A Case of Syrah, Syrah

by Nancy J. Parra

  “I can’t talk about it,” I said. “My lawyer advises that I keep my mouth shut.”

  “Okay, now I’m intrigued. Maybe I’ll have to watch the news tonight.”

  I rubbed my face and sipped my coffee. “How are things here?”

  “Oh, the usual,” he said. “We have an uptick in clients, and the food shelves are low.”

  “Oh, I’ll have Aunt Jemma start a drive at the winery.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Every bit counts, even if it’s vegan. Hey, speaking of vegan, here’s a guy you should meet.” Jasper pointed to the deeply tanned man who’d walked into the kitchen. “Jack Henry Stokes, come meet my friend Taylor O’Brian. Taylor, Jack Henry is my right-hand guy.”

  “Hello,” I said and stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Miss,” he said and shook my hand. He wore an old corduroy coat that had been patched, worn jeans, and boots, and he had shaggy hair.

  “If you ever need any handiwork done or local gossip, Jack Henry here is your man,” Jasper said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Jack Henry tilted his head and looked at me like a cowboy from an old-time movie. “You’re Jemma’s niece. The one who started that tour business in the van.”

  “Yes,” I said and felt my eyes grow wide with surprise. “How do you know?”

  “Like I said, Jack Henry knows what goes on in Sonoma County,” Jasper said. “Taylor brought us a vegan casserole. Are you hungry?”

  “Certainly,” Jack Henry said. “Mighty nice of you, ma’am.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to the winery. Take care, Jasper. It was nice to meet you, Jack Henry.”

  “Try to come around more often,” Jasper said. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “I will,” I said. Although it might already be too late for the sentiment.

  Chapter 7

  My phone rang as I walked toward my car. I answered when I saw it was Aunt Jemma. “Hello?”

  “Where are you? Are you okay? You need to come straight home.” Aunt Jemma’s tone meant business.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I was at the volunteer food pantry—Jasper says hi. What’s going on?”

  “The place is crawling with reporters,” Aunt Jemma said. “They can’t come on the property without permission, but they’re camping out on the street. I normally don’t mind the publicity, but they’re keeping the customers from coming in.”

  “What do the reporters want?”

  “Someone told them that you killed Laura Scott.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Well, I know that.”

  “I’ll call Sheriff Hennessey and have him push the media back.”

  “I already called the police. Angus McCarty ensured me that he will send someone out to clear the road.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m coming home.”

  “Be careful! The world is crazy.”

  “So I’m finding out.”

  I got into my car and drove home. Aunt Jemma was right. There were television vans and cars on either side of the road that wound around the vineyard. The entire drive was stop and go. Finally, a police car pulled around in front of traffic. Two minutes later, I saw that he had stopped to direct traffic. A second police car was there, and the officer was instructing the press to park on only one side of the road so that they weren’t blocking anyone.

  The traffic was beginning to flow fairly smoothly now, but I noticed that no one seemed to be stopping at the winery.

  Finally, I pulled even with the deputy and opened my window when I saw it was Jason Elles. He’d been in the class ahead of me in school. “Hey, Jason, what’s all the fuss about?” I knew what Aunt Jemma had said but couldn’t believe this was all about me—an innocent woman.

  “Someone got a tip that you killed Laura Scott,” he said. “Did you?”

  “What? No! How can you ask such a thing? I can’t talk to you without my lawyer present.” Sonoma was a small town, and I figured Jason thought he could make a stupid quip like that because he knew me.

  “So you did do it?” He gave me the side eye. “Only the guilty lawyer up.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Had to ask,” he said and grinned at me.

  The driver two cars down from me honked and yelled out his window. “Can we keep it moving?”

  I rolled my window up and waited until Jason waved me through. Then I turned into the driveway. I could see Juan and his brother, Julio, sitting on top of their cars guarding the vineyard. I waved to them as I passed by. Then I noticed that people must’ve realized it was me. They poured out of their vehicles and tried to walk down the driveway after me. Juan and Julio stopped them. I watched in the rearview mirror as the two men closed the big wrought-iron gates of the winery drive. We rarely had to gate the drive. The wrought-iron was mostly there for show.

  Today, it felt a bit like prison gates closing behind me. I guessed that there’d be no wine tasting or club pickups today. Aunt Jemma was going to kill me.

  Aunt Jemma and Holly came running out of the house toward me as I climbed out of the van. Aunt Jemma, in a colorful caftan, wrapped her arms around me and smothered me in a huge hug. “Oh, thank goodness you’re home safe. I have no idea what they might’ve done had they found you in town. Why, that crowd of hungry newsmongers might’ve run you over.”

  “I’m fine,” I said as I tried to breathe in her embrace. She squeezed harder and then let go only to hold my face and check it out for herself.

  “They’re likely to give me another heart attack.”

  “Aunt Jemma, I don’t think the first episode was a heart—”

  “Nonsense, my doctor is so glad you are here with me now to watch over me, and I’m glad I’m still here to watch over you.”

  “Are you okay?” Holly asked and gave me a hug. “I heard about Dan Scott calling the cops on you.”

