I waited silently while it rang on the other end. I could see the concern growing in the pit of my stomach mirrored in the faces of my two employees as we all waited for Buckley to answer.
Six rings in, it went to voicemail.
"Well?" Jean Luc asked.
I stabbed my phone off. "He's not answering."
We all turned to look out the window at the dark vineyard, seeming serene and still in the moonlight.
"I'm going to go look for him," I decided.
"I'll go with you," Eddie offered, pulling out his phone and turning on the flashlight app.
While I wasn't sure what the two of us would do if there really were an intruder on the grounds, I was grateful we'd be a duo and not a solo. We left out the back door, heading through the courtyard and across the meadow where we held our weddings against the backdrop of the vineyards. The south field was to our left and looked quiet and deserted. The air had a chilling bite to it, and the scent of dew and wet earth filled my nostrils as I inhaled deeply, fear as well as exertion making my breath come fast.
"Bill?" I called out, my voice sounding oddly loud in the still air.
A few birds in a nearby oak tree fluttered their wings, taking to the air. But no response from my security guard.
"Is anyone out here?" I tried again, hating that my voice held a shake to it.
"There!" Eddie said, pointing to our right and shining his flashlight in the direction.
"What?" I asked, eyes scanning the row of growing grapes as his beam illuminated them.
"I-I thought I saw something," he said, uncertainty in his voice now.
I licked my lips. "Buckley? Are you out here?"
The soft sound of crickets in the bushes to my left was all that I heard in reply.
"Maybe he went back inside," Eddie offered, his voice soft.
"Maybe." I pulled my phone out, trying his number again. Only this time as it rang in my ear, I also heard a faint echoing ring in the night.
My eyes shot to Eddie's. The look in them said he'd heard it too.
I pulled my phone from my ear, straining to hear the faint ringtone coming from between the rows of vines.
"Over there," Eddie stage whispered to me, nodding toward the left. His flashlight led the way as we carefully traversed the uneven ground toward the sound.
Only a few paces in, the ringing stopped, the call going to voicemail. I quickly hung up and dialed again, feeling that panic gather into a tight ball in my belly as we waited in the cool night air to hear the ringtone again.
Finally it echoed across the vines. Louder now. Closer.
Eddie took off at a near run this time, and I was just a quick step behind him, wishing I'd worn shoes that were more conducive to trekking through the mud. My heels were sinking and sticking in the earth, and I feared they would never be the same again.
The ringing was louder, and I expected to see Bill standing ahead of us any second, when Eddie stopped so suddenly that I almost ran into his back. I heard him gasp audibly. Then he spun to face me, his pallor ghostly white in the moonlight.
"What is it?" I asked, hearing the ringing come to an ominous end as I peeked around him, not waiting for a response.
And I realized why no one was picking up the phone. It was sitting in the mud next to a blossoming vine. And beside it was the outstretched hand of Bill Buckley, his body lying on the damp earth atop a large red pool of blood. And by the way his wide, glassy eyes were staring unseeing at the moonlit sky, I could tell that Buckley would never be answering his phone again.
Bill Buckley was dead.
CHAPTER TWO
"Name?" A uniformed officer with what was clearly a home haircut looked expectantly at me, fingers hovering over his electronic tablet as we stood in the meadow, watching crime scene techs crawl all over my vine covered hills.
"Emmeline Oak. Emmy," I amended.
"Address?"
"Here. I mean, I live in the cottage at the back of the winery."
"Phone number?"
I rattled off the digits, the act of reciting mundane information actually working to calm my nerves.
Some.
After Eddie and I had both screamed until our throats were raw, one of us had had the good sense to call 9-1-1. Probably Eddie, as my mind had been a whirlwind of fear, guilt, and horror at seeing my employee dead in my vineyard. Had he caught an intruder? What had tripped the alarm? Had there been an altercation? And where was the intruder now?
