Which, in hindsight, was probably mine, as I watched the landscape rush up to meet my windshield before the car came to a stop with a sickening crunch of twisted metal and broken glass. It all happened in a matter of seconds, my air bag inflating like a punch in the chest as the crescendo.
My heart was pounding a mile a minute, and my entire body felt like it was frozen in place. I could hear the sound of my engine still on, my breath coming fast, the hiss of air from the slowly deflating bag coming out of my steering wheel. But they all felt like they were ringing in my ears in slow motion. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing, finally pulling my adrenalin back down to a functional level. I pried my hands from their death grip on the steering wheel and slowly moved my head from left to right. My neck felt stiff, but at least it swiveled normally. My head was starting to ache, and my chest felt heavy, but my arms and legs all moved fine.
It took a couple of tries to get my driver's side door open, the metal crushed just enough to make it stick. Finally I shoved hard enough to move it, stumbling out of the car and onto the cool damp earth.
I looked back at my car and almost cried. While I'd avoided a head-on collision which had likely saved my life, the right front fender seemed embedded in a large oak tree, and I had a bad feeling my poor Jeep would never be the same again. I grabbed my phone from my purse and pulled up a call screen, though I hesitated when it came to who to call.
9-1-1 came to mind, but any real emergency had passed. And I was sure they'd dispatch an EMT, who would take one look at my car and want to drive me to the emergency room. I could barely afford a Band-Aid, let alone an ambulance ride to Sonoma Valley Hospital. I could already feel my muscles tensing up after the jarring experience, signaling I'd be sore tomorrow, but I was pretty sure I'd escaped any real damage.
Ava was still at the gallery with David, and I already felt bad enough about skipping out on his night without pulling Ava away too.
There was Grant, but the last thing I wanted to incur at the moment was more of his hard stares and pointed questions. Especially when I had no answers. Clearly my brakes had stopped working. What wasn't so clear was why. While it was entirely possible there had been some mechanical error, my mind immediately flashed to the figure on the motorcycle that I'd seen peeling away from the gallery just moments before I had. Had it been Jamie Connolly? And, if so, had he done something to my car as a warning? A threat? Or worse…to make sure I ended up like Buckley?
In the end, I dialed Eddie's cell, hoping I didn't wake him up or interrupt a romantic date night with his husband.
Three rings in he answered with his usual cheeriness. "Hi Emmy, what's up?"
"Hi. I hope I'm not disturbing you?"
"No, no. Curtis and I were just finishing dinner. Why? Everything okay at the winery?"
"Yeah. I mean, I think so. I just…" I looked at my poor Jeep and had to bite back tears. "I had a little car accident."
"Accident?" I could hear Eddie moving. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine." Mostly. "But my car isn't."
He must have heard the crack in my voice on that last word, as he gave me a sympathetic, "Oh, honey! Where are you?"
I glanced around. "I'm somewhere along Sonoma Highway." Which was dark and deserted at this time of night. While I knew my car would need a tow, it was clearly in no condition for a thief to drive off in, so that unpleasant task could wait until morning. "Any chance I could bother you for a ride home?"
"Of course! I'm on my way now."
"Thanks," I said, fully meaning it. "I'll text you my location," I promised before I hung up and pulled up my map app.
Once I'd sent that off, I gathered the few personal items I had in my car, shoving them into a reusable shopping bag I always kept in my trunk, and sat on my back bumper to wait for Eddie.
By the time he pulled up in his powder blue Honda civic, I was chilled to the bone and feeling about as sorry for myself as I could get. My car was totaled. My love life was in shambles. My winery about to go under. Even David Allen apparently saw me as a lost soul.
"Oh Emmy," Eddie said, grabbing me in a hug and handing me a handkerchief. An actual cloth handkerchief, God bless him. I hadn't realized I'd been crying, but I gratefully took the indigo paisley printed square of fabric and dried my cheeks with it.
