balance. “Yes. Fucking Cornerstone was a much bigger account than anyone knew. When they went belly up, we started hemorrhaging money. We’re private, so I was able to keep the lid on.”

  “What about the auditors?”

  “Manipulating auditors to buy time was the least of my worries. I’ve been trying to bring in new revenue, but I ran out of time.” His eyes met mine, pleading for understanding. “I couldn’t let Tilikum fail. My reputation, everything I built, would have been destroyed. And Sylvia? God, if she knew I was running a Ponzi scheme what would she think of me?” He shook his head. “Now I know how Bernie Madoff felt. You don’t want to run a Ponzi scheme, it’s forced on you.” He looked at me again, his hands open in supplication. “I had no choice. Truc was my only chance to make Tilikum whole again, with nobody the wiser.”

  I nodded to keep him talking and waved him up the trail. “Why go from framing Jim to killing him out here?”

  “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said over his shoulder. “I just wanted his land. But I underestimated how much my wife loves her uncle. Even if he was convicted, I realized Syl would never agree to take his goddamn vineyard.”

  “How did you recruit Abernathy?”

  “That was easy. I offered him money so he could buy into a marijuana business, what else? I told him to go to Lori and offer to kill Jim. I figured that bitch would jump at the chance, and I was right. They weren’t blood, those two, but they were cut from the same cloth.” He looked at me and a wisp of a smile spread across his face. “You should have seen the look on Aaron’s face when I told him it wasn’t Jim he was going to kill. I made his day.”

  My stomach turned, and I regretted having talked Jim out of tossing Eddie over the edge. “But why kill Amis?” I asked again.

  “He figured out my little scheme and told me he’d keep quiet about Lori’s murder if I cut him in on Truc. I told him to fuck off, but then I got worried that he might run his mouth, so I sent angry man in to take care of him.” Eddie stopped and looked back at me, his expression incredulous. “Can you believe Amis? What a scumbag.”

  I shook my head and wagged my gun again. “You two were a match made in heaven, for sure.”

  Eddie and I reached the parking lot just as the ambulance was pulling away, with Jim riding next to Sylvia. I called 911 again and told them there had been a shooting on the headlands.

  I’d just punched off when my cell chirped. “Claxton? This is Detective Ballard. Where the hell are you? You called in an armed assault and then you bugger off? And we found Aaron Abernathy out in the quarry behind your place bleeding to death. You better have one goddamn good story for all this.”

  I laughed. “I do, Hal. I can explain everything now.”

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Early That Next Spring

  Before the wisteria vine leafs out in early spring, it pushes out clusters of purple petals that drape and fall, not unlike bunches of grapes. The arbor at the rear of the tasting room at Le Petit Truc was ablaze with the blooming plant and below it, in the dappled sunlight, a small group of friends had gathered in celebration. Word had just arrived that one of Truc’s pinot noir wines won a top medal at the prestigious Decanter World Wine Awards held annually in London.

  Jim Kavanaugh was as proud as a man could be. “There were more than 16,000 wines in the contest. My 2012 Reserve was one of the thirty Best-in-Show, Platinum medals given out.”

  After some bravos and clapping, Sylvia Manning hugged her uncle’s arm the way she always did and said, “I’m so pleased for you.” She was thin and pale but on her way to a full recovery. A fragment of the bullet from Eddie Manning’s gun had lodged in her stomach, requiring two major surgeries to repair the damage.

  “What did they say about the wine?” I asked.

  Jim shrugged and smiled mischievously. “They said it was better than all the grand cru Burgundies in the competition. That’s all I heard.”

  Candice rolled her eyes, then glanced down at the award letter in front of her. “They said more than that, Jim. They said it was elegant, with oak spices, and a complex tannic structure combined with a soft, refreshing finish.”

  Jim looked at Juan Cruz, his foreman. “Just what we were going for, right?”

  Juan laughed. “Yes, our grapes always do exactly as they are told.”

  Jim grinned, and a look of unabashed joy spread across his face. “Seriously, I want you all to know that I couldn’t do this job without Juan and Candice.” He raised his glass. “You two are the best.”

  The banter stayed light and jovial, and when Sylvia excused herself to take a nap, the group thinned out until it was just Jim, Candice, Winona, and I, with Archie snoozing in the corner. “How’s she doing?” I asked Jim, referring to his niece.

  He stroked his beard with a big hand and frowned. “Okay, considering. She never had a clue about Eddie. She knew he was playing around, but the rest was a total shock.” He sighed and managed a smile. “I’m not worried, though. She’s a survivor.”

  Jim, of course, was a survivor, too, and was working hard to put the murder of his beloved wife behind him. The knowledge that Lori thought she was luring Jim into a death trap was a bitter pill, but at the same time, it helped him see her death with considerably less despair.