I'd been hovering near hysteria by the time the dispatcher on the other end of the line had said help was on the way and Jean Luc had come running from the winery, having heard our, as he put it, "blood curdling screams." The three of us had waited silently for the authorities, the only sound in the vineyard the 9-1-1 operator's voice repeatedly telling us to stay on the line and wait somewhere safe.
Safe. I'd always felt security and a sense of home at Oak Valley, but I wasn't sure I'd ever feel completely safe in those rows of blooming grape vines again.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" The officer cut into my thoughts, concern in his eyes below his slightly uneven bangs.
I realized I was shaking and wrapped my arms tightly around my middle. "Yeah. Sure. Fine."
"You're a terrible liar," a familiar voice said from behind me.
I spun to find myself looking up into the face of Detective Grant. Way up. He was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and chest that tapered to a perfect V at the waistband of his worn jeans. His hair was dark, his skin a warm sun-kissed tan, and his eyes were deep brown and creased at the corners when he smiled. And while his voice held a note of humor, at the moment he wasn't smiling, his eyes mirroring the concern in the uniformed officer's. "Hey," he said softly.
I licked my lips. "Hey," I squeaked out.
"You okay?"
Having already been called out as a liar, I shook my head in the negative.
Grant quickly closed the gap between us, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug that I never wanted to end. He smelled like fabric softener and warm spicy aftershave, and the heat radiating from his chest felt so alive and strong that for a moment I could block out everything else that I'd seen that evening.
Only the moment ended too quickly, and Grant pulled back. "What happened?" he asked, his voice calm and even. While I could tell he was in cop mode, he was reining it in for my benefit.
I did some more lip licking, leaving them wet in the night air that was growing colder by the second. "I-I honestly don't know. We just found him like that."
"Do you know the victim?" he asked, eyes cutting to the south vineyard where a myriad of flashlight beams converged on the scene.
I nodded. "His name is Bill Buckley. He was my security guard."
"I'm sorry," Grant said, a new layer of sympathy in his voice at the thought I'd known the dead man.
I shook my head. "I'd just hired him. I mean, he'd only been here a little while."
"So you didn't know him well?"
"No." I felt guilt hit me again. "I mean, he showed up on time and had a decent looking résumé. I hadn't had a chance to get to know much more."
Grant nodded, and I could see him mentally taking notes. "When did he start working here?"
"I-I don't know. A couple of weeks ago, I guess. I could check my records." I nodded toward the winery buildings where my office was.
"Did you hire him through an agency?" Grant asked, pulling a notebook from his pocket. Though, unlike the uniformed officer, his was actually old school paper. He grabbed a ballpoint pen from his pocket to go with it, flipping to an empty page.
"No, he was freelance. David recommended him."
"David?" Grant's eyebrows rose. "Well, that should have given you a clue right there."
I could tell he was only half joking. David Allen lived in the guest house of his mother's abandoned estate just outside of town, and when he wasn't smoking pot and enjoying his trust-fund lifestyle, he spent his days painting dark violent artwork and card
sharking the rich and oblivious at the local golf club. David had had my back enough times in the past that he was somewhere in the friend range of acquaintances. But he was enough of a wild card that I was always reminded of the phrase, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Ninety percent of the time he seemed harmless enough. But the other ten percent of the time his wicked grin had me wondering what he was scheming.
So I almost didn't blame Grant's semi-joke at David's expense.
"David said his mom had used Buckley a couple of times for events at her place," I told Grant. "He said Buckley did a good job for her."
"Did David know Buckley personally?"
"I don't think so. Not that he mentioned to me anyway."
"You run a background check on Buckley before you hired him?"
"No. But Buckley said he was a retired police officer."
Grant nodded, his gaze going toward the myriad of flashlight beams again. "A lot of these private security guys are. Did he mention any friends or family in the area to you?"