  “How?”

  “Sonoma is a small town,” Holly said. “Word spread fast. Then the newspeople got a call saying you were trespassing on Dan’s lawn, and people are saying that you killed Laura and tried to kill Dan this morning.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I took him a casserole.”

  “Sheriff Hennessey is here to see you,” Aunt Jemma said. “He’s a handsome man, don’t you think?”

  “Aunt Jemma!”

  “I’m just saying.” She shooed me toward the house. “I’ve got him on the patio sipping iced tea. You go on out there and see what he wants. I’ll bring more tea.”

  Holly locked her arm in mine. She still looked fabulous. “How can you have gone through the better part of the day and still look so put together?” I teased her.

  “Pish, you’re the one who has all these handsome men seeing you all the time.”

  “That’s the problem. They aren’t here for a personal visit. It might be different if I looked like you, but I don’t.”

  “You look fine.” She steered me into the house, through the great room, to the open patio doors, where Sheriff Hennessey sat at the patio table. He rose when we came out.

  “I was keeping the sheriff company while we waited for you,” Holly said with a wink. “Did you know he owns a couple of horses? I love horses.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss O’Brian.”

  “Taylor, please,” I said. “Sit. Had I known you were here, I would’ve tried to get through the crowd outside a little faster.”

  “I came with the guys who came to help regulate the traffic,” he said.

  “It’s a madhouse. It took me twenty minutes to get from one side of the vineyard to the other. The frontage is only a half a mile wide.”

  “My officers are moving them along,” he said.

  “So what can I help you with?” I asked as Aunt Jemma came bustling out with a big pitcher of iced tea and glasses for me and her.

  “I’m concerned about you,” he said, his blue gaze showing a hint of heat. “I heard you went to see Dan Scott
this morning.”

  “I did,” I said and tried not to blush. “I went to bring him a casserole. I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

  “He’s asked that you stay away from him until this is all cleared up.”

  “Okay,” I said. “No worries. I’m not going back.”

  “Good, good,” he said. “Where did you go afterward?”

  “Why do you need to know?” I felt defensive.

  “I’m looking out for you.” His expression was genuine concern.

  “That might be true,” I said, “but my attorney keeps telling me I shouldn’t talk to anyone without him present.”

  “Goodness, even me?” Aunt Jemma asked.

  “Even you,” I replied. “People keep taking things I do or say out of context. I mean, it was a casserole, not a gun.”

  Sheriff Hennessey took a sip of his drink. His intense gaze did not leave me. For some reason, it had my heart beating faster. “It might not hurt to lay low for a while,” he advised, “until we figure out what happened that day on the hike.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake . . .”

  “He’s right,” Aunt Jemma said. “It’s probably a good thing to lay low.”

  “But I have a tour tomorrow. My second ‘Off the Beaten Path’ tour.”

  “Honey, you’re going to have to postpone,” Holly said. “You can’t guide a tour with the press popping out of the bushes.”

  “But I have to work.”

  “And the winery needs to be open,” Aunt Jemma said. “Yet here we are.” She patted my knee. “What’s done is done. You need to listen to the handsome sheriff.”

  “Aunt Jemma!”

  “Listening can’t hurt,” Holly said.

  “Okay, now you all are ganging up on me.”

  The sheriff rose. He nodded at Aunt Jemma, who looked like she wanted to swoon. “Thanks for understanding. You ladies have a safe night.”

  “Let me walk you out.” Aunt Jemma jumped up, nearly knocking her chair back. “You’re welcome any time, Sheriff . . .”

  “Unless he’s coming to arrest me,” I muttered when they left through the patio door.

  “He’s good-looking,” Holly teased. “He could arrest me any day.”

  “What happened to your date the other night?”

  “That didn’t work out.”

  “And your crush on Patrick?”

  “I don’t think he’d do more than flirt with me if I tried. Unlike the good sheriff, who seems totally into you.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I repeated.

  “Trust me. I know guys.”

  “You are incorrigible.”

  “You need to think about dating again. How long has it been? Three months?”

  “Six,” I said, “and I’m not ready.”

  “I’d point you in the direction of my online dating profile, but you don’t need one with that hunky sheriff.”

  “Stop.” I had to laugh at her antics. “Both Patrick and the sheriff are involved in this investigation. The last thing I want is to be involved as well.”

  “Well, honey, I think it’s a little too late for that.”

  Chapter 8

  Things went from bad to worse. Turned out I didn’t have to postpone tomorrow’s tour since they called to cancel. The group spokesperson called me after dinner. “Hello, thank you for calling Taylor O’Brian Presents ‘Off the Beaten Path’ Wine Country Tours,” I said. “This is Taylor. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Taylor, it’s Stephanie Osborne.”

  “Hello, Stephanie,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Listen, I hate to do this, but the group has voted to cancel tomorrow’s tour. We know it’s last minute, so you can keep the down payment.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Is there a problem with the date or time? Shall we reschedule?”

