I shook my head. "I'll admit, I don't follow the news that closely though." I pulled out my phone, googling the name as Ava jumped on the 12 toward Oak Valley. Several sites came up, most of them news outlets covering the madame's arrest in San Francisco two years ago. I clicked the first link, reading out loud to Ava as she drove.
"It says here Katy Kline was running an escort service out of her brother's butcher shop."
"Eww. I can think of nowhere less amorous than a room full of animal carcasses. Let's hope they didn't actually…you know…do business there."
I scrunched up my nose, trying to get that picture out of my head. "The article says she was arrested after her name came up in connection with another investigation."
"The investigation into Buckley," Ava supplied.
"It doesn't say here. But if the police were trying to keep the whole bribery thing quiet, I doubt it would."
"What else does it say?" Ava asked, eyes flickering momentarily from the windshield to my phone.
"She apparently had a network of over a dozen girls working for her."
"Wow. I wonder what happened to them."
"Doesn't say here." I hit the back button, trying a different link to another new story. "This one says she 'cooperated with police' for a reduced sentence. She pled guilty and was sentenced to four years in prison."
"Ouch. That's reduced?"
"I guess." I glanced up at her. "Why? Is that a lot?"
Ava shook her head. "I don't know. But it's not like she killed anyone—she just charged for a little something-something."
"Which is illegal," I pointed out.
"Did the guys who paid for it get arrested? Did Buckley? Why is it always the woman who gets the short end, huh? And guys like Buckley go free."
"Well, don't feel too bad for her," I said, scrolling down another article. This one dated much more recently. "She's not serving all four years. In fact, she's not serving any time at all anymore. Katy Kline was let out on parole."
Ava's eyebrows rose. "Now we're getting somewhere. When?"
"Two months ago."
"Interesting timing!" Ava made a right, pulling off the main road toward Oak Valley Vineyards. "Okay, so Katy's paroled, tracks down Buckley, finds him working at your winery, and kills him out of revenge for ratting her out."
"I could see that." I shook my head. "Why do it at my winery? Why couldn't the killer have tracked him down somewhere else?"
"Really. I'd wager it wouldn't have been the first homicide Shady Meadows has ever seen," Ava said, pulling up the long winding drive toward Oak Valley.
Only, as she did, someone came barreling down the driveway, the roar of a motorcycle hitting my ears a split second before the flash of chrome and steel came into my vision.
Coming down the center of the road at terrifying speeds.
Right toward us.
CHAPTER SIX
"Look out!" I screamed, my fingers instinctively grabbing at the dashboard.
"Holy crap!" Ava swerved, the car jerking to the right on the wide bend.
My body slammed against the side of the car, my head connecting painfully with the window. Then I flopped to the left, as Ava struggled to regain control of the fishtailing car. She came precariously close to one of the hundred year old oak trees lining the drive, the bumper kissing the bark as she swerved again.
I heard the motorcycle fly past us, the engine growling menacingly, as the driver narrowly missed Ava's GTO. While he was going fast enough to be a blur as he passed us, I spun in my seat to get a look at him out the rear window and caught the image of a skull and a red rose on the back of his black leather jacket before he disappeared from sight.
"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap," Ava chanted beside me as she finally regained control of the swerving vehicle. "That guy could have killed us!"
"That guy was Jamie Connolly!"
"Who?" Ava asked, coming to the top of the drive and slowly easing her car into a parking space in the lot.
"Sheila Connolly's son," I reminded her.
Ava frowned as she shut off the engine. "Are you sure?"
"He was wearing the same leather jacket I saw on the kid at Sheila's this morning."
Ava slowly pried her hands off the steering wheel, and I could see that they were shaking. I didn't blame her. My entire body felt a little unsteady, not to mention my head was suddenly throbbing.
"Well, Sheila needs to give him a few tips on road safety," Ava said.
"Among other things," I mumbled getting out of the car and leading the way toward the main winery buildings. "What do you think he was doing here?"