I shook my head. "No." I tried hard not to picture a crying widow and little fatherless Buckley juniors, that guilt growing by the second. "But you could ask Eddie. He was usually here when Buckley clocked in. He might have mentioned something to him."
Grant nodded again. "I think someone is taking his statement now."
I hesitated to ask, but part of me just had to know… "Do you know how he died?"
Grant gave me a dubious look, as if he wasn't sure I seemed strong enough to handle the details.
I squared my shoulders, hoping my posture looked hardened enough to take it. While I wasn't sure I totally pulled it off, it must have been enough to convince Grant I wouldn't pass out, as he said, "Gunshot wound to the chest."
I cringed. "Please tell me he didn't suffer."
Grant shook his head. "We'll need ballistic to confirm, but it looks like it was a .22 caliber. Something like that? He would have died instantly."
Thank goodness for small favors.
"Buckley called me earlier. He said something tripped the alarm. He was going to investigate it," I said, quickly relaying to Grant the brief last conversation I'd had with the dead man before driving home. "You think whoever shot Buckley tripped it?" I asked when I'd finished.
Grant looked out at the vineyard again. "I don't know. Does your security system have cameras?"
I nodded. "But only around the building. Nothing that would cover the vineyards."
"We'll look over footage just in case."
I nodded. "Why would anyone be in my vineyard? With a gun?"
"Could be hunters."
"Here?" I glanced around the winery grounds which, while we were about twenty minutes outside of downtown, was hardly the wilderness. "Hunting what? Merlot?"
The corner of Grant's mouth ticked up at my attempt at humor. "Could have been teenagers. Looking for small game—rabbits, even young deer."
"But they wouldn't have mistaken Buckley for a rabbit," I reasoned.
"It's also possible we're looking at a potential intruder. Maybe Buckley surprised them."
I thought back to the image of Buckley's body on the ground. "His phone was out. Like it had been in his hand maybe. It was on the ground next to him. Maybe he was calling for help?"
"CSI has bagged it, and we'll be checking his phone records." He paused. "We're also checking the buildings for any sign of a break-in."
"Have you found any?"
"Not yet." Grant looked down at his notebook. "Anyone else on the property tonight?"
"Just Eddie and Jean Luc when I got here."
"What about Conchita and Hector?" Grant asked. As he knew, they lived in a small house just on the other side of the ridge.
I shook my head. "They're away for the weekend. Taking some time off before wedding season hits."
Grant frowned. "Emmy, I don't think you should be here alone tonight."
By the tone of his voice, I could tell that was not an amorous invitation. "Why?" I asked. "You don't think whoever did this would come back?"
Again Grant looked like he was hesitant to lay the truth on me. "There's a possibility this wasn't random."
"What do you mean?" I asked, hearing the fear back in my voice.
"I mean, until we know whether Buckley was responding to someone simply looking to make off with some valuables or to someone who broke onto the grounds with the intent to harm, you should be careful."
"Intent to harm…me?" I said, his meaning sinking in. "You think whoever did this came here to harm me?"
Grant shook his head. "I don't know, Emmy, but it is your winery."
"No." I shook my head, the denial more instinctive than anything. "Who would do that? Why? I don't have any enemies."
"Are you sure about that?" Grant asked.
I paused. "Yes." No. Especially with the way he was looking at me. Like he almost didn't want to let me out of his sight.
"I'd feel better if you weren't alone tonight. I don't want to take any chances."
A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air. I nodded dumbly.
Grant looked up at the hillside that seemed to be filling with more and more law enforcement personnel. "You can stay at my place, but I'm going to be held up here for quite a bit."
Normally the invitation to sleep over would have sent tingly warm feelings to all the right places. But in that moment, all I felt was numb. Numb with guilt, with fear, and with a distinct sense of vulnerability that was making me just as nervous about spending the night with Grant as it was spending the night alone at my home that was now a crime scene. I was starting to shiver again when I heard a female voice calling my name.