"Thank you. For everything." I hugged him back. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Well, luckily you won't have to find out," he reassured me, blissfully unaware that in a couple weeks' time, I wouldn't be able to afford to keep him around anymore.
A fact I almost blurted out then and there, but before I had the chance, Eddie grabbed my shopping bag in one hand and steered me by the elbow with the other, helping me into his car.
"Come on. Let's get you home, hon."
I just sniffed and nodded gratefully.
* * *
The next morning I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. Or a tree. My head ached, my chest was sore, and my neck felt tight and strained when I tried to turn it very far. I scowled at my reflection in the mirror as I dragged myself out of bed. My eyes were puffy and swollen from crying. Something I was determined not to do any more of that day. I was not a victim, and I was tired of feeling like one.
After I'd exhausted the hot water in my shower, I threw on worn blue jeans, a light sweater, and a pair of sneakers. Comfort clothes were definitely in order that day, but I added a pair of silver hoop earrings and extra mascara to take the outfit up a notch.
Once I felt mostly human and mainly presentable, the first thing I did was call Bob's Garage and let them know where my car was. Part of me had been tempted to just leave it there—fearing that the cost of a tow might be more than the car was worth at that point. But, once I'd made my second call, to my insurance company, they assured me that they'd be in touch with the shop and find out if my car was salvageable or not. I said a silent prayer that insurance might pay for some of that salvaging.
Unfortunately, that still left me temporarily without wheels, so once I'd fortified myself with a cup of coffee, I went in search of Eddie to beg to borrow his Honda for a quick trip into town.
Because I had a teen on a motorcycle to interrogate.
* * *
I rapped my knuckles on the door to 2C, the anger at the situation having built up on the ride from Oak Valley to the Shady Meadows. I waited impatiently on the doorstep, my right foot tapping a sharp staccato on the cement. I heard movement from within the apartment, though when the door opened it was Sheila Connolly on the other side, not her juvenile delinquent son. She had a purse on her shoulder and her apron in her arms, as if I'd caught her on her way out.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
I took a breath, trying to rein in my heated emotions. "Hi again. Uh, Emmy. I was here a couple days ago. From Oak Valley Vineyards."
"I know who you are," she said, impatience lacing her voice as she leaned against the doorframe. "What do you want?"
"Right. Well, actually, I wanted to talk to your son," I said, squaring my shoulders against her irritation. If anyone here had a reason to be irritated it was me.
"Jamie?" She frowned. "Why?"
"Because I suspect he…" Killed his almost stepfather, stole bribery money, tried to kill me by tampering with my brakes. "…damaged my car," I settled on.
The frowned deepened and she sighed. "What has that kid done this time?" she mumbled, almost more to herself than me. Then without waiting for an answer, she turned and yelled into the apartment. "Jamie! Jamie, get out here!"
"What?!" I heard the teen yell back, his voice laced with just as much impatience as his mother's.
"Out here. Now!" She turned back to me and gave me an apologetic smile. "It's always something with him."'
I tried to look understanding. "I'm sure it's hard being a single mom."
"You have no idea," she said, full meaning behind the words. Then she turned and yelled behind her again. "Jamie!"
&n
bsp; "What do you want?" Jamie said, scowling as he came up behind his mother. The sight of me did nothing to soften the hard look in his eyes.
"This lady says you did something to her car." She gave him an accusatory glare.
"No!" He scrunched up his face. "I never touched your Jeep."
"How did you know I drive a Jeep?" I gave him an I told you so look.
He just continued to scowl.
Sheila sighed impatiently again. "Look, I have to get to work. I'm on the early shift today. How much is the damage?" she asked me.
"I'm not sure yet. It just went into the shop." I paused, looking past her. "But I'm happy to work this out with Jamie if you need to go."
Jamie narrowed his eyes at me. "There's nothing to work out," he mumbled.
"Oh, I think there is," I argued. "I have some questions for you."
"Questions?" Sheila's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What kind of questions?"
I almost didn't want to answer, feeling a pang of sympathy for her. Especially if her troubled teen had murdered her troubled boyfriend. "About why he's been following me."