"Great question," she said as she followed me inside. "One I think we should discuss over a steadying glass of wine?"
"Agreed." It was close enough to happy hour.
Unfortunately, it was also nearly empty in my tasting room. Just one person sat at the bar with his back to us, chatting amiably with Jean Luc. The lack of patrons immediately served to remind me of the conversation I'd had with Schultz that afternoon. I tried to shove it to the back of my mind as I made my way to the bar.
Where I quickly realized the one "customer" was not actually a paying one.
"There's my Ems," David Allen said, spinning to face us as Ava and I took the empty barstools beside him. "And the lovely Ava. Where have you two ladies been?"
"Getting pedicures," Ava told him, holding out her foot and wiggling her peachy toes as evidence.
David gave her a raised eyebrow. "I see our mood has lightened considerably since this morning."
"We were at Nadia's Nails in Napa," Ava explained. "Buckley's ex-wife works there."
"Ah," David said sagely. "So we did conduct some interrogations."
"Conversation," I corrected as Jean Luc silently poured Ava and me two glasses of our house Chardonnay. I nodded a thank-you, and he stepped away to clean some already clean glasses at the end of the bar, where he wouldn't look like he was eavesdropping, as Ava quickly filled David in on what we'd learned that day.
"Carmen Buckley definitely had motive and opportunity," Ava ended with.
"So we think the ex-wife was so angry she showed up here with a gun?" David asked, sipping his wine.
"Possibly," Ava said. "I mean, I could totally see her shooting him and walking away happy as a clam."
"She all but told us she would," I said. "In fact, I think she was even daydreaming about it."
David swirled his wine in his glass, making it tear pleasingly down the sides. "I don't see what she'd have to gain from killing him, though."
"Satisfaction of revenge?" Ava tried on.
"Possibly. But if we're talking revenge, I feel like the madame has a bigger grudge."
"Katy Kline. And that's true," Ava conceded. "Thanks to Buckley, she spent two years in jail."
"Well, to be fair, it was thanks to her illegal business," I noted.
Ava scoffed and turned to David. "You think it's fair that she was sentenced to jail for four years just for supplying a service?"
"Not in the least," he said, the corner of his lip curling upward. "Sounds like a lovely service. In fact I—"
"Stop." I put my hands up. "I don't want to hear anymore."
David's grin widened. "I was going to say I fully support a woman's right to make a living however she sees fit."
I shot him a look. I'd bet money I didn't have that was not what he'd been about to say.
"Anyway," I went on, "there's also another person who didn't get along with Buckley."
"Oh?" David asked, sipping at his Chardonnay again.
I nodded. "His girlfriend's son. Jamie Connolly."
"A kid?" David frowned. "That's very Bad Seed."
"He's a teenager," Ava explained.
"Late teens, if I had to guess," I added.
"And he almost ran us off the road with his motorcycle just now," Ava said.
Jean Luc, who had clearly been pretending not to listen until then, gasped. "Off zee road?
David
frowned. "What happened?"
Ava quickly relayed the encounter we'd had on the winding driveway.
"What was 'e even doing 'ere?" Jean Luc asked, all pretense at minding his own business abandoned.
"That's what I'd like to know," I said. "He didn't come inside?"
Jean Luc shook his head. "I would 'ave thrown 'im out if 'e did. Twenty-one and over."
"You said he had dark hair. Leather jacket?" David asked, still frowning.
I nodded. "Yes. Why?"
"I think I might have seen him."
We all turned in his direction.
"When I pulled in," David explained. "There was someone standing just out there. In the vineyard." He nodded toward the picture window.
"What was he doing?" I asked.
David shrugged. "Honestly, just standing there. I figured he was some morbid curiosity seeker, you know? Read about the shooting and wanted to get a look at the crime scene."
"Or he was returning to the scene of his own crime," Ava suggested. She swiveled on her stool to face me. "You remember Sheila said she was waiting for Jamie to come home when Buckley died?"