  “I think it’s best if we skip the tour this year, given all that you have going on,” she said. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Good, actually.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” She sounded relieved. “Then you’re okay with us not coming? I thought it might be a bit of a hardship.”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Great, then we’ll talk later, okay? Gotta go. Bye, now.” She hung up.

  I stared at my phone. Darn it. Another opportunity lost.

  “How are you doing, sweetie?” Aunt Jemma stood in the doorway of my office. She held two steaming mugs. “I brought you some apple cider tea.”

  “I think I’d prefer a glass of wine.”

  She chuckled. “Me too, but I don’t have anything open at the moment, and if I don’t get customers in, I’m going to have to try to sell everything online.”

  “Well, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?” she asked as she glided over to my desk, set down the mug, and then sat across from me. “You didn’t do anything. And that’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me guess. That was tomorrow’s tour canceling on you.” She nodded toward my phone.

  “Yes,” I said with a sigh.

  “So you’re out of work for a few days, and so am I.” Aunt Jemma sighed. “Just like my poor dead brother, Hank. Your uncle couldn’t hold down a job for longer than three months.”

  “I’m not Uncle Hank.”

  “No, dear, you’re not.” She paused. “It’s too bad you are an only child,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because a person can always count on their siblings to help them out in a pinch.” She looked off into the distance. Aunt Jemma was the last of her siblings that was alive. She had been the pampered baby of her family. My grandparents—her parents—had died when she was only eighteen, and Hank and my mom, Sybil, had always seen to her every need. My heart pinched. She must miss her family. Now that I was the only remaining relative, I could understand why she clung to me. Losing business was not something Aunt Jemma had encountered before in her life. Unfortunately, I’d worked with enough start-ups to understand how quickly new businesses failed.

  “What?” I asked.

  Aunt Jemma had a gleam in her eye that made me suspicious.

  “What are you thinking?” I repeated.

  “I think we should figure out who really killed Laura and get our businesses back,” Aunt Jemma announced.

  “Wait—what?”

  “We’re as good at detecting as any private investigator.”

  “Where did you get that idea?” I asked and drew my eyebrows together in confusion.

  “Well, you were always good at puzzles, and you have an investigative degree.”

  “Aunt Jemma,” I said, “my degree is in journalism. In advertising, not in investigation.”

  “You still had to do basic reporting classes and learn how to dig up clues, right?”

  “Yes, I took reporting one and two, but—”

  “Look, we don’t even have to leave the house. We can do some digging online and—”

  “Digging into what?”

  “Into who Laura was and who might have wanted to kill her, of course. We should also look into the backgrounds of her employees. You never know. Someone—like Dan, for example—might be getting a big chunk of change from her death. That might be why he’s so crazy about accusing you. They say killers like to involve themselves in the investigation.”

  “Which is what we’ll be doing, if we do what you suggest.”

  “Not really,” she said and leaned forward, her fingers hugging the mug. “We’re not involving the police. We’re taking some time to figure out who, besides you, might have killed Laura.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Look, you have to be proactive in your life. Your mother and I both taught you that. You can’t lie down and let them accuse you, maybe even railroad you straight to prison for something you didn’t do.”

  “Wow, you re
ally think it’ll go that far?”

  “Not if we’re investigating,” she said. “Look, let’s do some digging online. It might help and certainly can’t hurt.”

  “Unless the police charge us with interfering with an investigation.”

  Aunt Jemma laughed. “It’s only interfering if you hide it from them. We’ll tell them the minute we discover anything.”

  “Fine, let me sleep on it,” I said.

  “Sleep on it if you want, if you can. But I’m telling you, someone is framing you for Laura’s murder, or the press wouldn’t be knocking at our door. If you want to stop it, we have to act now.”

  “I’m not being framed.”

  “Says the girl who is losing business and is trapped in her own home by paparazzi.” Aunt Jemma stood. “Some people need to be hit over the head with a situation before they act.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair. I came here for you, remember?”

  “And stayed even after figuring out that my heart is as healthy as a horse.” She winked at me. “Doesn’t mean it’ll be healthy tomorrow, but if we both want to survive, I think we need to do some digging. I’ll check in on you in the morning and see what we can find out. Good night, sweetheart.”

  “Ugh,” I muttered to the air and sipped the apple cider tea. After a few moments, I opened up my computer browser. “I do have to do some work on my website, so I guess it wouldn’t hurt to read the news.”

  The headline for the local paper read, “Local Yoga Instructor Killed. Tour Guide May Be a Person of Interest in the Case.”

  I sat back. “I’d better not be the only person of interest. In fact, I shouldn’t be a person of interest at all.”

  Maybe Aunt Jemma was right. Maybe I needed to do a little investigating on my own.

  * * *

  The next morning, I woke up at my desk. I had fallen asleep at the computer, and drool pooled beside the pad where I rested my head. I sat up and stretched. My neck was sore from spending the night at such an odd angle. I probably needed a massage and yoga class to work the kinks out.

  “Rise and shine, sunshine.” Aunt Jemma strolled in with a mug of hot coffee in her hand. “We have two groups coming out for tasting and one corporate picnic.”

  I rubbed my gritty eyes. “Wait, I thought this was ruining your business?”