  I said, “The case is buttoned up. Hal Ballard called me the other day to tell me Eddie agreed to plead guilty to two counts of aggravated murder to avoid the dea
th penalty. Aaron Abernathy has been indicted on three murder counts—Lori, Amis, and Luis Delgado—and one count of attempted murder on me. There’s no promise of mercy for him.”

  “What about Lori’s mom?” Jim asked. “Did he kill her, too?”

  I shrugged. “He hasn’t admitted it. We’ll probably never know for sure.”

  Candice said, “Is there more than just Eddie’s word that he killed Lori and Amis?”

  I chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Abernathy’s shoes were like the Rosetta Stone. The crime lab found traces of blood and DNA on them from both victims.”

  Jim said, “How did they get him for Delgado’s murder?”

  “Ballistics,” I said. “The gun he came after me with was used to kill Delgado. As you know, it got stuck behind my radiator.”

  We all laughed at that and clinked glasses. They knew the story of how my belching radiator saved my life.

  Jim shifted in his seat, and his look grew somber. “I know Eddie’s cooperating and all, but this thing’s upside down. Abernathy was just a tool. None of this would have happened without Eddie. He’s the one who deserves the needle.” He shook his head. “The bastard’s all contrite now. Keeps asking for Sylvia to visit him, but she’s having none of it.”

  “Good,” Winona and I said, almost in unison. I couldn’t disagree with Jim, although from a personal standpoint, the thought of Abernathy bearing the full brunt of the law was a welcome one. He tried to poison my dog, after all, and I was still walking with a slight limp.

  “What’s the latest with Tilikum Capital Management?” Winona asked.

  Jim huffed a breath. “It’s toast. Eddie was sending out false earnings statements and using invested monies to pay withdrawals, which were accelerating. There isn’t nearly enough money left to make anyone whole. A lot of well-to-do people are suddenly pitchfork angry, and lawsuits are sprouting like weeds.”

  Winona made a face. “Will Sylvia get dragged into that?”

  “Not too much. Eddie was such a manipulator that everything having to do with the business is in his name, so she’s not a big target.” He laughed. “But the reputation of the firm that audited Tilikum is shot to hell, and they’re going down as well. Eddie had them completely snowed about what he was up to.”

  I shook my head but didn’t comment. I hated to see people lose their investments, but there was a certain poetic justice in the fall of Tilikum, a company that made rich people richer by preying on college graduates and sick people saddled with debt.

  Candice topped up our wineglasses and said, “I was at the Brasserie on Monday, and Bettie James told me Blake Daniels has gone into rehab at Hazelden in Newberg.”

  “Glad to hear that,” I said, looking at Candice. “One of the twelve steps is making amends. You might be hearing from him.”

  Candice nodded. “I hope I do. I’d like to tell him I’m sorry, too, for spying on him.” She looked at Jim and smiled. “I was just trying to help my boss clear his name.”

  Jim laughed. “That wasn’t in your job description, you know.”

  Candice looked at me. “Why do you think he didn’t come forward and then tried to fake an alibi?”

  I shrugged. “He didn’t want to get involved in a murder case, I guess.” What I didn’t say was that I was pretty sure Blake Daniels had strong feelings for Lori Kavanaugh and was actually trying to protect her honor. Such are the workings of the human heart.

  Jim turned to me and raised his glass. “Thanks again for arranging the deal with Sean McKnight.”

  “I didn’t do much,” I said. “Sean scrapped his kiwi project, so I just suggested he talk to you about growing grapes on that swath of land. He’s going to Syria, you know, as a volunteer with Doctors Without Borders. He’s leaving in a couple of weeks.

  “That’s hazardous duty,” Jim said.

  I nodded. “For sure. It’s penance, I think.”

  “What about the woman he had the affair with?” Candice asked.

  “Maura Conisson? I had lunch with her last week. She told me she’s going to wait for Sean, that they both believe they have a future.” I didn’t mention that Hal Ballard had given me Amis’ thumb drive as a personal favor, and that I had pressed it into Maura’s hand as she was leaving.

  It was getting late, and looking southwest from the terrace the vineyards of Le Petit Truc seemed to stretch to the horizon and fade into the soft, reddish glow of the setting sun. The leaves on the vines had unfurled, and soon clusters of flowers would appear, marking another round of an ancient cycle that called out the best in some and the worst in others.

  We said our goodbyes and watched as Jim and Candice walked back toward the house. Halfway there, Jim took her hand.

  “Well, well,” I said, “looks like Jim finally sees what’s right in front of him.”

  It was spring, and salmon and steelhead were leaving the Pacific to end another ancient cycle in the upper reaches of Oregon’s rivers. Winona and I figured to tie into a couple of those beautiful fish in the coming weeks. Life was good again in the Dundee Hills.

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