"Emmy!" I turned to see my best friend, Ava Barnett, running toward me through the tasting room doors. "Ohmigosh, areyouokay?" she asked all in a rush. She tackled me in a hug that smelled like her peachy lotion before waiting for a response.
I felt myself hiccup back a sob as I melted into her embrace.
Ava and I had been best friends since high school, and while our lives had sometimes taken us down different paths since then—mine to culinary school and hers to opening her own jewelry store where she sold her handmade sterling silver creations—as soon as I'd come home to take over the winery, it had been like no time had passed in our friendship. Ava had the same blonde hair as I did, and we were both an average size eight. Even if my hair was a little more on the frizzing-in-the-humidity side and hers was more on the straight-and-glossy-at-all-times side, and my size eight had a little more padding in the hips from my love of all things edible and hers had a little more muscle definition from her love of the outdoors.
Muscles that were currently squeezing the life out of me.
"I an't eeth," I told her.
"What?"
"I said I can't breathe," I repeated as she released me and took a step back.
"Ohmigosh, Eddie called and told me what happened," Ava said, her eyes going from me to Grant. "That your security guy passed away in the vineyard?"
Passed away was a nice way to put it. Much more peaceful sounding than the scene Eddie and I had stumbled upon. I tried to block out the image as I nodded. "It's true. He's dead." I quickly gave her the condensed version of events as Grant put his notebook away.
"Honey, I'm so sorry," Ava said, laying a hand on my arm and giving it a squeeze.
"Thanks," I managed to get out through the tears starting to back up again at her genuine sympathy.
Grant cleared his throat. "I was just telling Emmy that I don't think she should stay here alone tonight."
"Well, of course not!" Ava said, rubbing her hand up and down my cold arms. "You're staying with me tonight."
I glanced at Grant. I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but he quickly covered it. "I think that's a good idea."
"You're sure?" I asked him, feeling a smidge of disappointment myself.
But he nodded confidently. "I'm going to be tied up here for a
while. You shouldn't be alone."
It was two against one. Clearly I was going to Ava's that night. I nodded my agreement. "Sure."
Grant's eyes roved over me, looking like he wished he could do more. "I'll call you later."
"Sure," I said again. The one word must have sounded about as unsure as I felt, as he leaned in and pulled me into another tight hug before dropping a peck on my cheek.
* * *
The ride to Ava's felt longer than it ever had, and I fell asleep twice in the car, my head lulling in the passenger seat of her vintage GTO. The surge of adrenaline at finding the dead man had ebbed, leaving in its wake both emotional and physical exhaustion. As soon as we got to Ava's loft apartment above her shop, Silver Girl, I flopped onto her living room futon and passed out, barely even registering the soft quilt that Ava laid lovingly over me before tiptoeing off to her bedroom herself.
The next morning I was awaked by sunshine streaming through Ava's blinds in sharp ribbons of light and the sound of hushed voices in the small kitchen behind me.
"You think she's okay?"
"No. Who would be okay after seeing that?"
"Murder in the vineyard. Who do the police think did it?"
"Emmy said Grant thinks it could be personal."
"It's possible. Emmy can be hard to get along with."
"I can hear you," I called from beneath the quilt. I propped myself up into a seated position to glare over the top of the sofa at the two less-than-quiet gossipers.
Ava and David Allen sat at the kitchen table with a couple of mugs of coffee in hand.
David gave me a crooked grin. "'Morning, sunshine."
I shot Ava a look. "What's he doing here?"
"He called me as soon as he saw the news this morning," Ava said, rising from the table to grab another mug from her cupboard.
"I rushed right over to make sure you weren't traumatized," David said, only a small hint of sarcasm in his voice. He was dressed in his usual attire of worn jeans, dangerous looking combat boots, and a black T-shirt, this one touting some brand of whiskey. His dark hair was cut long, falling into his eyes that were twinkling with a teasing light in my direction.
Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7) Page 2