"Following you…" Sheila spun on her son. "Like, stalking?"
"No!" Jamie protested. "Why would I do that?"
"Indeed." I gave him a pointed look.
Sheila's gaze bounced from me to Jamie to the apron in her arms, clearly weighing priorities.
"If you need to go to work, I'm sure Jamie and I can work this out," I repeated, thinking I was going to get little from the teen in her presence anyway.
Sheila turned to me. "Are you sure?" She sounded dubious, as if she knew how hard it was to work anything out with her son.
I nodded. "It's fine," I told her. I gave Jamie a hard stare. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement."
Sheila didn't look so sure, but the pressure of getting to work must have outweighed whatever trouble she imagined her son was in this time, as she slid out the door past me. "Thanks. I'll…I'll swing by your winery later and we can work out payments or something."
I nodded, giving her a smile. "Thanks."
As soon as she was gone, I turned to Jamie. Who was still frowning at me, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a grim line, chin jutting forward in clear disdain.
That made two of us, pal.
I matched his surly look with one of my own. "So. You want to tell me what you were doing at the Groudin Gallery last night?"
He crossed his arms over his chest, looking menacing even in his sweatpants and bare feet. "Maybe I'm an art lover."
"Why do I find that hard to believe?"
"Because you have no imagination?" His mouth curved into a sly smile at the dig.
"I can easily imagine it was you who tampered with my brakes last night," I countered.
"Hey, if you've got bad brakes, that's on you."
"Hmm." I cocked my head to the side. "I wonder if the police will see it that way?"
At the mention of the authorities, his demeanor changed, fear flashing behind his eyes. "No way. You're not pinning anything on me. I didn't touch your stupid car!"
"You were at the gallery. And you seemed to take off pretty quickly when you saw me."
"Yeah. 'Cause the last time I chatted with you, it was delightful."
He had me there.
"Look, I'm giving you a chance to come clean before I go to the police," I told him.
"It wasn't me," he said, taking a menacing step toward me. "Why don't you ask that old dude, huh? The cop. He was hanging around outside the gallery too."
"Grant?" While I could see how someone Jamie's age might consider Grant mature, I'd never heard him labeled "old" before.
But Jamie shook his head. "Nah, not the guy that came to tell us about Bill. That other cop. The one with the mustache. Bill's old partner."
"Wait—Eckhart?" I asked my mind suddenly working overtime. "Are you saying Eckhart was at the gallery last night?"
Jamie nodded.
"Why was he there?" I asked.
"How should I know! It's not like I'm all chummy with the cops."
"But you saw him there. Outside?" I asked, trying to process the information. Had he been there following me…or Grant? And why? Were we getting too close to the truth? Is that why he'd tampered with my brakes?
"Yeah, he was there." Jamie nodded, looking a little more smug now that the heat was off him.
"What was he doing?"
Jamie shrugged. "I dunno. He was just kind of hanging out in the parking lot. Smoking a cigarette. Kinda looked like he was waiting for something."
Or someone.
"When was this?" I pressed. I hadn't seen any sign of Eckhart when I'd left.
"I don't know when he got there, but he left right before you did."
I bit my lip. Grant had left right before I did too. Had Eckhart been following him? Warning him that some truth from the past was about to come out? Buckley had had pictures of Grant—did his former partner know? Or had the officer been there to warn me off. Had Ava and I asked too many questions that hit too close to home?
Then something occurred to me. I'd been in Buckley's apartment—searched it pretty thoroughly actually. And nowhere had I seen any photos of Buckley in uniform, let alone with fellow officers. "How did you know the guy in the parking lot was Buckley's partner?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, how did you know what Eckhart looked like?"
Jamie frowned. "Well, the dude looked exactly like he did last time he was here."
"Last time he was here?" I felt my mental hamster perking up on his wheel. "Like, here, as in at this apartment?"
"Yeah." He frowned. "Why?"