I nodded. "Yeah. He told her he'd been 'out.'"
"Maybe 'out' killing his mom's overbearing boyfriend."
"I don't know. You really think a kid would do that?" David asked.
"You didn't see this kid," Ava told him. "Lots of leather, fast motorcycle, mouthy."
"Sounds like you just described my teenage years." David grinned.
I tried to picture him as a rebellious teenager. Which wasn't that hard since he was currently a rebellious thirty-something who dressed like a teenager. His jeans had holes at the knees, his black T-shirt featured some band I didn't know, and his black boots looked like exactly the kind one would wear while riding on a motorcycle like the one that had nearly run us off the road. Even if I knew for a fact that David drove his mother's old Rolls Royce and not a shiny chrome death machine.
"Teenagers can be impulsive," I noted. "Sheila said Buckley and Jamie clashed. Maybe they clashed hard enough that Jamie decided to get rid of the guy once and for all."
"Maybe they argued over something before Buckley came to work that day," Ava suggested. "Something important enough that Jamie lost it."
"Still." David shrugged. "Offing your stepfather would be pretty cold."
I paused, knowing he wasn't just talking about Jamie. I'd first met David when his stepfather had died in my cellar. There'd even been a point where I'd suspected David might have had something to do with it. While it had come out that someone else entirely had done his stepfather in, that didn't mean David hadn't still had ample reason to have wanted to do it himself.
"Sheila and Buckley weren't married," Ava noted. "So, not stepfather. Yet."
"Maybe he wanted to keep it that way," I added.
"Or maybe he feels completely broken up at the death of someone close to him and wanted to come see where Buckley spent his last moments," David said, playing devil's advocate. "Teens have feelings too, you know."
I pursed my lips together, suddenly feeling insensitive. "You're right."
"Could you say that a little louder, my dear?" David put a hand behind his ear and grinned teasingly at me.
"So how did your poker game go?" I asked, changing the subject. Lest I had to admit he was right twice.
"Just the way I'd hoped." David's grin grew.
"So you beat Mr. Gallery Owner?" Ava asked.
David nodded. "I let him win a couple of early rounds, but in the end, I walked away with a guaranteed space for a dozen pieces at the showing."
"Wow, nicely done," Ava said, raising her glass in a salute.
"Do you have that many paintings ready?" I asked.
David shrugged. "Almost. I'm putting the finishing touches on a couple, and I've got another one that I think I can finish in time. If enough inspiration strikes."
"Well, if you ever need a muse, I hire out by the hour," Ava joked, giving him a mock curtsey.
"Careful," David said with a grin. "You can get arrested for that. Just ask Katy Kline."
I was about to point out the differences between madame and muse when my phone trilled from my purse. I pulled it out to see Grant's name flashing across the screen.
"Hey," I said, after swiping to take the call.
"Hey, yourself" came Grant's deep voice. "You at the winery?"
"I am," I told him, stepping away to the relative privacy at the back of the room. "Why?"
"I was just about to head up that way to release the crime scene."
I cringed at my winery being referred to that way, but the word "release" was a good sign. "I take it that means CSI is done?"
"They are. They're just packing up now."
I glanced out the window to see the truth of that statement—the van that had been sitting in my parking lot all day was finally pulling down the drive.
"Anyway, I wanted to see if you were free for dinner," Grant went on.
"You mean, wanted to see if I'd cook you dinner?" I asked, grinning.
Grant laughed. "Guilty as charged. But, if you're busy, I could pick something up on the way?"
"Not busy," I said, glancing back at Ava and David at the bar. "But I am sorely low on supplies. Conchita's still away, and I haven't had a chance to go shopping."
"Tell you what," Grant said. "Text me a list, and I'll pick up whatever you need on my way over."
"Done," I said, already mentally going over dinner options. Cooking was an activity that always had a calming effect on me, and after the last couple of days, I could use some calm. Not to mention, the company wouldn't be bad either.
"Great, I'll see you soon," Grant said before hanging up.