Because Eckhart had told me he hadn't seen Buckley in years.
"When was this?" I pressed.
"I dunno. A couple weeks ago."
"And he saw Buckley while he was here?"
"Yeah. It was my day off, and the two were arguing so loudly they woke me up. I came out and told them to shut up, and Bill told me to get lost and mind my own business."
"What were they arguing about?" I asked.
"Beats me. I didn't stick around. Let Bill fight his own stupid battles, you know?" He sneered as if something about Buckley's death had proven he was incapable of that.
"Did you hear how they left things?" I asked.
Jamie shook his head. "Nah. But Bill was slamming stuff around the apartment for a good hour afterward. Whatever went on between them, it left Bill pretty cheesed off."
Which was interesting, but I was more interested in how it had left Eckhart. Had he been upset too…possibly upset enough to come back and kill his former partner over it?
* * *
Since I'd skipped breakfast in my haste to get to Jamie Connolly, I stopped at the Half Calf coffee shop and grabbed two blueberry scones and a couple of caramel flan lattes before heading to Ava's place. I knocked on the door to her loft with my goodies in hand. When she didn't answer immediately, I suddenly hoped I hadn't shown up too early. I was just about to turn around and let her sleep in, when I heard shuffling on the other side of the door and the security latch being thrown.
"Hey," Ava said, pulling the door open. She looked like she'd just gotten up, still wearing the pink sweats I knew she slept in, her hair piled on the top of her head in pre-shower messy bun.
"Sorry. I hope I didn't wake you," I said, stepping inside.
"No." Ava yawned, stepping back to allow me entry to her loft. "We've been up for a little bit."
I paused. "We?"
"Hey, Ems."
I looked past Ava to find David Allen sitting on Ava's futon. Wearing another pair of Ava's sweats—lavender ones—that barely went past his knees, a T-shirt that read Girl Power beneath a sparkly unicorn, and a grin that spanned from one ear to the next.
Oh no. Don't tell me…
"You spent the night?" I asked, raising an eyebrow David's way.
Ava nodded. "We'd both had way too much champagne to drink last night. Like way too much." She giggled, an
d she and David shared a look like they were in on some secret.
I tried hard not to picture what that might be. "I guess the showing was a success."
David nodded. "I sold almost every piece."
"Wow, good for you," I said, thoroughly meaning it. I wasn't sure what that meant in monetary terms, but I could see the hint of pride under David's usual sardonic grin.
"We might have celebrated just a little too hard," Ava said. "We shared an Uber here, and it was just easier for him to stay," she finished, making it sound casual.
Even if David's perma-grin was saying otherwise.
I glanced at the futon. The usual throw pillows sat there, along with a blanket, neatly folded. Impossible to tell if anyone had used it or if he'd had accommodations elsewhere…like in Ava's bedroom.
"You brought coffee?" David asked, rising from the sofa and nodding toward the cup in my hand.
"Uh, yeah. I brought one for Ava. I didn't know you'd be here."
David shrugged, but the grin stayed in place.
"You are a lifesaver," Ava said, taking the cup from my hand. "I'm not ashamed to admit, I'm a little hung over today." She took a long sip.
"Ditto." David reached over and took the cup from her hand, taking a long sip himself. "Delightful."
Sharing a cup of coffee. That felt a little more intimate than a couch sleepover. I tried to catch Ava's eye for some sort of confirmation or denial of just what I'd walked in on. But it seemed she was avoiding my gaze as she took the bakery bag from my hands and we all settled at the kitchen table.
"Blueberry scones. Be still my beating heart," Ava said, nibbling off a piece before handing half to David.
I tried to shake off the unease at seeing the two of them share food.
While David wore Ava's clothes.
After a sleepover.
"You left the showing early," David noted, popping a bite of scone into his mouth. "Everything okay?"
I nodded, so not wanting to rehash what had gone on with Grant. "Yeah, sorry. I…was just really tired." I licked my lips. "But I did have a sort of accident on the way home."
Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7) Page 18