I slipped my phone into my pocket as I rejoined my friends.
"Everything okay?" Ava asked.
I nodded. "That was Grant. He's releasing the crime scene, and I'm cooking him dinner."
David gave me a raised eyebrow. "I take it that's our cue to leave?"
I shook my head and drained the last dribbles of Chardonnay from my glass. "Not at all. Feel free to stay and drink." I gave him a pointed look. "Here. Not with us."
David chuckled, though it had a bit of a self-deprecating edge. "I wouldn't dream of crashing your date, Ems."
"Good," Ava joked. "Because she wouldn't dream of inviting you." She turned to me. "But I do expect all the details in the morning," she said with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Sorry, kids," I told them, slinging my purse over my shoulder as I made my way across the room. "I don't cook and tell."
* * *
After mentally going through several recipes, I settled on texting Grant the ingredients to make Creamy Pork Marsala. I already had garlic and onion, so I chopped those, along with some baby lettuce and field greens, to make a nice accompanying side salad and then made my way down the stone pathway to the cellar to pull a bottle of Pinot Noir while I waited for him to arrive.
My grandmother and namesake, the first Emmeline Oak, had long ago dubbed our underground cellar The Cave. Which, in reality, it pretty much was, dug deep into the cool earth to house our most precious commodities—the Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, Pinot Blanc, Zinfandel, and a few cases of a small run Petite Sirah that bore the Oak Valley Vineyards label. I tried not to let bittersweet feelings intrude as I grabbed a bottle of Pinot from one of the hand-made wooden racks. It might be among the last bottles to bear that label. Even if I could find a partner to help with our financial situation, as Schultz had said, he'd likely come with strings attached—like putting his own name on our labels. Or doing away with the old cellar altogether in favor of some temperature-controlled smart cellar he could control with an app.
Of course, having to sell Oak Valley would be worse.
Both options made my chest feel heavy. I'd not only let my employees down, but also the generations of Oaks who had kept the winery going for years before me. Of course, they hadn't had to contend with social media, the internet, and cheap ba
rgain wines with catchy names like Nifty Dollar Fifty.
I turned off the lights and shut the cellar door, hoping to shut down the internal voice calling me a failure along with it.
As I made my way back to the kitchen, the sun was sinking below the horizon, bathing the entire valley in soft hues of gold and pink. Long shadows of the oak trees spanned across the meadow, and the fragrant scent of grapes that had been baking all day in the warm spring sunshine wafted toward me on a light breeze. I drank it all in, letting the natural beauty and serenity of the place fill me.
"There you are."
Grant's voice intruded into my mini meditation, and I turned to find him silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.
"Hey," I said, quickly crossing to him and giving him a light peck on the cheek. "Sorry. I was just grabbing something to go with the pork."
Grant grinned down at me. "That is definitely not something to be sorry about." He led the way back into the kitchen, pulling a pair of wineglasses down from the cupboard. He'd been in the large commercial kitchen attached to the winery enough times that he knew his way around it well. It gave me a warm feeling that he felt so at home there.
"So, how was your day?" he asked. He grabbed a corkscrew and opened the wine while I peeked in the grocery bag he'd deposited on my countertops.
"Good." I pulled out a pair of pork chops and some heavy cream. "Busy."
"Oh?" Grant asked. "Doing what?"
I paused. "Ava and I got pedicures," I told him honestly.
He glanced down at my pink-painted toes. Bare now, as I'd long ago kicked off my heels, having been at their mercy for the last two days.
"Very nice," he said, handing me a glass of Pinot Noir as he nodded approvingly. "Glad you were able to relax a little today."
I sipped my wine to cover the guilt at not being completely forthright about my activities that day. Not that I had to hide them. I could go wherever I wanted and talk to whomever I pleased. I just wasn't sure Grant would be totally thrilled with those wheres and whos, and who wanted to argue before the main course?
I grabbed a pan and added olive oil, letting it heat slightly before adding the pork chops.
Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7) Page 6
